Easter Sunday 2020,
an unusual and memorable one.
May we each feel the hope and the joy
in the message of this blessed day.
Johnny lives on . . .
“Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” The character Johnny Castle in Dirty Dancing.
You in 1963. Kellerman’s Resort.
Me in 1987, some movie theater
somewhere nondescript.
You danced. Oh how you danced!
I’ve watched, over and over.
Over thirty plus years.
Your moves,
always the same.
You in 1963,
at Kellerman’s.
Me in my living room,
watching a DVD.
An odd poem to post on Easter Sunday….BUT I’m following Toads prompt for National Poetry Writing Month, day 12: write a poem to or about someone you love who doesn’t know you love them!
Well, I have family and my beloved of 50 years….and really can’t think of someone who doesn’t know I love them….I’m a very demonstrative person! So best I can do is the character from Dirty Dancing, Johnny Castle. LOVE his moves and have watched the DVD many many times over the years. Also love dancing to Time of My Life with my hubby….but we don’t do the lift!
May it be nonfiction . . .
Lady in Red,
Ruler of the University.
Guardian to extraterrestrials,
humans, exactoids
and shape-shifters.
She sets the rules.
Lanes within which to live.
All played nicely
until humans did not.
They selectively listened.
She gave warnings.
Melted ice shelves
raised ocean levels
sent pestilence.
Cried foul many a time.
Still their souls eroded.
While others flourished
humans seemed to rot.
They battered earth,
debased each other.
Lady in Red,
All Seeing One.
What could she do
but plead, cajole?
Demand loudly, STOP.
They did not.
And with breaking heart
she raised her arm,
rescinded humanity.
Flung them from the field
into suffocating darkness.
Earth and all her humans,
banished from the cosmos.
Extraterrestrials, exactoids
and even shape-shifters
watched and learned.
And the Lady in Red wept
for their inhumanity,
for the world.
Day 11 of National Poetry Writing Month. Today Toads asks us to choose one of the Russian sci-fi posters provided in the prompt, and write a poem about it. I found this challenging . . . not in my comfort zone.
Flower Child
Bloom wherever you are planted, my dear.
Her mother’s sage advice.
And she did.
She fancied herself an annual,
as her life took many turns.
And always, she bloomed,
but never with perennial roots.
She took odd jobs to secure her keep.
Brought joy and happiness
wherever she landed,
for whatever her growing season.
She took a new name in every town.
Dahlia for Davenport. Pansy in Peoria.
Hitchhiking cross country
she became Zinnia in LA.
Suitors brought her flowers,
obsequiously wooing her.
When they got too close.
she uprooted once again.
She carried one note always
written in careful hand,
folded inside the pocket
of her well-worn floral wrap.
When last I seek the sun
and it rises not on me,
place me ‘neath the fertile ground
with marker at my head.
Etch my epitaph in simple script
that all might finally know.
Here lies Marigold.
Daughter of Chrys Anthemum,
and dweller of the Cosmos.
Day 10: National Poetry Writing Month, where the challenge is to write a poem every day. Written for Toads where today we are to write an Ekphrasis: a poem that is motivated by a work of art.
This work of art by Odilon Redon (1840 – 1916) is titled Mystery. He is a French symbolist painter, printmaker, draughtsman and pastellist . “My drawings inspire, and are not to be defined. They place us, as does music, in the ambiguous realm of the undetermined.”
Metamorphosis-19
We emerged from our cocoons,
beautifully.
Heard laughter again
marveled at smiles
touched outstretched hands
reveled in freedom.
And our spirits soared.
Day 9: National Poetry Month where the challenge is to write a poem every day in April.
Written for the prompt at Toads We are to use one of the scientific illustrations by Maria Sibylla Merian, artist and naturalist, to motivate our poem. Merian traveled to Suriname in South America in 1699. The trip was sponsored by the city of Amsterdam. Remarkably for the time, Maria traveled with her young daughter, but with no male companion. In 1705, she published a book about the insect life of Suriname, Metamorphosis Insectorum Surinamensium. Maria Sibylla Merian was one of the first naturalists to draw insects from direct study. The poem is also written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Frank asks us to write a 7 line poem. No other content or form restrictions. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
And to all my readers, stay safe and stay healthy!
La Jolla Coastal Walk
Winds whirl as clouds build
heavens thunder, upset calm.
Ominous sky shifts like easel askew,
pearlescent clouds turn darkest grey.
Ocean current races toward home,
whitecaps crashing shore.
Nearby, daisies’ ruffled petals
duck and dance to nature’s roar.
