Out of reach. Shiny brunette hair ~ with squinted eyes, grey is silver. Unstoppable energy ~ spurts are good, naps are nice. Confidence on stiletto heels ~ comfort is better. Faded memories ~ photo albums roll back time.
Loved ones miles away, some forever gone. Living with empty spaces. Closets of clothes, clocks ticking, rocking chair, couch, kitchen table. All are there but emptiness fills us. The question becomes what is within our reach and how do we gird ourselves to move on, step by step, as we are left behind.
On craggy cliff I stand, do not come round me. Life spins round and round until I sit in darkness. So many footlights burned out. I was never there, the day everything changed. My kaleidoscope memories, image blurs reality. I’m skywriting now, while Mother sings about the man in the moon. Cold creeps up.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Laura presents a truly challenging prompt.
We are to look back at all our poems posted in the months of January through November 2023, and write a “found poem”. Where do we find it? From the first lines of the first verses, of all the poems from 2023! BUT, we must use one poem’s first line from each month – January, February, March, etc, through November – hence an 11 line poem! The lines can be used in any order. They don’t have to be January, February, March, April, etc. Mine ended up October, April, August, June, February, January, September, May, March, November, November. I was allowed to use two from one month because I didn’t post any poems in July as we were travelling. The title must be the first line of the first verse from a poem in December 2023, or from any other month in 2023. Since I only posted twice in December, I again used a line from a November poem. So this is what I ended up with! Image created in Bing Create.
PS: it was fun to go back and see all the poems I wrote in 2023! I usually write such positive poems…this one surprised me.
She crossed a bridge with the utmost faith knowing her husband, gone so long, and her Lord would be on the other side. We who wait in this waystation bid her farewell and rest and we move on as we must.
Sometimes a bridge is like a catapult, a sudden bolt from here to there. Others seem miles long as we cross treacherous waters, painful steps, unsure of where they lead, straining to make the span longer still.
I stand outside tonight, staring at the stars above our universe. I wonder and I hope. Peace and unconditional love must surely have met you as you knew it would, when you crossed over to the other side.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today, Merril talks about bridges and asks us to either write a poem in a particular form, or to somehow write about bridges. This poem is dedicated to my sister-in-law Starr. We lost her on April 10th. She and I were planning on my visiting in July….it was not to be. I shall miss her. I do miss her.
Sun melted snow trickles down, enlivens creek, soon to expand to winding river’s width. Once a harbinger of spring, displaced cherry blossoms float downward in breeze. I grieve the season’s loss and the loss of you, as pink petaled rain gently falls. Blossoms cling to gurgling stream, like sweet rosé lingering upon nature’s savoring lips. Kingfishers nest in branches looking down upon headstones, all ornate save one. Your simply etched name and the grandiose sculptures, all indiscriminately covered. What more wealth do you or I or any of these dead souls need than nature’s unconditional kindness? This reminder of her accepting love. This exquisitely serene pink rain.
Written for last Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Laura is hosting and reminds us that today is UN Chinese Language Day.
She asked us to choose one of four poems she provided, and with as many re-reads as we needed, to imagine what the poet painted and what impressions were conveyed…and then reinterpret the poem in our own style. We must use the title of the poem we choose and of course, credit the author. We may only use a few words from the poem itself. The poem I chose to reinterpret is below:
Winding River ~ Du Fu Each piece of flying blossom leaves spring the less, I grieve as myriad points float in the wind. I watch the last ones move before my eyes, And cannot have enough wine pass my lips. Kingfishers nest by the little hall on the river, Unicorns lie at the high tomb’s enclosure. Having studied the world, one must seek joy, For what use is the trap of passing honour?
Top of the hill. Treeless. Wildflowers blanket the meadow canopied by cloudless sky bluebird blue. She stands, shear linen skirt billowing arms outstretched, face tipped toward afternoon sun.
Long ago declared their place, they still meet here every year. This day. This anniversary of his death. She feels again his touch, so real within the mountain air. Yellow buttercups glad to see her, wave spritely in spring’s breeze.
Delicate petals succumb to wind, part from stem and float toward her. Adhere to tear streaked cheeks just as his kisses did that final day. Sandals tossed aside, dew moistened grass licks her toes and she smiles.
He is with her here. Their love was real, still is, and shall be forevermore.
Bjorn from Sweden is hosting OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Tonight the pub is live – poets will gather via the miracle of technology, visit with one another and read their poetry aloud. It’s marvelous to connect names with faces and voices. Everyone reads in English and we usually have folks attend from Sweden, India, the UK, the US, Australia, and other places around the globe. Come join us! Image from Pixabay.com
The Ancient One’s book
answered the question
deep within her mind.
You may choose the stars,
shine from the cosmos.
Lighten the canopy of darkness
as do many other souls.
Reflect bright wisdom,
comfort and awe,
to those who remain behind
waiting to grasp the Truth.
Or choose the dawn.
Join that orb of hope,
those rays of warmth.
Become one of many filaments
that spark awareness,
knowledge for those who wait.
The realization,
each day lived is a gift
The choice is yours.
Even in death
there is more than one path
to the everlasting Wonder.
Today I host Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. This means folks can post one poem of their choosing, with no required prompt, form, or topic. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time – come join us!
Star photo from Pixabay.com
Dawn photo taken in Provincetown this past summer.
Embrace the darkness, my dear,
keep hold my hand.
Listen to the quiet.
Many have come before you,
many shall follow.
Breathe slowly, slower still,
until your body dissipates.
Darkness will become light
as we soar into the cosmos
feeling peace among the stars.
Written for dVerse, for both Monday’s quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title) which required the word “keep” and today’s Poetics which asks us to write in someway about black/darkness. Photo from pixabay.com
beneath the window
of an unsuspecting lot.
Ashes mixed in dirt
under nondescript bush.
Mother’s gone,
long since moved away.
Current tenant leans out,
shakes rug as dust balls fly.
Leg lifted, dog pees,
unaware its daddy’s spot.
Occasionally, in summer’s sun,
butterflies grace his unmarked grave.
Lost too soon . . .
gathered in pews
eyes tear-glistened,
memories spill from pulpit.
Amazing Grace reverberates
voices swell in unison.
Hear us missing you,
lost too soon.
Written for Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Amaya prompts us to “Cry Me a River” — write about a song that brings us to tears or makes us melancholy. Photo from Pixabay.com
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,and you shall see that in truth, you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Khalil Gibran
She’d been left behind by her son and husband many years before. Left to grow old without them. Legally blind. Too much effort to live. Too many pills to remember each morning. Each night.
Now, this cold autumn afternoon, lying in a hospital bed, she simply said Lillian, I’m tired. And I knew. I bent down, leaned close to her ear and whispered. I told her it was all right. Find the light, mom. They’re waiting for you. And she suddenly sat up and smiled. Eyes bright. A broad big smile. And then she flopped back and lay still. The kind male nurse who’d been at her side looked across the bedside at me. He simply nodded. And I nodded back.
golden amber leaves
blow off trees, hit closed windows
nature’s death displayed
Haibun written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Merril is our guest pub tender and asks us to write about a transition. A haibun is two or three short succinct paragraphs of prose (must be true) followed by a haiku that, in the traditional sense, contains a kigo (reference to a season).
You may choose the stars,
lillian the home poet 