Boxes full of joy and laughter. Clouds ready to burst, rain happiness upon the earth. See-through containers brimming with peace. Seed catalogues with special sales: flowers that bloom understanding, guaranteed to produce gargantuous yields. Imagine with me, all these possibilities. Which would you choose?
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting, asking folks to include the word “imagine” in their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image created at Bing Create.
Clouds meld as sun disappears in night, form thick starless low-lying scrim. Thor, maestro of storms, hurls bolt. Rain streams sidewise, wind powered slant.
Lonely man on street leans in, challenged by elements, struggles forward.
She waits impatiently. Nine o’clock draws near, time agreed upon, one tryst past. He plods on, tears mixed with rain.
Thor’s Opus intensifies. Relentless time moves moments on.
Clocktower strikes nine times, signifies his doom. He stumbles, staggers, stops. Bereft, done, hopeless. She’s forever gone.
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. We are free to post any poem of our choosing. Image created on Bing Create.
Daedalus, inventor by trade, created many a plaything for his young son.
Two wooden disks, string wound between them, meant to be manipulated for fun. “Like this,” Daedalus said. The device rose up and down. “Is that all it can do?” Icarus demanded. “Give it to me and I shall see.”
Icarus strode to the woods new toy in hand, determined to test its true worth. Hours later he returned, blood, feathers and flesh enmeshed in the now tangled string.
“Son, you must listen to me. The new can be useful, but dangerous too. Curb your recklessness or one day I fear, your fate will be similar to the creature you’ve killed.”
Icarus dropped the now useless device, picked up a stick and swaggered away. Daedalus found him later that day, bear grease covered his hands. “Icarus my son, what have you done?”
“Father, oh father, my fault it was not, the stick too short, the fire too hot.”
“When will you learn, my darling son? You are not an all powerful one.” Icarus hung his head and quietly replied, “I love you father. I promise you now, I shall tether myself close to your side never again, will I give way to my pride.”
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and asking folks to write a prequel for a famous character from a nursery rhyme, Aesop’s Fables, a famous book, or perhaps mythology. Writers should imagine a previous life for their chosen character. They should tell us about the character before they became famous. For example, what was King Cole like before he was a king? What about Alice as a toddler, encouraged her to fall down a rabbit hole and ultimately meet the Mad Hatter? What hints were there to her personality when she was very young? How or why did Peter Pan learn to fly? How did Hercules develop his muscles, and/or why? Writers should think about a famous character or mythological figure and write a poem showing a different side to them. It must however, be a prequel and their identity should be clear within the poem.
In terms of my prequel: Daedulus, a mythical inventor, created wings made of feathers and wax to escape from Crete where he and his son, Icarus, were held captive by King Minos. Icarus ignored his father’s warnings and flew too close to the sun. His wings melted and he fell to his death into the sea. Image created in Bing Create.
Create barrier islands to keep out hatred, people who lack empathy.
Envelop me in sea breezes that waft smiles.
Let a gentle sun warm and fan kindness among all.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Quadrille Monday! Melissa asks us to include the word “lagoon” in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. I chose to verbify the word. Photo take in Bermuda in 2018.
some days it seems a stick figure world sketched in lines only charcoal lines no curves no tints of color no punctuation negation no positivity stuck motionless mural of ethnocentrism narcissistic me-ism artists and poets needed to add crimson hearts splashes of love everywhere
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish asks us to include the word “sketch” or a form of the word, in our Quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words sans title).
As the sun sets on this day may we pray to remember the good that surrounds us, the good that can be.
Help us to find our way to a kinder world. May each of us contemplate sameness.
Our sameness. Our humanity. May leaders from all countries all religions, all ethnicities, strive for gentle caring.
May we look in the mirror eyes and hearts open, and find each other.
Written today for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. In today’s world, with so much strife, division, and warring factions, I thought it important to offer this prayer.
dVerse will go live today from 3 to 4 PM EST. Folks from around the globe are invited to post a poem and read it aloud or simply to come and listen. A link will be provided at 3 PM EST HERE to join us on video and audio for one hour. We will do the same on Saturday morning from 10 to 11 AM EST. Would love to have you join us. The more the merrier!
Photo from sunset in San Diego some years ago. The photo feels peaceful and serene to me….and somehow the sun and the rolling hills in the background remind me of hope for a new day.