Sole large succulent leans in, thrilled.
Meets nature’s tantrum with aplomb.
Its tall spike-stems ignore the ballyhoo,
resolute, they refuse to sway.
I stand on cliff, sprayed by foam,
wait for rain, weather’s soaking encore.
It never comes and so with mettle
I hike further up the coast I adore.
Written for day 8 of National Poetry Month. Responding to a Toads prompt to write an L’Arora, a poetry form developed by Laura Lamarca. It is an 8-lined stanza with the following rhyme scheme: a, b, c, d, e, f, g, f. The poem is usually a minimum of 4 stanzas, but for Toads, 2 are allowed.
Poem motivated by photo from our La Jolla coastal walk about a month ago. Now we are back in chilly Boston!
Covid-19, The Unveiler
Welcome to the After Awards,
bracelet signifiers distributed
and assigned.
Hero. Survivor. Privileged.
Before the Age of Corona
we lived unaware.
Blithely took much for granted.
We thought nothing of what we had
when so many others had nothing.
A home, savings, vacations
books and toys for our kids.
Safe neighborhoods
cupboards chockfull
and mobility.
In donning masks
our eyes began to see.
Privileged were we.
We watched numbers
numbly, then fearfully.
Even the privileged succumbed.
And then came the New Dawn.
BC took on a second meaning,
Before Corona.
And we understood,
after being assigned
our Privileged bracelet.
It was a jewelry of shame.
And yet,
now we actually were,
because we lived.
And we would shed that arrogant air,
and we would share
and we would care
and we would love.
Day 7 of national poetry month where the challenge is to write a poem every day.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where Bjorn asks us to write a poem about the pandemic, for example, how it might look on the other side. At Toads, we are asked to somehow write about bracelets. Image from Pixabay.com
To all my readers, stay safe. Stay healthy.
A Seal’s Life
I savor La Jolla’s coast.
Feeding delight near the cove
time to frolic in rushing waves,
flipper scoot on to sand.
I snort my derision
at gawking beings.
But the best, oh the best . . .
sun drenched rocks.
Lying close, just resting.
Crowds be damned.
Written for day 6, national poetry month. Combines prompts from Toads to write in the voice of another (can be an animal) and the dVerse Monday quadrille word-prompt, “close”. A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Prompt word muse be used in body of the poem.
Photo taken last month at what is called the Children’s Pool in La Jolla, California. Originally designated as a sheltered sandy beach for children to swim, it has been taken over by seals. Many people walk the coast line to watch the seals there, and on nearby rocks.
Here versus There
Outside my window
another space
another sense of time.
Here, I am nesting
cocooning
mundaning.
I walk slowly
share quiet space,
my spouse smiles at me.
There in that place,
life and death rush through
like katabatic winds.
Patients arrive
fever burned eyes,
gasping, fearful, alone.
Nurses, doctors, attend.
Frenetic patient care,
selfless dedication.
Here. There.
Identical clocks,
hands moving in sync.
But sense of time?
There versus here?
High gear to the extreme.
I live across the street from Massachusetts General Hospital, a major care giver for Covid-19 patients in Boston. Photos taken from our windows. God bless all who are working on the front lines in these challenging times. And may all my readers stay safe and healthy.
Written for day 5, national poetry month. Prompt is given from Imaginary Garden with Toads. We are to write about the intersection of time and space.
Jello
Jello is this.
It has color. Except aspic.
And this.
It has sweet.
It is granular life.
Granular metamorphosis.
It has fear. Shivers afraid.
But laughs in wiggles.
It is granular life.
TOAD readers: My error! I did not understand how to link days 1, 2, and 3 prompts so here are the links:
Day 1: https://lillianthehomepoet.com/2020/04/01/april-fool-not-i/
Day 2: https://lillianthehomepoet.com/2020/04/02/chalked-to-you/
Day 3: https://lillianthehomepoet.com/2020/04/03/the-nuts-and-bolts-of-it/
Day 4 of national poetry month. The prompt from Imaginary Garden with Toads is to write a poem in the style of Gertrude Stein’s TENDER BUTTONS. I’ve chosen to write about jello, attempting to create a metaphor for life while at the same time, writing a factual description of this food. Challenging prompt!
Published in 1914, Stein’s TENDER BUTTONS is divided into three parts: Objects, Food, and Rooms. It avoids any use of gender specific pronouns. It is considered a masterpiece of verbal cubism and a failure at the same time. Here is an example directly from Stein’s text:
lillian the home poet 