Wine me this evening.
Let us sit together
sipping and listening.
No words needed.
Waves roll in, roll out.
No other sound.
Love can be silent.
Side by side many years.
Children raised, married,
parenting their own.
We have time to reflect
on what was,
what is,
and what is yet to come.
The years ahead,
far less than those behind.
And yet we smile,
sit together,
sipping and listening.
This is my place,
Provincetown’s quiet eastside coast.
Let my distant auk relatives
claim the boring inlands.
Each dawn I take my perch,
lone tall rock on submerged jetty.
Preen patiently,
wait for morning sun.
Dawn tints the sky,
glistens ocean path.
My rock is center stage,
lone gull in nature’s spotlight.
I dipfish in shallows when schools swim by.
Clams succumb to my drop and crack maneuver.
I pick and peck lobsters asunder. Swallow as is.
Melted butter a human absurdity.
You are not alone, you know,
bragging on your mythology.
Gull lore says that generations ago,
pilgrims landed in Provincetown.
My ancestors met them,
an entire colony of gulls.
Squawked so loud those humans left,
sailed on to Plymouth Rock,
obnoxiously omitting us from history.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah has provided an interesting prompt entitled Creepies and Crawlies. She introduces us to the idea of writing in the first person, as a spider, a cockroach, a butterfly, a dragonfly, or, I may be taking poetic license here, an animal of our choice. Since we are in Provincetown at the very tip of Cape Cod, I’m writing from the perspective of the gull pictured in the photo I took this morning as I watched a new day dawn in this amazing place. And, it is true. The pilgrims first landed in Provincetown but for some reason, they sailed on to Plymouth and thus the famous Plymouth Rock and the overlooked history of America’s beginning.
To read a short poem about the same photo, from the human perspective, click here.
Gull claims its spot,
lone protruding rock on submerged jetty.
Preens itself then waits expectantly.
Sliver sun peeks out from low slung cloud,
turns near darkness into luminescence.
Bathed in rouging blush,
water glistens in dawn’s appearance.
Gull preens again, swathed in nature’s spotlight.
My contented sigh, applause enough
as curtain rises on a new day.
There is no silence here.
Not in my mind
not in the landscape
not in the memories.
Damp sand between my toes.
Infinitesimal salty granules
gathered on my upper lip.
Nothing registers.
Remnants of another time
though they are happening now.
You kissed the salt away
and now you never will.
The swishing of waves,
those white capped petals of the sea.
I have stood many a time
at the doorway of dreaming.
But you always stood with me.
Your laughter.
Your gentle eyes.
Your hand holding mine.
We dreamed together.
Now I stand alone facing this vast sea.
Shall I simply wade into the darkness
or shall I sit and pray?
Sum days her mirror reflects the years.
Grooves etched beside eyes,
crevices left from emotional stress.
Blue veined highwayed hands tattle,
leaving behind tremor shaken script.
But open-toed shoes reveal her true self.
Shining sterling peace-sign toe ring,
defiant purple glitter-polish on her nails.
Quadrille written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today De is hosting and asks us to use the word “groove” or a form of the word, in our Quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Image from Pixabay.com
. . . my to-do-list is
much too mundane to do.
*Laundry
*PT exercises
*Vacuum
*Clean out drawers
So I sit, pen in hand
page waiting to be filled,
adorned by words.
Words like scintillation
fantasia, pomegranate
or perhaps persimmon.
Images, dormant in my mind,
waiting to appear on the page.
Orange sherbet sun
flirting with shapeshifter clouds.
Raucous carousel horses
racing round a blurred world.
Pen over vacuum? Easy choice
to clear the cobwebs from my brain.
In the night of day
Luna lights the path
over oceans deep.
Vast sea of glistening caps
ever gleaming, beckoning me.
Your visage when last we met,
only that has kept me safely
undone by storms and cloudy skies.
There is no fear, no dread,
nothing vague.
No questioning of time.
Row on, row on, this cursed ship.
My dreams, my thoughts aswirl,
I shall reach you, my everlasting joy.
An Acrostic Plus, written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
I’m hosting and ask folks to either write a poem related to something that puzzles them, use the word “puzzle” in their poem . . . or extra points for writing an Acrostic Plus, a form I created: Read down the first letters in the lines of the first stanza and see what they spell; then read down the last letters of the lines in the second stanza and see what they spell. You should then have a message related to the poem!
In this poem, the message is “I love you deeply.”
Far too long my creaking, rocking prison,
this whaling ship asunder, lost at sea.
Why can I not be flung to shore?
Neptune, why so intent on punishing me?
My dear wife’s visage alive within my soul.
Grant she knows this forever more.
Neptune, why so intent on punishing me?
Why can I not be flung to shore?
Her lips, her breasts, I long for deeply.
You roiling monster, you unforgiving sea,
why can I not be flung to shore?
Neptune, why so intent on punishing me?
My death is near and she so far.
I curse and scream at thunder’s roar,
Neptune, why so intent on punishing me?
Why can I not be flung to shore?
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the world. Today Grace is hosting and asks us to write a Mirrored Refrain.
A Mirrored Refrain “is a rhyming verse form constructed by Stephanie Repnyek. The poem is formed by three or more quatrains where two lines within the quatrain are the ‘mirrored refrain’ or alternating refrain. The rhyme scheme is as follows: xaBA, xbAB, xaBA, xbAB. x represents the only lines that do not rhyme within the poem. A and B represent the refrain.”
What I always find most challenging in following a particular form, is letting the poem make sense such that the form doesn’t stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. I’m always up for a good challenge! Image is in public domain.
Standoffish elitist mother
newsstand famous dad
outstanding intellectual brother.
She never fit in.
Headstands, handstands,
she tumbled through life.
But the joke’s on them.
She wandered into a club,
took the mic and found her voice.
Highest paid standup comic,
guess who’s laughing now?
A bit late, but written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe…responding to Monday’s Quadrille prompt. Use the word “stand” or a form of the word, in a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. I decided to see how many words I could use that include the word “stand” in them! Had fun with this one. Photo from pixabay.com
This Iowa field, this Iowa day.
I stand in the midst of flowers
green grasses waving,
sun’s warmth soaking my skin.
Double hollyhocks stand tall.
Gaillardia faces blush,
edged in sherbet yellow ruffles.
Ethereal clouds float lazily,
cotton ball fluffs
like white misshapen dots
on seersucker blue sky.
Newly painted barn gleams
surrounded by emerald shrubs,
trees and hills.
Ah yes, Iowa,
you are indeed the heartland,
loved by so many.
lillian the home poet 