Addled scene.
Lingering sunset residual,
palest pink hazy clouds.
Grey rain clouds hover nearby.
Belligerent earlier,
dryly brooding now.
Wearing nature’s night cap,
fog topped buildings
tower over drizzled damp pavement.
Scattered bright office windows
tell-tale signs.
Duped or dedicated workers toil.
Green light,
twenty-four hour traffic cop.
Evidence the city never sleeps.
Photo taken from our Uber ride home last night after seeing the fabulous play, Eureka Day. Boston’s changing scene.
Summer’s peach, sensory delight.
Fingers leave light impressions
on delectably ripe fruit
blushing to the touch.
Peach skin’s palette presents palest reds
blurring into sunset shades of lightest orange,
blending into golden yellow.
All these shades, a gentle swirl of color
so appealing to the eye.
One bite and juice dribbles down the chin.
Moisture stains fruit’s soft velvety surface
where our mouth has been.
Colors remain the same
on dry intact outside of fruit.
Inside colors brighter than outside.
Pinkish bronzed red merges into
lemon and orange sherbet shades,
temptation for another taste.
Summer’s peach,
visual and sustenance delight.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting, asking folks to write a “colorful” poem. No required length, form or rhyme scheme. Only requirement is that it must include colors! Images from Pixabay.com
Trees arc in late spring wind.
Cherry blossoms hold on tight
then float down like gentle raining mist.
Accumlate on ground,
nature’s pink coverlet.
AI generated image on Bing Create. We did see beautiful scenes like this on a trip through Japan many years ago.
Also shared for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Goodness blooms this time of year.
Pushy crocus show off first
then tulips admire daffodil ruffles,
hyacinths invoke delicious inhales.
Trees begin to dress for the occasion.
Don magnolia flowers, cherry blossoms,
crab apple trees defy their name.
We shed coats, walk more sure-footed
on warming sidewalks and greening lawns.
Infants’ arms wave more freely,
cumbersome snowsuit padding gone.
Robins appear, geese begin to nest.
Mountains’ winter toppings melt,
cascade in waterfalls to brooks below.
Streams rush over rocks,
gurgling their spring symphony.
And I, I smile as I step outdoors
reveling in another year of life.
She bloomed in every setting.
Rose patterned everyday dresses,
cherry cheerful flannel pajamas,
fruit speckled summer skirts.
Wisteriaed wall paper
wooed her to sleep each night.
Bougainvillea borders
bedecked her breakfast nook.
She lived up to her name,
Lily lived a lovely cheerful life.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting at the pub and asking folks to write a Quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title) that includes the word “bloom” or a form of the word.
Image: Hopie in the Garden, painted in 2021 by Hilary Pecis, on display at Boston’s Museum of Fine art in their Framing Nature: Gardens and Imagination exhibit.
Explanation of Tussie Mussie: During Queen Victoria’s reign (1837 – 1901) a small bouquet of flowers called a tussie mussie was a common accessory. Flowers were considered more modest adornment than jewelry for young women.
sun’s warmth radiates
melts frozen snow
nourishes and softens soil
crocus senses paradigm shift
ushers in spring
cheers winter-dreary souls
Image from Pixabay.com
I meander the riverside. Meanwhile the
globe spins frenetically, as much of the world
is amok in violent rhetoric. Walking offers
views of spring. Geese nesting, itself
testament to the season’s rebirth. To
see the female sit patiently upon her nest, your
reminder. Hope lives within the imagination.
Written for Meet The Bar Thursday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets across the globe. Today we’re asked to write a Golden Shovel Poem.
What is a Golden Shovel Poem? It’s a poetic form where the last word of each line in a new poem, when read vertically from top to bottom, creates a line from another poet.
What line from another poet have I used in my Golden Shovel Poem?
“The world offers itself to your imagination” from Mary Oliver’s poem Wild Geese.
Photo taken on my walk yesterday, along the banks of the Charles River here in Boston.
Come walk this path with me
through wooded quiet calm.
It will lend its peace to you.
Canopy of green leaves gleam
as sunlight filters through.
Come walk this path with me.
Morning’s quiet coolness
will ease and soothe the soul.
It will lend its peace to you.
Some call it forest bathing,
five senses engaged in meditation.
Come walk this path with me.
Immerse ourselves knowing
Earth’s beauty nurtures best.
It will lend its peace to you.
Escape the city’s frenzy
find nature’s solemnity.
Come walk this path with me,
it will lend its peace to you.
NAPOWRIMO Day 22. Prompt is to write a Villanelle. Photo from a vacation we took some years ago.
Villanelle: A French verse form consisting of five three-line stanzas and a final quatrain. The first and third lines of the first stanza repeat alternately in the following stanzas. And these two lines form the final couplet in the quatrain. It’s a poetic sudoku!
Daffodils interrupt doldrums
break through badgering news.
They brighten my day,
my thoughts, my views.
They do indeed flutter and dance,
providing a joyful scene.
They grace the banks of the Charles,
greet me with bright ruffled faces.
They are sunshine
atop green leafy stems.
How can I be lonely
as they smile at me?
NAPOWRIMO Day 17. Prompt: Write a poem in which you respond to a favorite poem by another poet. My poem is in response to William Wordsworth’s famous poem, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud. See below for his complete poem.
Photos taken two days ago on my walk along the Charles River, from the Boston side. (Cambridge, Harvard and MIT are on the other side).
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
There is a calming
an acute listening
as I sit enveloped in darkness
waiting, watching.
Darkness dissipates.
Low-lying orange-red layer
ombres into blue-black sky.
Then . . .
. . . ever so slowly . . .
a sliver . . . an arc . . .
an entire glowing orb.
Nature’s metaphorical reminder.
Even in the darkness
hope does rise
and become
reality.
NAPOWRIMO Day 16. Prompt: write a poem in which you describe something that cannot speak, and what it has taught you or told you.
Images are photos I’ve taken over the years at our beloved Provincetown at the very tip of Cape Cod. Same rental, on the ocean, for 25 years. Sunrises from the deck never disappoint.
lillian the home poet 