In the darkest of nights
ceiling light turned on
pin pricked scrim draped overhead,
we lie down upon our bed
and revel as the stars appear,
even in our quiet room.
dVerse Poetics Tuesday: First time joining this group. The prompt today is to write about stars….during these winter nights before the winter solstice, their light is symbolic to so many.
houseboat river meander
sun glistened water
rain ping roof and ripple swish base
doe eyes stare from woods across
myriad shades of green
priceless time away
feeds my soul
soothes my mind
city life be gone
still pond
mesmerizes
migration complete
trees shrouded in winter white
prayer shawl pulled tight
face to the sky
Photo credit: Merelize
Stubborn firs stand warm and smug
beside the giving trees,
shadows now of skeletons
against clear blue skies.
Ground glitters red and gold,
cracks beneath the rakers’ feet
as he piles the oldest, most brittle
atop the crimson bright.
Tis time to take our leave
and slowly say goodbye
to those once colorful days
of leaping, laughing youth.
Photos from walks and visits this past week.
The cormorant held its breath
and disappeared from sight.
Black, long necked sleek bird,
ducked under, gone.
Like an actor in the second act
it pops up in a different place
new school of fish
different shoreline.
Would that we could do that
shift the paradigm
be a revisionist cormorant,
hold our breath
and recreate the scene.
Aspens quake in fear
Sycamores pretending happiness
turn smile-happy yellow,
while the Mighty Oak
blushes crimson red.
They know Winter lurks
behind crisp cool autumn air,
her cold heart waits impatiently
to unleash harsh winds,
strip them of their dignity.
They will stand naked for all to see
rattle and shiver with no recourse
while we don puffy coats
bright red stocking caps
and hand knit yellow scarves.
We add layers of color
while they stand
dark limbs exposed,
the transition time
when the seasons tilt.
Photo: October 14, 2015 in Boston Public Garden.
Summer by the sea,
two months past.
That sweet-sharp
salty lick of ocean air
gone.
Autumn in the city
dry lips
moistened
by warm apple cider
as eyes celebrate
glorious color.
The same white clouds,
the stuff of wispy filaments framed in blue
float o’er my head in quietude.
And soar above bright sunflower fields
flower heads tilted to the sky
in warm rays that beam on me.
And witness from above
far away killing fields
acres of blood with heads askew
eyes frozen grotesque in pain.
These same sentinel clouds,
all seeing
all knowing
how can that be?
A single red-orange leaf
floats unnoticed to the earth.
Acorns and hickory nuts
ping and thud upon the roof.
Once proud tall hollyhocks
droop in frostbit demise.
Logs lit to flame, hiss steam
hoarfrost warmed in hearth.
I sit, crocheted afghan in my lap
coffee mug nearby
and savor the season.
Cool crisp sun filled morn
sand colder between my toes
sea shore autumn calm.
lillian the home poet 