Let us make magic . . .

let us lie together,
dreaming deeply
until we find an opalescent
magically luminescent forest.
Let us love
beside immortal sprites and spirits,
share dew drop kisses
amongst shimmering leaves.
Wouldst this be our shared lullaby,
that we might ignore the dawn
when reality beckons.

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today De asks us to use the word “spirit” (or a form of the word) within our quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Image from Pixabay.com

It’s Surreal!

Ear worm.
1-877-Kars-for-Kids.
Tickling incessant tune.
Words over-and-over-
and over-and-over.
Go in and out the windows . . .

1-877-Kars-for-Kids.
Shut off the radio.
Cadence that kicks
rhyme that sticks.
Like ear muffs close exits
on cold winter days.

1-877-Kars-for-Kids.
I don’t even own a car
but it’s driving
through my ear canal.
Drive it to Panama instead,
out through those locks.

Out of my ear drums.
Quit base thumping,
1-877-Kars-for-
oh just snare it!
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Where are you, Aretha?

Lift the needle,
Just put on the B side,
PLEASE!

Click on the video and listen to it for a bit. I dare you. Beware the ear worm!

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Linda asks us to explore surrealism in poetry. She tells us surrealism in poetry is “the true function of thought. Thought dictated in the absence of all control exerted by reason, and outside all aesthetic or moral preoccupations.” To me, this sounds a lot like stream-of-consciousnes writing….which is what’s happening in this poem. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

 

Ancient Lesson

The Ancient One’s book
answered the question
deep within her mind.

universe-1282375_1920You may choose the stars,
shine from the cosmos.
Lighten the canopy of darkness
as do many other souls.
Reflect bright wisdom,
comfort and awe,
to those who remain behind
waiting to grasp the Truth.

Or choose the dawn.
Join that orb of hope, IMG_0622
those rays of warmth.
Become one of many filaments
that spark awareness,
knowledge for those who wait.
The realization,
each day lived is a gift

The choice is yours.
Even in death
there is more than one path
to the everlasting Wonder.

 

 Today I host Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. This means folks can post one poem of their choosing, with no required prompt, form, or topic. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time – come join us!
Star photo from Pixabay.com
Dawn photo taken in Provincetown this past summer.

Kilahuea

2001
We hiked across lava fields
steam rising in the distance.
Kilahuea, birthing new shoreline,
slowly spilling into the sea.

Lagoon House was our delight
on beautiful Kapoho Beach.
Delerious with plumeria’s scent,
we swam wth sea turtles oh so close,
in nearby Champagne Pond.

2018
No longer content with shoreline,
Kilahuea’s temper rose.
Eruptions spewed farther, fiercer,
gave birth to graveyards deep.

Solidified lava, fifty-feet thick,
buried that beloved place.
Homes gone. Plumeria gone.
Pele, Kapoho’s sole resident,
silent in her new abode.

Photos from our stay at the Lagoon House in 2001. That’s me floating/snorkeling in Champagne pond, just beyond the house. We really did swim with the sea turtles there. And we took our children and their spouses on a lava walk tour — obviously Kilahuea was very tame then – although it was HOT and hissing and the hardened lava was very sharp.

 

Kilahuea’s angry eruption in 2018 and the result today. The beautiful home we stayed in, and that entire area, is now covered by fifty-feet of lava. The last photo is a rendering of Pele, the goddess of volcanoes.

Thank you Amaya for our dVerse Tuesday Poetics prompt — to address “birthing” in some way.

Release

Embrace the darkness, my dear,
keep hold my hand.
Listen to the quiet.
Many have come before you,
many shall follow.
Breathe slowly, slower still,
until your body dissipates.
Darkness will become light
as we soar into the cosmos
feeling peace among the stars.

universe-1282375_1920

Written for dVerse, for both Monday’s quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title) which required the word “keep” and today’s Poetics which asks us to write in someway about black/darkness. Photo from pixabay.com

Children through the ages . . .

Parents, she thought, learned to survive touching their children less and less.
From Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

These were precious moments ~

holding you upon my shoulder
napping with you upon my chest
holding you to my breast

lifting you back up to walk again
reading together, you sitting on my lap
skipping lessons, hand in hand

sharing hugs on grade school days
combing hair and straightening shirt
and wiping tears as you tumbled.

Now you have growing children
and as their independence grows,
touching them is lessening too for you.

But between you and me
at this stage in our lives,
hello and goodbye hugs
seemingly last a bit longer.

Perhaps because we know
time passing, means less time left
and we treasure more
these moments of staying in touch.

IMG_6878

Tanka with polytoton

Shadowed moon flickers
on windblown cornstalk stubble.
Red fox stalks its prey,
hunting through snow covered field.
Hunter in wool cap takes aim.

fox-4101341_1920

Frank hosts dVerse tonight, the virtual pub for poets. We are to consider the polytoton: rhetorical repetition of words within a poem, but each time used in a different way (cornstalk and stalks; hunting and hunter).  
I’ve used the Tanka form: 5 line poem with 5, 7, 5, 7,  and 7 syllables.
Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! Image from Pixabay.com