parched petals litter tabletop tears cling to eyelashes skeletal tree limbs crack as blizzard careens from sky
sunrise announces joyful day as cherry blossoms bloom yes bedazzled by love bouquet gifted, she smiles
seasons and emotions change age wizens beauty Your love, her always
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting our Quadrille Monday and asking folks to write a poem of EXACTLY 44 words, sans title, and include the word “petals” (or a form of the word) in the body of the poem. A synonym will not suffice.
Six minutes a widow. The sun kept shining, the clock kept ticking, but your heart stopped. Absolutely stopped.
I remember my screams, ambulance sirens. They rushed you away from me. Ushered me into a private waiting room. I waited for forever it seemed.
Then that humming, beeping room. Monitor glowing with moving lines. Lines becoming peaks and troughs and blips. Shroud-like sheeted, eyes closed. Your face obscured by ventilator and tubes.
My God, so many tubes. Family somehow there, tethering you to earth. Doctor talk. Jumbled words to me. “. . . his brain . . .may not wake up…not the same..” No. No. NO.
Forty-eight hours later your eyes popped open, staring fear. Nurse told you firmly, wiggle your toes. Move your right hand, now your left. Moments of sheer joy.
We came home end of that week, you, the real you, cognitively you. But we were changed forever. We live life more slowly, love more deeply, thankful for every day.
Written for dVerse , the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Will be submitted for possible publication in their anniversary anthology.
Out of lemon flowers loosed on the moonlight, delectable scents float ‘cross starless sky. In wild flowered mountain meadow they lie, hearts entangled, breathing as one. Alpine aster, lupine, and Jacob’s ladder their floral bed this night. Their dreamscape, their anniversary quilt, embraces their love, embodied again.
When dawn rises, their spirits must dissipate. Soft sobs and dew drop tears float upon the wind as each becomes, once again, solitary luminous clusters. T’will be one year hence, before they meet again. Anniversary of that storm laden night, decades ago, when they stood upon this very summit, thunder roaring disapproval of their match.
Looking out across the abyss, alit by lightning’s garish flash, they defied their families’ opposition. Hands clasped, deepest kiss still fresh upon their lips, they leapt into the arms of eternity. Premature extinguishment of life, the gods ruled punishable every night but one, in every coming year.
Out of lemon flowers loosed on the moonlight, delectable scents float ‘cross the starless sky. One night in every year, for centuries on end, they may live and love again. Lie together, in wild flowered mountain meadow amidst alpine aster, lupine, and Jacob’s ladder, hearts entangled, breathing as one.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa is hosting OLN and will host dVerse LIVE on Saturday from 10 to 11 AM, New York time. We are free to write a poem of our own choosing OR use the quotation “Out of lemon flowers loosed on the moonlight . . .” from Pablo Neruda’s poem A Lemon. The quotation is actually longer, I’ve only used this portion of it for my poem.
If you’d like to join us for the LIVE session on Saturday (video and audio), May 24th , just click on this link at 10 AM New York Time…..and you’ll find a link to join us! We’d love to have you read a poem of your own….or feel free to just sit in. We’re a very friendly bunch!
Eros lives among us. Sweet crushes blush teenage acnied cheeks, struck by arrows dipped in cotton candy.
Arrow tips plunged in passion fruit aim at fertile hearts. Friendships turn to lust.
Ancient arrows, patina dulled potency still strong, add zing to elders’ love affairs.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De is hosting Quadrille Monday and asks us to use the word “zing” in a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
Image created on Bing Create. In Greek mythology Eros is the offspring of Aphrodite, and is the god of love, passion, and fertility.
Crepe paper streamers, I used to string them for birthday celebrations. Now I have crepey skin.
Shiney brunette hair blow-dried just so. Now grey, held back with barrettes, away from eyes with sagging lids.
I used to chase little ones in games of duck-duck-goose, hike glaciers and dance till dawn.
Morphed by scores of years, still I smile. Time slows my pace, cherished memories accrue.
I occasionally put on hiking boots, they just don’t trek as far. And I do dance, but not nearly as late.
Most importantly, still I love. More deeply, more completely with every passing day.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Dora asks us to write a “despite and still” poem. Photo taken two weeks ago on the heliport of Celebrity’s Constellation during our 24 night back-to-back cruises, including a TransAtlantic from Barcelona to Tampa, Florida. Thankful for every day.
This day, back then, frightening. Light and love of my life, your heart stopped for six interminable minutes. Doctors, family, friends, all tethered you to this earth. I celebrate every day we have together.
Thankful to share life with you.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today we’re to write a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title, that includes the word “light”.
Eleven years ago this morning, George suffered a six-minute cardiac arrest. Because of what I call angels along the way, he is still with us, cognitively 100% okay, healthy and as fun-loving, kind, and wonderful as ever. I am forever grateful – thankful for every day.
Listen carefully, my love as we walk on cool stone slabs curving through the woods. Naturalists laid this path so others could forest bathe, basking in its mesmerizing calm.
Leaves rustle in cooling breeze. Spring waters gurgle somewhere beyond the trees. Yesterday’s rains still moisten fern fronds, brightening their myriad shades of green.
White-breasted nuthatches flit between branches. Their low-whistled notes accompany our slow meandering pace. Hand in hand we walk through serenity, our hearts, our spirits, melding into one.
Written for OLN Thursday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, I’m hosting the pub and folks are free to post any poem of their choosing OR write a poem inspired by one of two photos I’ve provided, the above being one.
NOTE: and if you’d like to see many of our poets in action, come join us LIVE on Saturday morning, August 17th from 10 to 11 AM New York time.Click HERE,and then click on the link given for Saturday’s session. You’ll be connected to audio and video for our live session. Feel free to stop by, just to watch and listen, OR, if you’re so inclined, to read aloud any poem of your choosing. We’re a very friendly bunch. The more the merrier!
Fly with me, my love, once more into the skies to sail upon the seas. Far away lands, new tastes and sounds. Kisses iced with salty breezes, dessert to cap our days. When sun’s warmth wanes, stars will glisten above the wake. Through all our travels when I am with you, I am home.
Victrola plays Glen Miller’s Moonlight Serenade. She sits dozing, blue-veined hands quiet, elbows on doily-covered armrests. Asleep, she was dancing with him. Awakening to reality she stares at his empty chair. Only a figment in her dreams now, she still misses him every day.
A quadrille written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m hosting today, asking folks to include the word “figment” (or a form of the word) in their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image created in Bing Create.
lillian the home poet 