Steeped in amniotic fluids, ejected from maternal womb – dropped into parents’ environment.
Simmered in their care, their beliefs, their modeling behaviors and aspirations. Children grow roots where they are planted. Tend your garden wisely.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Today Bjorn hosts OLN LIVE from Sweden, from 3 to 4 PM Boston time. Click here between 3 and 4 PM EST for the link to join us live with audio and video.Come read a poem of your own or come just to listen. The more the merrier!
Occasionally, I think back to those times. Friendship spoiled like aged milk. Curdled putrid, far beyond its best-used-by date.
I was impressed at first, by your confidence, laughter, your louder-than-life self. We became best friends, roommates two years in school.
Slowly I realized you craved attention. Demanded the spotlight. Used people to make yourself the star.
Life’s circumstances sent us to different cities. We married, had children, successful careers. And then, we were thrown together again.
You relocated to where we were. Kids in the same school, same grades, same interests. Old times linked us in others’ minds, at church and kids’ events.
But you lived in the Heights, we lived in the Flats. You paraded that, flaunted it. I was okay with that, merely irritated.
Your husband exhausted by your demands, your goal to shine, became more than irritated. Driven to depression and anger, he fled to the arms of another.
So you, ever the diva, consumed by ego, picked up a knife, stabbed him. Just once. He gave you the spotlight. He died.
On parole, you called me. Went on and on about his indiscretion. Claimed it was self-defense. Practiced your defense on me.
I hung up that day. Done. You went to prison. I went on living, loving my husband, my family, and our life.
Just shows you I supppose, some friendships were never meant to be.
Written for dVerse where today we’re asked to a) write about friendship and b) begin our poem with the first line of another poet’s poem posted on dVerse. My first line, “Occasionally” is from Christine Bolton’s Senryu. Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
Moon is a sliver of silver; stars sparkle, shimmering steel in space; silky cirrus clouds slither across silent sky searching span for sanctuary.
Solitary soul seeks solace; a shield from shadows of secrets searing his serenity. Scanning skyward, he senses sanctuary in sacrament of silence, a sliver of silver shining still.
Written by Lindsey Ein and read aloud today at OLN LIVE, at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Image from Pixabay.com
I was born to die pushed out into life as were you, screaming curdling wails.
Each night we bid goodbye slipping off to sleep. Each day we greet anew, seek love amidst our trails.
I simply want to clarify, all one species are we. Pray tell and think it through. Reject bigotry, all else that ails.
Hatred twists judgement awry. Respect provides a healthier view.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Bjorn is hosting and introduces us to a new form, the Bref Double. It consists of three quatrains (stanzas of 4 lines) and an ending couplet. The rhyme scheme is axbc, axbc, axbc, ab BUT the second lines in each of the quatrains do not have any rhyme, hence the x designation.Image from Pixabay.com
Of course she shed tears after 70 + years shared with her one true love. Since we first saw her Grace the world is a far different place. Her long life a gift from above.
I fancied the Royals forever it seems, listened to their wedding, dreamed my dreams. In 1947, I was only 9 but in love. A handsome prince, Philip, stole my heart but Elizabeth was his mate, never to part. Little girls like me dreamed of that kind of love.
Mother and I watched Elizabeth’s coronation. in the middle of the night I was filled with elation. Crowns, royal robes, jewels reigned from above. Philip stood tall as she became queen. Such pomp and circumstance I never had seen. He looked at her with such love.
Over the years I have admired the queen wearing colorful outfits, blue, pink or green matched head to toe, hat, coat, and glove. Children and grandchildren blessed her life. We saw very little of her role as wife until Philip died. Queen’s tears shed for love.
Written by Lindsey Ein and read aloud at our OLN LIVE! So happy to have Lindsey participate and to share her poem with all of you here.
Faith came much easier when I was young. I believed in Purgatory. That half-way house you might need before your final reward. I’d say three Hail Marys for the one lucky soul who needed exactly that many words to move out and ascend to heaven. My lips moved silently, hands folded, head bowed, like I learned in Immaculate Conception Grade School. Then I’d say a very loud Amen and grin. Good deed done for the day! These days, as a septuagenarian, I realize that for some people hell is right here on earth. Hail Marys don’t seem to cut it when a Black man gets shot in the back while innocently jogging down a street. I don’t grin anymore at the end of my prayers.
Shared with dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Today is OLN LIVE from 3 to 4 PM and OLN. I’m hosting today….so hope to see many folks there.Photo is my hands this morning.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Laura asks us to consider couples, writing a poem in couplets. She presents a number of forms that are based in couplets including the Rhopalic Couplet. First used by Homer in the Illiad, the Rhopalic Couplet contains two lines. In both lines, each word progresses adding 1 more syllable than the preceding word in the line. The lines need not be rhymed. So for example x xx xxx xxxx x xx xxx xxxx
I found this quite tricky to do! Another poetic sudoku for me. Image from Pixabay.com
She was a pluviophile, born in the monsoon times. Overcome by strikhedonia she fled her village, sought solace in the woods.
A sturmfreisoul was she, content to burrow away on bright clear days. Her cottage well hidden from prying eyes.
She lived for the darkest of storms. Aroused by lightning strikes, thunder her love-struck mate. They danced together in downpours, her hair drenched, clothes clinging.
Townspeople burbled about her, bumfuzzled by her ways. Over time she became the Other. Easier to will her out of existence, they stayed inside during heavy rains.
Mish is hosting Poetics today at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She asks us to consider memes in a unique way, providing us with a number of unusual words and their definitions. She asks us to use at least three of them within our poem. I’ve chosen the following from her list: pluviophile (noun): a lover of rain strikhedonia (noun): the joy of being able to say the hell with it sturmfrei (adjective): the freedom of being alone; the ability to do what you want burble (verb): to speak in an excited manner bumfuzzle (verb): to confuse or fluster
*In ancient Roman religion, Tempestas is a goddess of storms or sudden weather. Image from Pixabay.com
She falters, steps lightly, lightly asserting herself again. Again he beats her, denies her being. Being a brute, how can she win?
How did this happen, happen to her, create such fear? Fear is the impetus she finally needs. Needs to act quickly, her path is clear.
Miles away she laughs aloud, a loud guffaw that signals she’s free. Free of his violence, while he lies dead, dead by her deed near the old oak tree.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Grace asks us to consider Loop Poetry, a form created by Hellon. There are no restrictions on the number of stanzas nor on the syllable count for each line. However, in each stanza, the last word of the line 1 becomes the first word of line 2. The last word of line 2 becomes the first word of line 3. The last word of line 3 becomes the first word of line 4. This is followed for each stanza (4 line stanzas). The rhyme scheme is abcb. Tricky. Took me a while to get in the rhythm of it and for some reason, this poem from the dark side was the result.
lillian the home poet 