Surrounding reality melts as I seek the comfort of sleep. In that half-aura, lying with eyes closed, weight of quilt on chest, I work to release tense shoulders, facial muscles. Within my mind’s eye, weightless arms rise, outstretched. I float above my body, cares released, and soar into the night.
heron, tense, alert
dives hungry into dark sea
soars with silver fish
Björn hosts haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Photo credit: Bird Sirin by artist Sergey Solomko. We’re asked today to find artwork that does not illustrate our haibun, rather compliments its meaning. Haibun: short prose, not fiction, followed by haiku. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time.
I sit waiting. Orchestral music building. Gilded theatrical surroundings. Audience hushed. Clara, in white flimsy floating gown, on pointe. Drosselmeyer’s back to us. His arms outstretched dramatically. I know what is coming. The audience knows what is coming. And yet we gasp as the tree begins to increase in size, taller and taller. And our applause grows louder and louder and spirits soar higher and higher.
darkness waits for dawn
sliver grows to orb of light
always gifts the morn
Today we have a surprise guest host at dVerse. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time for haibun Monday. A haibun is prose, which cannot be fiction, followed by a haiku. My prose refers to that most magical scene in the Nutcracker when the Christmas tree grows before our eyes. Photo: best sunrise photo I’ve ever taken in Provincetown!
i.
Thunder snow
rare glimpse of winter anger
snow angels disappear in gales.
ii.
Softly swirling snow
heaven’s hushed lullaby
midst city streets and sounds.
iii.
She stands by her window
wrapped in color splashed comforter.
Forehead on cool pane, eyes closed,
her thoughts begin to drift
like falling snow on once green mounds.
Photo: From our window…looking out on Boston as snow piles up on ground, trees and window sill.
Earth’s breath,
whisper wind
hissing gushing geysers
howling gusts
quiet sighs.
She breathes as her children live.
Inspired by recent dVerse prompt to write about breath. Photos: Tauranga NZ on the farm used for Hobbiton in Lord of the Rings; Rotorua, NZ — geysers on land of the Maori people; untitled painting by Louise Hearman, Australian artist, exhibited at the Art Museum of New South Wales — all her paintings are untitled; and Lake Wakatipu near Queenstown, NZ. All taken on our recent 40 day journey to Singapore, Bali, Australia and New Zealand. I have now returned and shall be posting regularly again. Hope you’ll join me often — I enjoy the feedback of readers!
Clouds slung over land
like a prayer shawl before the dawn.
They cling softly to earth’s shoulders,
until sun begins to warm her soul.
Mist slowly slips away
leaves moisture upon her limbs,
like tear drops shed in supplication
seeking grace for this day.
Monday’s quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words) for dVerse, that virtual pub for poets, where today Kim is tending bar and folks are writing about clouds. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop on over and imbibe in more clouds. Photos from a past trip to Alaska.
Artists stand behind easels before the sea,
subject sits beneath natural canopy.
Sun reflects off sand,
reveals delicate hollow at nape of neck.
Streaming light illuminates hair by strands
as shadows gleam, challenge brushes
to blend raw umber, titanium white,
and yellow ochre oils.
Written for dVerse where today De is tending bar, asking us to write a quadrille (poem of 44 words; no more, no less) relating to or using the word “shadow.” Last week in Provincetown, I volunteered to sit for a portrait session on the beach. Little did I know these were students of Cedric Egeli, one of America’s foremost portrait artists. The second photo shows him critiquing his students. Plein air refers to painting out doors.
Daytime, meandering through the Peabody Essex Museum. I stopped to stand and look at a painting on the wall. The looking turned to gazing. Time shifted and everything disappeared. I was under the stars, the shifting clouds. Felt night’s cool air upon my face. Marveled at the moon’s path upon glistening sea. This magical night enveloped me. There was no one else. Nowhere else. Until a tap upon my shoulder made me turn my head.
luminous moon
reflects beauty in darkened sea
neath star spattered sky
Double posting today! (see also Wishful Thinking) Written for dVerse haibun Monday where Toni, the maven of haibuns, asks us to write about the night sky. A haibun consists of a short, concise paragraph of prose that cannot be fiction, followed by a haiku. PHOTO taken at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, MA: Moonlight, created in 1892, oil on canvas. Painted by impressionist Childe Hassam (1859 – 1935). The scene is from Appledore Island, the largest of the Isles of Shoals off the coast of New Hampshire, where he spent many a summer at the cottage of Celia Thaxter.
I ran outside that night,
so full of life and excitement.
Imagined your surprise and thought I would see
a grimace,
a crease,
a worried frown.
Someone finally broke through.
Landed. Slammed into you
and stepped into your heart.
Your cold, aloof self,
finally
breached.
And yet I saw nothing new.
Your face unchanged,
seeing me only
as one of many who adore you,
who live and stare each night
beneath your remote reserve.
Thirty-plus years have passed.
I arise more slowly to morning sun,
less sure of my footing,
skin aged and sallow.
I still await the end of day
to feel your face upon my soul.
I peer through clouds within my eyes
and those that skirt your skies.
For I have loved you all these years
even as you appear
and disappear
and appear again.
You my love, care not.
You seem to ignore what I crave.
All I seek these many nights
is some recognition,
some sign,
that we have been with you.
Full moon over Provincetown. Cape Cod, MA.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse where Grace asks us to write about the moon as if the moon is a person – flesh, sweat and blood. “Describe him or her, and tell us about your moon.”
On July 20, 1969, I was 22, a graduate student at Bradley University in Peoria, Illinois. I’d heard about “the man in the moon” since I was a young child. You can “see” his face in the full moon, made by shadows and craters visible to the naked eye. On that July night at 9:56 PM, I watched my tiny portable television screen as Neil Armstrong stepped onto the surface of the moon. I remember staring in awe and then immediately running outside, standing on the sidewalk and looking up at the moon, as if I could see some sign up there! And I remember thinking: tonight there really is a “man in the moon.” Dverse opens at 3PM EST. Come join us!
Sunflowers
pivot eager brown faces
toward the sun
and turn away at dusk.
Nature’s solar sensors.
Photo taken in Provincetown, Cape Cod. A tanka is a 5 line poem with the following linear form: short,long,short,long,long. Sometimes it follows this syllabic form: 5,7,5,7,7.
lillian the home poet 