Festival

lillian59 Comments

The sky is aglow this morn.
Floating quilt of primary colors
myriad shapes and sizes
blankets the bright blue overhead.

Row by row, baskets peopled
by those akin with adventure
fires stoked, ropes cut, they rise
to gas gusting sounds and cheers.

And we are left behind
we who stood the ground
arid browns and taupes,
dry earth and tumble weeds.

Thermos empty, dusty mouth
a vague sense of wish-I-was-there
mind dulled with lack of sleep
I crane my neck again

and wonder,
why am I here
and they are out there
soaring with their dreams.

2001-Albuquerque-International-Balloon-Fiesta-02

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, hosted by Mish. She asks us to write a poem related to the Southwest — and she has strong ties to New Mexico. A number of years ago I was in Albuquerque, New Mexico for the hot air balloon festival. I went out before dawn and helped folks with their balloons, readying them for flight. Watched as wave after wave of balloons fired up and lifted into the sky. An amazing sight indeed.

Memoir

lillian55 Comments

i remember
skip-to-my-lou
kukla, fran and ollie
days of the week underpants
and uncle howie’s store
the wisconsin dells’ wooden indian
my lone ranger lunch box
howdy doody’s freckles
miss tews’ ballet school
and kindergarten with junie z

any one out there
remember me?

A man dressed as the Lone Ranger rides his horse along the pier as the aircraft carrier USS RANGER (CV-61) ties up behind him. The RANGER has returned to North Island following its deployment to the Persian Gulf region for Operation Desert Shield and Operation Desert Storm.

A quadrille (44 words) written for dVerse using the word “skip.” Skip to My Lou is a popular children’s song – begun in 1826 as a lyrical game in Abraham Lincoln’s youth in southern Indiana and Kentucky, it became a partner-stealing dance in the 1840s. In my childhood, we literally skipped along the sidewalk singing this song. Photos: The Lone Ranger; Kukla, Fran and Ollie; and Howdy Doody – tv shows popular in the 1950s. Me playing dress-up with Junie Z, on a Wisconsin Dells vacation, and ready for a Miss Tews dancing recital.

Artist in Waiting

lillian8 Comments

Obsessed with her oils
and the patina of still life,
she spent her later years
living in a shadow world,
feasting on edibles
from her studio walls.

pear-fingers

Image credit: AnnMarie at anntogether.com. Artist with words and brush. Creative woman extraordinaire. Thank you AnnMarie for allowing me to put my words to your amazing pear-fingers. Meander over to her site and see beautiful portraits, amazing creatures, and poetry that unites her images to words.

Water Nymphs

lillian1 Comment

They carried purple sateen ribbons
furling and unfurling them into rays of sun,
dancing their way to the shimmering river.

Rivulets gurgled and tamed themselves
lily pads with pale green tendrils appeared,
pillows afloat in soothing cool waters.

Twirling through an iridescent aura,
stars dipped from darkening sky
entwined and crowned their flowing hair.

Bodies sprouted translucent wings
where once streams of violet furled
and their spirits soared.

waterhouse-nymphs-hylas-560979-o

Written for the final day of NaPoWriMo 2016. April is national poetry month.
Photo is in public domain.

Wannabe

lillian32 Comments

I am not Sarah Elizabeth!
Call me Izzie, please.
I hate these tedious tatting lessons.
My dresses always have dark dots in the lace
and my finger tips feel like pin cushions.
Thimbles are the silliest things
impossible to maneuver.
I’d rather be a Samuel.
Sammy in knickers and suspenders
rolling a hoop and playing catch.
And my chest.
I’m soon to be found out.
And mother shall issue those dreaded words,
“It’s corset time.”
I’d rather hang from the rafters,
ride bareback and swig spirits
than be straight laced
wearing one of those things.
I hate being a girl!

mary-shipman1

Word Count: 100   Written for Rochelle Wisoff- Fields’  Friday Fictioneers — prompt photo appears on Wednesday and posts can be early. Apologies to the purists as I “arranged” my lines in more poetic form today. It is after all, NaPoWriMo (national poetry writing month). Photo Credit: Mary Shipman

Fini

lillian5 Comments

extinction has become
a way of life
push ‘em back, push ‘em back
way back

thieves in the night
spread into the world
Serengetti, oceans blue
chrysalis and hives

letter writing, long white gloves
walking unplugged and fountain pens
family dinners, darning socks
rotary dial and porch talk

push ’em back, push ’em back
way back

civility disappears in spews
listening usurped abducted
mouths agape without ears
warnings ignored

das Ende, el fin
fine, mwisho

push ’em back, push ’em back
way back, yeah team

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

NaPoWriMo Day 27 — using day 26’s prompt to write a poem with a refrain. Confession: I was a high school cheerleader.  “Push ’em back, push ’em back, way back” was used when the other football team was getting too close to the goal line. That “refrain” popped into my head and then I started thinking about all the things that have disappeared in my lifetime — far too many to mention here. And I realized, extinction has become a way of life — how strange to put those two words together!  “the end” is offered in different languages. It is after all, a worldwide problem. Thought the Japanese word for “the end” was quite interesting, containing the English word “wish.”

In Response to Mary Oliver [2]

lillian51 Comments

most of the world is time
when we’re not here,
not born yet, or died –

I am infinitesimally small.

Those who knew me at birth
cared for me, walked with me,
left this earth too soon by my count,
melded into the universe.

The sun however,
still shines upon me
although days are shorter
and final miles fewer.

At my back,
the sun projects my future,
step by step in front of me
a syncopated seer.

Shadowed possibilities
become realities,
one foot forward
into the new.

In front of me
she warms my face
till glances backward
see my past,

following me,
stepping where I was
but a moment before,
a speck of time

a dab of humanistic paint
upon a pointillist canvas,
soon to intersect
with those before my time.

shadows-415331_1920

Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics. We are to respond to a poet in dVerse, or a poet of our choice. We may or may not use an actual line from their poem. The first line here is from Hummingbird Pauses at the Trumpet Vine by Mary Oliver. In Response to Mary Oliver [2]  is two because when I started writing poetry in February 2015, my first attempt was a response to another poem by Mary Oliver — rewritten in January 2016. I enjoy her writing — and she is a kindred spirit in terms of being a Massachusetts resident from Provincetown, where we spend two glorious weeks each fall. Today is also used for NaPowWriMo Day 26.

…and the bloom shall fade

lillian40 Comments

Her garden suffers from end-of-season neglect. Nutrients wane as days shorten. Young trees, now mature, cast their presence in shadows.  Flower petals and fronds wither to veined brittle frames of their former beauty. They bend closer day by day, to the earth from which they came. Winter’s cold reality approaches, as sure as the moon changes face. Life hovers on a thread.

She sits patiently
window blurred with veins of frost
waits for children gone.

image2

Susan Judd is hosting dVerse for Haibun Monday and provides us with her beautiful photography and the descriptive phrase “beauty in decay” as a prompt for writing today. If you’re not familiar with dVerse, stop in for a visit. It’s a great gathering place for those who enjoy poetry!  Also using for NaPoWriMo day 25.  30 poems in 30 days, that’s April – National Poetry Writing Month.