earth sheds detritus
clutter clutched in melting snow –
rivers cascade spring
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets from across the globe where today, Paul is tending bar and asks us to write about rivers. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come river dance with us!
We sat beside our daughter at a rough, hand-hewn table that stood on two-by-four legs. At the time, she was studying at the Hochshule fur Musik in Freiburg, Germany. We’d been invited to dinner by her fellow student, Christiana, who’d grown up in what was then East Germany. Christiana’s parents and brother were visiting. And so we joined them in her rural one-room rental, with access to bathroom and kitchen. We brought the wine.
The family served a simple meal on mismatched chipped plates. Wildflowers sat in a glass jug. No napkins. No English. And yet we laughed and spoke with our hands and eyes. At times, our daughter translated. I do not remember what was served, nor the aromas. I do remember the simplicity. The open and freely offered friendship across cultures. The sharing of so much more than food.
amidst weeping glaciers
debris fields give way to streams
wildlife quenches thirst
Written for Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Toni asks us to write about one of the best meals we’ve ever had. Photo is of us during a glacier hike in Alaska. We eventually got to the foot of the glacier that, through its melting, creates this stream. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come share a meal with us!
Traveling across the tundra, prayers of thanksgiving hover on my lips. You tower above glacial streams, fiddle heads, cranberry bogs, and mountain peaks. Athabaskans understand. You are the High One. Within your gaze, grizzlies roam. Caribou, Dall sheep, moose and marmots too. Gleaming sun and star scrim skies light your view. Oh Denali, you stand tall. Guardian of this hallowed land.
Written for Day 1 of a 21 day challenge online course with my poetry mentor, Holly Wren Spaulding. Prompt: write a prose poem that includes an animal. Photo from our trip to Alaska that included the Denali National Park’s 12 hour Kantishna tour. At the time, this was officially Mount McKinley, but was always called Denali by Alaskans. One month after we returned home, by executive order, President Obama officially renamed Mount McKinley, Denali.
Cornstalk remnant icy spikes
pierce snow crusted land.
Rare snowy owl, alert
watches for prey.
Written for day 15 of Holly Wren Spaulding’s online 21-day Vernal Equinox course. A four line poem that includes snow.
Navy blue jumper
white Peter Pan collar blouse,
ICS grade school uniform.
Hand reaches into font
presses damp sponge,
wet hand crosses self.
Holy now,
I skip into the sun.
Written for Misky’s Twiglet #15, “rushing waters.” A twiglet, the shorter the better, is a phrase to prompt a flow, thought or memory. Yep, that’s me in third grade!
We walk silently, side by side
wander from delineated path.
Step softly
into mountain meadow
enveloped in heady scent.
Wildflower carpet at our feet
damask cloth spread upon the blooms.
She sits demurely
holds one tempting peach aloft,
just beyond my reach.
I stretch to touch her wrist
guide velvet fruit to slightly parted lips.
Succulent flesh drips sweet nectar,
blurs into rivulet on milky neck.
And I sit mesmerized.
Her image blurred through tears.
Serene beauty
framed amidst soft meadow hues.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Bjorn hosts and continues with his exploration of artistic movements. We are to paint with words, in the style of Impressionism, capturing images to create a scene. Impressionism is not dark. We are to lighten our poem with colors, but preferably not using color words. Instead our images/objects/scenes mentioned should evoke a sense of color by their very nature. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come share your impressionistic view or just stop by to imbibe some words!
moss, lichen and fiddle ferns
padded damp silent floor
cool moisture clings
leaves shiver in residual rain
stubborn clouds persist
dawn struggles to lift the shade
Post written in response to Day 12 of 21 day challenge online course led by Holly Wren Spaulding. Write about a room.
They live a merry-go-round life
maniacal calliope music
spinning circles, senses blurred
chasing what could lie ahead.
Blue horse, her mount
golden mane rich in gilt
cold cylindrical pole
clutched in lust.
Two steeds behind
eyes wild, hair disheveled
desperately out of synch
he up-downs as she down-ups.
Desire fuels the chase
bolted to spinning floor
moving unmoved
money, sex, fame
forever around the fluid bend.
I’m hosting dVerse today, the virtual bar for poets, asking folks to think about amusement parks, fairgrounds, carnival barkers. Write a poem that somehow uses an image from that scene – or captures a memory one has from going to such a place. Bar opens at 3PM BOSTON time, in the midst of Boston’s blizzard today! Come share a poem of your creation or just imbibe some words from poets around the world.
Discombobulized,
she was like that.
Wound up tight tremors,
taut sprockets of the mind.
Spring-like nerves compressed
temper flares spewed.
Church hands folded, twitched,
flailed by noon.
Even keel sailing
turned runaway train.
Expect the unexpected,
she was like that.
Kim is hosting today’s quadrille ( a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title) at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, and asks us to use the word “spring.” Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Were you waiting for me?
Back corner of her studio, smiling
gathering dust midst jewelry displays
shadow boxed art.
Did you jiggle a bit?
Swing your beaded cord braids
glint a wink from googly metal eyes.
Functional Art the sign said.
Amalgamation of discards
someone’s this and something’s that.
Old charms (you do), hair fobs
paintbrush skirt and flower heart
forever wire smile.
You caught my eye that day
and here you are with me
forever now my muse.
Written for prompt in my online poetry class with Holly Wren Spaulding. We are to write a poem of address – as in addressing someone or something. This is a wonderful piece of art work entitled Growing My Garden by Nahed Enid: bought at Nahed’s studio in at the Dockyards in Bermuda. She makes me smile every morning as I sit to write and read.
lillian the home poet 