My Pen and I

My writing spills out from a deep cistern of life’s experience. Sometimes a bit dank and dark as the pen dips deeper. But never from the despair of a void.

I am a doer. A make-your-own-sunshine-on-a-grey-soupy-day kind of gal. Cheerleader-tap-dance vigor still runs through my veins. Lean machine, gone somewhat dumpy with the addition of an old age belly, I choose to look up and out, not down. My daughter once said to me, “Mom, every movie can’t be the Sound of Music!” But I do choose the channel, right? Write.

sunflowers smile at me
sheets flap and furl on clothes line
summer of my mind

 

 

It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Toni, our haibun queen, asks us to write about why we write the way we do. Who are we and how does that come out in our writing? My readers will have to decide if they think I’ve nailed this assignment. 🙂

These are two of my all-time favorite photos from Provincetown at the tip of Cape Cod, Massachusetts. We’re in the second week of our annual two weeks here. Even on grey and foggy days, there is a soft beauty to this place! Hmmmm sounds like my haibun! Haibun: a paragraph or two of tightly written prose (cannot be fiction) followed by a haiku. A haiku true to Japanese form, always includes a seasonal word. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Tanka Tatting

nature’s lace makers
shadows made by rustling leaves
spider’s silken web
once empty spaces glisten ~
like memories easing pain

spider-web-with-water-beads-921039_1920

Gayle is hosting Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets and we’re invited to post a poem of our choice. I’ve been lace-knitting a shawl lately and have become obsessed with the way making lace is all about creating empty spaces and joining them together. Making emptiness beautiful. Hence this tanka today!  A Tanka is a 7 line poem with the following syllabic form: 5, 7, 5, 7, 7. There is supposed to be a shift from the natural in their first 4 lines…to something personal / human in the last line.

See Me Beautiful

I stand
before the mirror of time,
body so different
from my youthful days.

Behold the origamic shapeshifter,
like that ancient Japanese artistic form.
I have been myriads of reiterations
sans pencil, paint and cutting board.

I see an intricacy of lines
deftly creased again and again
touched by life and love.
I am beauty within my folds.

Written for dVerse where today Kim asks us to write a poem to help someone facing a problem such as “finding your first wrinkle” or the “birthday blues.”  

Life’s Palette

Ring me a path round the sun,
rainbow filaments in cloud tulle veil
daffodil slippers, bluebelle gloves
and dew drop rouge.

Kaleidoscope living on a color wheel.
Storm-grey ombrés to brightest white
pale pink to fuscia bold,
my patina glows.




Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where it’s Quadrille Monday (poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title). De is hosting and prompts us with the word “storm.”  Photos of yesterday’s amazing sky in Andover, MA. Artist’s palette is outside a studio in St George, Bermuda. 

Final Scene

Sprawled on faded flaccid couch,
she snores guttural gumpfs and wheezes.

A warped pendulum creaks . . . shudders . . . stops . . .
clock face sags in disrepair.

Rodent feet in plaster-dust slippers
scurry inside flaking walls.

Spotlight dims. Floorboards creak.
Vamp sounds of decay.

Enter Death as curtain falls.

fear-653629_1920

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. It’s Quadrille Monday (a poem of 44 words – not including the title – no more; no less). Today Victoria is hosting and asks to use the word “sound.” Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time! PS:  after a wonderful month + trip that included a TransAtlantic cruise and cruises through the Norwegian Fjords, Iceland and Ireland, it’s great to be home! Enjoying my regular early morning writing and reading time again.

What Is Shall Be Was

Shadows tread in life’s past.
Embers gleam red passion,
pale to ashen grey.
Ship wakes sink into oblivion.
Sand dollars, once much more.

Daguerrotypes.
Faces unknown
posed in serious countenance,
fade frozen in corroded frames.

Vestigial pock marks upon the earth.
Life marches forward
directionally unaware,
into the past.


Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. April is national poetry month so drop by to imbibe some words with us – or better yet, step up to the bar, no prompt on OLN. It’s an opportunity to share as you wish! Bar opens at 3:00 PM Boston time. Photo in public domain

One narrow drawer . . .

for putting in.
Rarely
taking out.

Three corroded pennies.

One pale yellow
Tupperware bottle cap.

One hair comb.
Strands
stuck in teeth.

One black and white
cracking
turned grays
dime store photostrip.

Sachet
absent scent.

Seven holy cards.

Lipstick bottom
almost empty
vibrant
red.

Tumbled
left behinds.

Bits
of
her.

Written for day 3 of my poetry mentor’s March 21 Day Challenge online poetry class. We are to write a poem of short lines with many stanzas.

Ode to an Anniversary

We’ve travelled together
through all these years
hand in hand, even apart,
exploring each twist and turn.

So much of our story behind us now,
turned down corners on favorite pages.
Still, we walk on, more slowly perhaps,
wizened bodies and fuller hearts.

Listen my love
as we choose our next path,
to these words I quietly say.
Thank you time, thank you you,
for this and every day.


Today Mish hosts dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She interviews Ally R Saunders, a talented artist who spent most of her life in Nanaimo, includes some of her paintings and leads us to her website. I chose her painting Many Paths as the muse for today’s post. (My 47th anniversary is February 7 and Kim at dVerse just celebrated her anniversary)  dVerse opens with this prompt at 3 PM Boston time.