How ’bout them apples!

lillian12 Comments

Past their prime,
over ripe apples hang in the balance.
Juice oozes, fruit drops to the ground
breaks open and fleshy mush spills.
Bright sunshine illuminates spoilage
as ants and maggots hover.
I found a box, cleaned it out, and filled it anew.

Past their prime
professors snore in ivory towers,
deliver lectures heard years before.
A ninety-year old senator stumbles,
scheduled to serve until 2029.
Justices can wear gowns until they die
unlike ballerinas who ditch their tutus
when the musculature gives out.
I found a box, cleaned it out, and filled it anew.

So here’s some words to consider then.
Timely picking does make good pies.
No matter the paper put round the fish,
they do eventually put up a stench.
The crowd generally cheers louder
when you leave the court  at the top of your game.
I found a box, cleaned it out, and filled it anew.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

Today we’re introduced to Bop Poetry created by Aafa Michael Weaver and asked to write a poem that follows the form below:
Create a 23 line poem, in 3 stanzas. The stanzas must be ordered in this fashion:
1. a 6 line stanza that poses a problem
2. an 8 line stanza that expands the problem
3. a 6 line stanza that solves the problem
AND, here is the tricky part,
each of the stanzas must have one additional line that is the refrain (repeated) and it must be either
“I found a box and put a room in it” OR we can add our own ending to “I found a box . . .”

FYI: Senator Chuck Grassley from Iowa is 90 years old and his term in the Senate does not expire until 2029. And, lest you think I am complaining about the age of President Biden: here in the U.S. we are faced with a choice between two men for President. One is 77 and the other is 81. So yes, I do wish there was new blood on both sides. However, these are the two men and one will become our next president. The difference between the two men could not be more stark. I fear for this country, for women, for my grandchildren, for the environment, for immigrants, for universities and schools if Donald Trump becomes president again.

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

Pinocchio Lives: an exercise in comparison. Fact or fiction.

lillian2 Comments

Why doesn’t he show his birth certificate?
The boy cried wolf over and over again.

Lance Armstrong, Tour aficionado, stripped of medals.
Trump University. Defunct. $25 million settlement.

President Clinton: I did not have sexual relations with that woman.
Karen and Stormy who? E. Jean Carroll  –  she’s not my type.

Heard on a playground on any given day: Liar, liar, pants on fire.
As millions died of Covid he said, It’s totally under control.

Richard Nixon’s famous words: I am not a crook.
The orange guy racks up ninety-one felony counts.

The Big Lie. We won. We won in a landslide.
And Dorothy was sure
she’d meet the all-powerful Oz.

Today, NaPoWriMo ends for 2024
but before we close that door ~
note the words of Samuel Arnold,
written in 1797:

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horse and all the King’s men,
couldn’t put Humpty together again.

Let it be so.


Final prompt for NaPoWriMo 2024. Apologies to my readers who do not like politically bent posts.

The prompt for today is to “write a poem in which the speaker is identified with, or compared to, a character from myth or legend.”

Each stanza compares Mr. Trump to a person, character, or well-known story or rhyme. For example, the first stanza compares his stoking of the birther conspiracy regarding President Obama to Aesop’s Fable, The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

Image created in Bing Create AI.

Incandescent

lillian11 Comments

Quick-minded youth leap to decisions,
days assumed to blaze in glory.
Bright eyes focus on the glossy
blind to consequential reality.

Those with blue veined maps on their hands
contemplate the world as a Pensieve.
Luminescent vapors
teem with incandescent memories,
decisions weighed accordingly.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe where today Mish asks us to create a quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words sans title) that includes the word blaze.

Also written for NaPoWriMo Day 29 where the prompt is explained in this way: “If you’ve been paying attention to pop-music news over the past couple of weeks, you may know that Taylor Swift has released a new double album titled “The Tortured Poets Department.” In recognition of this occasion, Merriam-Webster put together a list of ten words from Taylor Swift songs. We hope you don’t find this too torturous yourself, but we’d like to challenge you to select one these words, and write a poem that uses the word as its title.” One of the words in the list is incandescent.

Nature’s Balm

lillian1 Comment

Rainy season’s nourishment for the earth cleanses my soul.
Wet moisture brings life to spring flowers, relieves summer heat.
Cherry blossoms succumb to spring breeze. Rain gently on me.

 Day 28, NaPoWriMo. We’re asked to to try our hand “at writing a sijo. This is a traditional Korean verse form. A sijo has three lines of 14-16 syllables. The first line introduces the poem’s theme, the second discusses it, and the third line, which is divided into two sentences or clauses, ends the poem – usually with some kind of twist or surprise.”

Photo taken some years ago on a cruise to Japan. Cherry blossom season was beautiful….

An Impossible Disheartening Task

lillian4 Comments

I want to write an American sonnet today
without writing the orange guy’s name.
The pathological liar who mocked a disabled reporter,
bragged he could grab a woman’s pussy at will,
enabled and brags about the end of Roe vs Wade.
The one who was impeached and is an accused felon.
The guy who wants to axe the Affordable Care Act,
ending health care coverage for 45 million people;
hawks bibles and tee shirts and golden sneakers.
The self-serving bastard who denigrates Gold Star families,
and the war record of John McCain. Silences a porn star
and makes deals with the tabloid press.
The narcissist who incited an insurrection
and turned the once proud GOP into a cult.

I want to write an American sonnet today
but I can’t – because it’s too depressing.
I want this orange man to rot, collapse,
be tossed from the public’s eye.
I want sanity and real truth and empathy.
This is my addendum to the prompt,
I want hope to prevail.


Written for NaPoWriMo, day 27 where the prompt is
“to write an “American sonnet.…an American sonnet is shortish (generally 14 lines, but not necessarily!), discursive, and tends to end with a bang, but there’s no need to have a rhyme scheme or even a specific meter. “ Image is from Pixabay.com at least six years ago.