Mother sang about the man in the moon. I don’t understand how he can wax and wane. Like that maxim “love one another” seems to wax and wane if people are others instead of another. Reality morphs, contorts, always in flux. Except for you.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse where today we’re asked to use the word “moon” in our poem of exactly 44 words sans title. Image from Pixabay.com.
I fell off the wagon tonight. Sprite at the holiday party just wasn’t merry enough. Only one Cosmopolitan, drinking with Santa tasted so good. then another another
an Alice-in-Wonderland night falling down, in to the rabbit hole another time yet again. I need help.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and asking people to include the word “fall” or a form of the word, within their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Have no idea how Alice became an alcoholic….sometimes the muse just takes you down the rabbit hole! Image from Pixabay.com.
We are the baby-boomers, celebratory births conceived and born after World War II. We lived in our all white world, walked to elementary school in Mary Janes and white lacey ankle socks.
We were the oblivious ones riding from Chicago to Florida. Family vacations to grandma’s excited to buy Orange Blossom eau de cologne and praline candies at rest stops.
We had no idea Black families used The Green Book for the same trip. Dog-eared pages marked “friendly” towns. Listed cafes, motels, and gas stations where Negroes were welcome.
We didn’t know anybody named Jim Crow. As young kids, we blindly sipped from white-only fountains, sat where we wanted at diners along the route.
But we know now, or do we? – How many of us have seen or read the children’s book, Ruth and the Green Book by Calvin Alexander Ramsey?
How many of us have read The 1619 Project? Written by Nikole Hannah-Jones, winner of the Pulitzer Prize and a #1 New York Times bestseller.
What are we afraid of? We may not be Bible readers but we’ve all heard John 8: 31 and 32. “The truth will set you free.” Now is the time the truth be told.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Bjorn is hosting from Stockholm, Sweden and asks us to write a poem in the “collective” voice — we, our. Given the movement so rampant in parts of the US to ban books, I thought it important to write this poem. If you’ve not read either of the books I mention, they are well worth the read.
Quoting from the Calvin Alexander Ramsey at the end of his book: “In 1936, an African American living in New York City named Victor Green wrote a book to help black travelers. He made a list of all the hotels, restaurants, gas stations and businesses that would serve African Americans in his city. There was such a high demand for his book that he decided his next edition would include other towns in other states, as well. The Green Book was sold for a quarter in 1940 at black-owned businesses and at Esso stations, which were among the only gas stations that sold to African Americans. Esso was owned by the Standard Oil Company, which eventually provided funding and offices for Victor Green. The Green Book quickly became very popular and helped many businessmen on the road, as well as the families who needed and wanted to travel by car. By 1949, the price of the Green Book had grown along with its size – it cost 75 cents and was 80 pages. It covered all the United States, Bermuda, Mexico, and Canada! In the 1950s and early 1960s, civil rights leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. brought national and international recognition to the injustices suffered by African Americans. Jim Crow’s days were numbered. On July 2, 1964, President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Bill into law. Among other things, this act made it illegal for hotels, restaurants, and gas stations to discriminate against customers.
Victor Green published the final edition of the Green Book that same year – 1964.”
i On the street corner used and discarded needles, broken bottles too. The downtrodden neglected, Mother Teresa long dead.
ii Bottled up feelings like a Molotov cocktail, stuffed and volatile. When circumstances throw him, he’ll blow his top like Etna.
iii Bottle tipped over, red wine stained white tablecloth. Lipstick on glass rim, her perfume scent still lingered. The filthy slut betrayed him.
iv Glass milk jug bottles, Wonder Bread pb and js, Father Knows Best, Roy Rogers, saddle shoes and bobby sox. My fifties and sixties life.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Grace asks us to write about bottles.
The Tanka form is a 5 line poem with the following syllabic content in each line: 5-7-5-7-7
Roy Rogers and Father Knows Best were very popular tv shows in the 1950s. Roy Rogers vied for viewers with Gene Autry and also the Lone Ranger. We always got glass milk jugs from the grocer….no such thing as waxed cardboard containers in those days. Wonder Bread is a spongey white bread, still sold in groceries today. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on Wonder Bread were always in my tin Lone Ranger lunch box!
lillian the home poet 