Sweltering!
Need ice cream today,
chocolate mint chip
or butter pecan
or strawberry.
Savor the cold,
flavorful respite in a cone.
Catch drips with flick of tongue.
Smile like a little kid,
think yummy and enjoy.
Beat the Heat
Blessed Rain
Black earth cracks open
begging through jagged, arid lips
water, please, drown me with drops
of life restoring rain.
Tendrils of roots seek my riches
to nourish them, to bloom with promises
threatened now in dark, dry soil without a drop to drink.
Butterflies and bees will be robbed of the balm they seek.
Blossoms will not open, colors will fade to yellow and brown.
Lavender will lose its scent, the fragrance of summer
begs for life restoring rain.
Clouds blow in providing shade but no rain falls from
decorator clouds that quickly puff away.
We watch the radar but it is like the pot that never boils.
Thunderstorms are possible they say.
Rumbles of thunder are heard in the distance,
winds pick up, branches fall in dry frustration.
Black earth cries out
water, please, drown me with drops
of life restoring, blessed rain.
Written by Lindsey Ein for OLN LIVE at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Image from Pixabay.com
Reflections on a Family Visit
Like young colts
galloping through wildflowered fields,
all legs in a blur.
These teenage grandchildren rush in
laughing, talking,
a whirlwind of energy.
Fast hugs for me,
quick words of endearment
and they’re out the door.
I sit down, coffee cup in hand,
and chuckle at what just was.
I marvel, smiling,
at what is to come and what will be.
The world is theirs to explore,
to grapple with, to improve,
to endure.
But for now,
let them gallop in the wildflowered fields.
Posted for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. AND we are LIVE today from 3 to 4 PM Boston time. Read below how to join us!
EXCITING NEWS FOR dVERSE! Mr. Samuel Peralta announced the selection of dVerse Anthology, Chiaroscuro, for inclusion in the LunarCodex Polaris time capsule going to the moon in 2023! It’s true! Not a hoax! Chiaroscuro will be on the moon — I have six poems in the anthology! I’m going to be on the moon! Go to lunarcodex.com to learn more. At the Menu on the right click on MORE….scroll down and you’ll come to an image of Chiaroscuro! Mr. Peralta is interviewed on YouTube about the technology. Google “We”re flying to the moon samuel Peralta” you’ll find it. It’s rather lengthy, but very interesting to read about the technology!
What is OLN LIVE?
Go to https://dversepoets.com at 3 PM or shortly thereafter. There will be a link right at the top of the page…Click on it and it will take you to the dVerse pub! You’ll meet many of the dVersers who post here weekly, and some who just come when the spirit moves them (or the prompt does!). Each attendee has the opportunity to read one poem aloud as others listen and appreciate. Alternatively, if you are not comfortable reading for the group, simply join us and listen in! The more the merrier!
I hope to see you at the pub today!!! https://dversepoets.com at 3 PM Boston time or shortly thereafter. We’ll be live until 4 PM.
Breaking Point
That was it. She’d had it. Sliced away, leaving a scar on the ancient bark, the tree looked raw. Desecrated. His handiwork obliterated.
That night of infatuation, he carved a heart with their initials right there for all the town to see. “We’re forever entwined” he said. Except they weren’t. He left for college and never returned. It’d been years. She’d waited tables at the Oleander Café. Endured the town folk’s talk behind her back. Their whispers haunted her. They knew she’d carried his child for six months before the miscarriage. People pitied her.
She knew he was never coming back. She dropped the knife and walked out to meet the dusty road. She hailed the first bus she saw. Paid cash and finally got the hell out of there. No matter the bus’ destination, it was her turn to leave it all behind.
Written for dVerse where today Sarah is hosting our Prosery session. She asks us to include the line “she’d had it sliced away leaving a scar” from Michael Donaghy’s poem, Liverpool.
What is Prosery? A Prosery prompt gives a line from a poem and we are to include it in a piece of flash fiction of 144 words, sans title. The line must be word for word, although the punctuation may be changed.
