Explore with Care

What tree is this
that stands so tall, so broad?
More than one century in age, I’m told.
It creeps, tangles thick across the earth
like some heathen’s diabolical tentacles.
If these be strangler roots
then what poor enraptured creatures lie beneath,
choked by weight and lack of light.
Fenced off as if to warn,
do not climb or come near.
Beware of danger,
capture or consumption
by multiple orgasmic trunks.
Solitary owl sits sentry, hidden within its leaves,
guarding who from what we do not know.
Gawk and wonder, but this be all,
lest you learn its secrets
or become one.

Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today/tonight Bjorn is hosting from Stockholm Sweden and invites us to post a poem of our choice, or a poem responding to an optional prompt he provides.

Photos are from yesterday’s walking tour of Balboa Park in San Diego. This tree is the largest tree in California. It’s a strangler fig, one of 900 species in the genus Ficus. It has a complex root system which includes large sculptural buttress roots growing above ground for support; smaller roots growing near the soil, providing oxygen and nutrients; and aerial roots which hang down from branches. I was just mesmerized by this tree and most especially its roots which really look like snakes or tentacles of living creatures… to me they could be something out of a horror show and seemed life-like! And yes, there was a solitary owl hiding within the leaves.

The Cold Wintry Thing

The cold crept up.
It surprised us all.
Like a tiger hunting.
It caught us all.

It took us prisoner,
in its icy grasp.
It held us tight
in its frosty wrath.

From now till the shadow leaves
it will linger.
It’s beautiful and terrible.
The icy storm beast.

Yet once it’s past
we’ll wait for it again,
for we love it and hate it.
The cold wintry thing.

Written by my granddaughter, Phoebe Hallberg. She is twelve years old.
Image from Pixaby.com

Rain Walk

Listen.
Tears fall like rain,
the soft spring rain
gentle, quiet 
cleansing the earth, the soul.

Rain begins like a tear
beading on a rose petal
trickling down to 
nourish the earth, one drop at a time.

Clouds thicken,
skies turn dark.
Rain falls harder
and the earth is saturated, muddy.

Drops become streams.
Overflowing banks. 
A flood of tears rises
to wash away our dreams.

Sun breaks through 
Two rainbows arc across the sky
Double surprise, double gift
Slowing the tears.

Summer rain smells fresh;
earth is nourished;
tears are pierced
by sunbeams.

Listen.
Rain will fall again:
On roses, on your parade, on Mondays.
Will you walk in it or just get wet?

Written by dear friend, Lindsey Ein, for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today I’m hosting and asking people to take us on a walk within their poem.

Image by Goran Horvat from Pixabay

Nature’s Glory

There are moments in life
standing in the glory of nature
when I’ve been awestruck.

Humbled by her magnificence
at the Grand Canyon,
Norwegian fjords,
and Mount Fuji.

And once,
under whispering tall pines,
I felt the sun’s rays of grace
shine upon me.


Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De asks us to use the word “pine” or a form of the word, in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

Yes, in our travels we’ve been to the magnificent Grand Canyon, the Norwegian Fjords, and to Japan where we saw Mount Fuji. Photo is from about ten years ago when we were camping with our children and their children, in Mount Rainier National Park.

Awaiting the Dawn

I sit in darkness,
blanket-wrapped against damp chill.
Squawking gulls pierce my quiet,
spar over fish carcass washed ashore.
Dawn will present herself shortly,
streak sky angry crimson-orange
or smudge it gently in soft puffs of pastel pink.
How will she start my day?


Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and ask writers to include the word “present” or a form of the word, in the body of their quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words sans title.

Photo taken at dawn in Cape Cod’s Provincetown some years ago. We treasure our annual two-week visit to Ptown. I often wrap up in a blanket on the deck, in that chilly dark time before the sun rises, hold a coffee cup in my hands to stay warm, and watch the day dawn over the ocean.

Nature Song, by Lindsey Ein

‘Tis early dawn and all around
no bird song floated down the hill
O Nature! All thy seasons please the eye
ring out wild bells to the wild sky.
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright
between dark and daylight
a fragment of a rainbow bright.

Fair daffodils we weep to see
the violet loves a sunny bank
they grow in beauty side by side
into the sunshine.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods
there through the long, long summer hours
the melancholy days are come.

Where, where are all the birds that sang?
The warm sun is failing.
Freshly the cool breath of the coming eve
in the west the weary day
electric essence permeates the air.
Yet one smile more departing distant sun
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.
There are moments in life that we never forget.