The Rising Sun

lillian5 Comments

Rising sun
creates shimmering shine
on the ocean’s surface.
A lone gull floats
illuminated in sun’s path,
as waves softly lap the shore.

I sit alone during dawn’s arrival,
in awe of what is unfolding.  
Above me, the sky’s bluing
gains brightness.
I smile and sigh in contentment,
thankful for another day.

Written for NaPoWriMo day 26. The the prompt is to “write a poem that involves alliteration, consonance, and assonance. Alliteration is the repetition of a particular consonant sound at the beginning of multiple words. Consonance is the repetition of consonant sounds elsewhere in multiple words, and assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds.”

Photo from some years back at our beloved Provincetown, on the very tip of Cape Cod. View as seen from our deck on the unit we rent every year for two glorious weeks in September.

Life is what it is . . .

lillian6 Comments

So many questions I could ask myself.
Why this? Why that?
Why then? Why now?
Why not? Why me?

But those sound too much
like regrets.
I choose to live my life
without regrets.

Regrets indicate a desire
for change in the past.
One change a ripple makes
and then,

life would be different
somewhere along the path.
Life would be different now.
I like my now.

Written for day 25 of NaPoWriMo where the prompt is to “write a poem based on the “Proust Questionnaire,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and adapted by modern interviewers. You could choose to answer the whole questionnaire, and then write a poem based on your answers, answer just a few, or just write a poem that’s based on the questions.”

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

Time: the Conundrum

lillian1 Comment

The future is beginning now.
When I arrive,
I am what was missing before.

Tomorrow always becomes
a yesterday. My past
was once unknown to me.

Time is after all, a glutton.
Best to concentrate on the moment,
every time it comes.

Written for NaPoWriMo day 24.

The prompt is to “write a poem that begins with a line from another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it.” “The future is beginning now” is from Mark Strand’s poem, The Babies, published in his Collected Poems published by Alfred A. Knopf in 2015. He is a former Poet Laureate of the United States and a Pulitzer Prize winner. Image is from Pixabay.com

Hear Ye, Hear Ye, Puss in Boots Fans!

lillian26 Comments

That nine lives saying?
A reincarnation tale.

Rowan, Puss’ cousin, was the original one.
He died on a cold winter’s night
giving rise to number two, Tabby Tat.
Nearsighted, she met her demise
squinting down a busy street.
Number three was Kit the Kat,
catapulted to fame by a candy bar.
Sugar highs and alley fights
finally did him in.
Mouser came next, not very smart,
he followed a mouse into a trap
and was last heard to say, oh crap!
The next reincarnation came in a far away land.
Penelope the Puma,
sadly and cruelly killed by a hunter’s hand.
Her ghost became the charming Ms. Cheetah,
seduced to her death by a devilish Tom.
Lorna the Lynx was up next.
She lolled through life until her untimely death.
And now if you’ve been counting with me
we’ve come to the ninth penultimate life.
That final reiteration,
none other than Felicity Feline,
intensely happy, true to her name.
I am delighted to report, she found a happy home
with the prolific painter, Mr. Louis Wain.
Her portrait, painted in joyous colors,
stands out in his collection.
And so, while all those other eight are forgotten
Felicity lives on in perpetuity,
frozen in time, displayed on an easel,
for generations to visit and see.


Screenshot

Written for NaPoWriMo day 23, off prompt.

Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics on prompt where Melissa is introducing us to the English artist Louis Wain. He is “best known for his drawings of anthropomorphised cats. Born in Londin in 1860…he attended the West London School of Art, where he would go on to teach for a time….In 1884…The Illustrated London News was first to publish Wain’s art. It wasn’t until 1886 that he received more widespread recognition….he was elected president of the National Cat Club….he was a prolific artist. During his lifetime, he drew thousands of cats (it is estimated that the number exceeds 150,000.” Melissa asks us to choose one of his paintings/drawings she includes in her prompt, and to “write a poem inspired by the artwork. Simple enough, right? There’s just one catch – you may not use the word cat anywhere in your poem, including the title.”

I selected Wain’s painting, Untitled.

I had some fun with this….using many different words that refer to cats: puss, tabby, kit, mouser, puma, cheetah, tom, lynx, and feline. I also had some fun with wordplay, without using the word “cat” as in the Kit Kat candy bar, and catapulted.

Hey Diddle Diddle – the Real Story

lillian15 Comments

Yes, the dish ran away with the spoon,
but Mother Goose got it wrong.
She laid an egg with this one.
It was not a happily-ever-after tale.

Turns out the dish was a cad.
A saucer with sterling designs,
and always a cups man.

Young utensil that she was,
she never guessed his real intention
to tarnish her reputation.

He led her past the infamous cow
the one who jumped over the moon.
Romancing her under cover of night,
surely, he thought, she’d swoon.

But alas, there were too many stars that night,
revealing what he truly was really made of.
Just cheap melamine, not Royal Doulton or Spode.

Avoiding every advance he dished out,
she ran back to the cat and the fiddle.
She maintained her sterling reputation,
after all,
she was always a respectable ladle!


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe where today is Open Link Night and poets may post any one poem of their choosing.

This little diddle is an edited version of NaPoWriMo’s day 22 prompt: “to write a poem in which two things have a fight. Two very unlikely things, if you can manage it. Like, maybe a comb and a spatula. Or a daffodil and a bag of potato chips. Or perhaps your two things could be linked somehow – like a rock and a hard place – and be utterly sick of being so joined. The possibilities are endless!”

For those of you not familiar with this Mother Goose nursery rhyme, it goes like this:
Hey, diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon;
The little dog laughed
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.

Image is from Bing Create.