Backwards . . .
it must be a dream . . .
or time-machine . . .
or machinations of an addled brain.
Used to be a woman’s road
to pregnancy and through pregnancy
was determined by men.
Their genitalia and their laws.
Used to be coat hangers
bloodied in cavities,
did more than hang up coats.
It’s not a dream . . .
or time machine . . .
or my septuagenarian brain.
Once again, a woman’s body
her insides, her uterus
are ruled by men.
Their genitalia and their laws.
We All Have Different Gifts
Runt of the litter
shoved out of the way,
last in the romping puppy play.
Some day she thought,
I’ll be as big as you.
And if I’m not,
I’ll shine in another way.
It’s Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa asks us to consider peer pressure.
Image from Pixabay.com
Two Aphorisms Created for Our Times
I.
Life is a card game,
play your hand wisely.
Seems like we’re caught
in a never-ending bridge game.
Trump suit named,
trick after trick after trick played.
Anyone ready to change the game?
II.
When parade horses leave a trail of shit,
sweepers must follow.
Seems like we’re caught
in a never-ending parade
of show ponies
with far too few sweepers
willing to clean up the mess.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Ana returns to dVerse and asks us to consider Gnomic poetry which is the practice of moralizing in verse. We can start or end our poem with an aphorism; create our own aphorisms; or be inspired by a myth. We have many choices in how to approach the prompt but the “focal point” of our poem must be a moral or assert a philosophical position on life. And she tells us that just because we’re moralizing, doesn’t mean we must be serious. We can add a bit of humor or irony. Images from Pixabay.com
Ding Dong the Witch is Dead . . .
“I’m melting, melting. Ohhhhh, what a world, what a world, destroy my beautiful wickedness.” Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz
I planned it. Me and Rudy.
It was all fixed.
The machines, the ballots.
All a disaster.
Millions believed me.
They didn’t drink bleach
but they believed I won
because I said so.
This commission.
These videos. These emails.
My people spilling it all.
Gutless.
This witch hunt . . .
closing in . . .
my battery is low
and it’s getting dark.
Laura provides a unique prompt for today’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She provides seven quotations of famous departing words. We must choose one and include it in a “deathbed poem of our imagination.”
The line provided by Laura: “My battery is low and it’s getting dark.” Mars rover ‘Opportunity’
The prompt got me thinking about Donald Trump and the January 6 Commission. May the vast amount of evidence presented be the demise of the Big Lie and expose the danger Donald Trump presents to democracy and the well-being of this country. May his power and cult-like status among otherwise sane people melt away, similar to what happened to the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz.
A Lunker or Two
Spelunker by day
lady’s man by night.
Stalactites his game,
caves his domain.
Met his match at the local pub.
Spellunker by night,
scrabble her game
words her fame.
Challenged him
after a pint or two.
She won the game
he won her heart.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa hosts Quadrille Monday and asks us to use the word “spell” somewhere within the body of our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Had a little fun with this one.
PS: a spelunker is a person who explores caves. Image from Pixabay.com
Watching the Unimaginable
So many have blood on their hands.
Mirrors avoided to save face
hands folded to avoid guilt tremors
heads bowed – horse blinders unavailable.
In another world,
nineteen children don angel wings.
Their days playing on the beach
never to be again.
Together with angels from Sandy Hook
they hover, watch intently, hope . . .
surely this time
change will come.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Merril asks us to consider summer and write an ekphrastic poem. She provides a number of paintings that are in some way related to summer. We are to choose one or more to work with. Our poem should be inspired by the painting; not describe the painting. The painting I chose from among those provided is Summer Day, Brighton Beach by Carl Zimmermann.
To clarify the references in my poem:
On December 14, 2012, in Newtown Connecticut, twenty children, ages 6 and 7, were murdered at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Attempts to enact stricter gun laws in the United States failed.
On May 24, 2022, in Uvalde, Texas, nineteen children, ages 9, 10 and 11, were murdered at Robb Elementary School.
lillian the home poet 