Written by Lindsey Ein and read aloud at OLN LIVE on Thursday, Sept. 19.

Every line of this poem is from a line in a poem by a poet. Here, line by line, are the poems and author:

Line 1: Flowers: Thomas Moses
Line 2: The River Path: Whittier
Line 3: The Seasons: Grahame
Line 4: Ring Out Wild Bells: Tennyson
Line 5: Vertue: George Herbert
Line 6: The Children’s Hour: Longfellow
Line 7: The Rainbow: J. Keble
Line 8: Daffodils: R. Herrick
Line 9: Proposal: Bayard Taylor
Line 10: The Graves of a Household: Mrs. Hemans
Line 11: The Rountain: James Russell Lowell
Line 12: Solitude: Byron
Line 13: June: Bryant
Line 14: The Death of Flowers: Brya
Line 15: A Hundred Years Ago: Anonymous
Line 16: Autumn: Shelley
Line 17: Healing of the Daughter of Jairus: Willis
Line 18: In Reverie: Harriet McEwen Kimball
Line 19: An Acrostic: F.A.
Line 20: November: Bryant
Line 21: From The Merchant of Venice: Shakespeare
Line 22: Remembrance: Percival


All of the above poems are from “Favorite Poems Illustrated”: 1880’s, given to my Aunt Josephine Brown in 1881.
Image from Pixabay.com

Are We Too Late?

Boldly may we walk,
yet resolutely, carefully.
Minding the soul of Mother Earth,
respecting her fragility.
Oceans rise in anger.
Assault shorelines,
swallow homes built too near.
Heat past simmering patience.
Melt polar ice, bleach coral reefs,
threaten aquatic life.
Can we appease her?

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, we’re to asked include the word BOLD, or a form of the word (not a synonym) within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image from Pixabay.com

NOTE:
OLN LIVE will be on Thursday, January 19th from 3 to 4 PM EST . . . AND . . . on Saturday, January 21st from 10 to 11 AM EST. Come to the dVerse home page on Thursday and/or Saturday and click on the appropriate link that will take you to the live session. All are welcome across all time zones! Come to simply listen and meet poets from around the globe OR come and read a poem of your choice. We’re a very friendly bunch so we hope you’ll join us at one or both sessions. Mark you calendars now!

Some Days

Some days
I’d like to be in the midst of fog.
Where mountains,
yesterday tall and imposing,
disappear today.
Where ethereal moist clouds
descend to earth,
enveloping her in softness.
Bring me serenity,
as mist hovers over land,
hides imposing granite walls
too difficult to climb.
Soften my being
with the lightest of rain  that pours not,
rather drifts in swirls round my head,
my eyes, my limbs.
Take me to that weathered landscape
where nature cajoles hatred into oblivion,
and we simply marvel at beauty
we did not recognize before.
Take me there, if not in reality,
then in dense dreams of solace,
just for a little while.
I crave escape.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, from 3 to 4 PM Boston time, we shall gather face-to-face via GoogleMeet at OLN LIVE! Link to join can be found here at 3 PM or shortly thereafter. Just click and come join us! You’re invited to read a poem of your own…or simply sit in and listen…we’re a friendly bunch and it’s quite fun!

Photo from trip a number of years ago to Alaska.

Power in a Bottle

Ah, belladonna,
how formidable art thee.
Thine power used since Roman times.
Claudius and Augustus, dead,
wifely potions lethal with thee.

Medieval women
placed drops of thee in their eyes.
Became alluring with wide-eyed innocence,
capturing a gentleman caller’s proposal
curtailing his gigolo lust.

It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Kim asks us to use the word “bell” or a form of the word, in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image from pixabay.com

Belladonna is a potent plant. Reserach tells us in Roman times, it did indeed kill Emperors Claudius and Augustus when placed in a potion made by their wives. It is said that Macbeth of Scotland used it to poison the liquor supply of invading troops from England. In medieval times, drops of belladonna were used by women for cosmetic purposes: to widen their eyes to make them seem more alluring. Today, belladonna is used by many opthamologists to dilate pupils for examination.

Sensory Delight

Quilt me a cacophony of colors,
floral me a scene.
Roses, lilac, freesia, lavender, gardenia,
scents melding into sweet aroma.
Featured like fragrant punchbowl
on caterer’s gleaming sideboard.
Senses tempted to imbibe, I submit.
Feast my eyes, inhale deeply,
engulfed in garden’s ethereal delight.

Quadrille written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De asks us to use the word “punch” or a form of the word, within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Photo taken a number of years ago in Ireland.