dreams

Woods’ Desire

lillian1 Comment

NaPoWriMo  April 24, without prompt. Spending February in Bermuda, we walked many miles on the Old Railway Trail.  So many sections were almost mystical – nature can be that way. 

 

Wood’s Desire

The forest seldom traveled
seeks company and joy
trees stand sentinel proud
light rarely allowed upon her ground.

Winds decide to grant her wish
push aside branches high and low
create slivered space amongst the leaves
open pathways for morning sun.

Leaf filtered, bright and spritely shapes
suddenly dance upon her darkened floor
awakened shadows without selves
companions until the calm.

Sunrise Return to Sweden

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Four years ago, we took a Baltic Cruise, including a day in Stockholm. My husbands’ family is very Swedish. His grandfather, Hjalmer Siegfried immigrated in 1906, at age 22. Painter by trade, he decorated the basement walls to look like the USS Sweden, the ship that brought him to Ellis Island — complete with ship railings, sky, and sea gulls. Some visitors actually got seasick after a Yule drink of homemade glog. Well, honestly, I don’t know if it was the simulated ship or the grain alcohol in grampa’s glog!  Criuise highlight?  The VERY early morning glide through the absolutely quiet and rustic archipelago, leading into Stockholm. Island after island….stunning!  NaPoWriMo day 8 entry, without prompt.

     Dawn in the Archipelago, outside Stockholm….just entering Sweden.  IMG_6095      

Sunrise Return to Sweden                                                             

I stand mesmerized.
Dawn awakens serenity’s beauty
rippled patterns glisten on black sea
gulls hover over softly churning wake.

Moving patterns of white wings
against dark greens and grey rock edges
the occasional light house turns its eye
wood frame homes nestle in their woods.

The ship slowly glides in dark waters
through Sweden’s archipelago
guardian isles to myriad lines of ancestry
protector from the city’s growing girth.

A lone call from among the gulls
pierces still air, a stark welcome
primitive in nature, surely heard before
by our grandfather and his and his and his.

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Monday’s Promise

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April is National Poetry Writing Month.  NaPoWriMo 2015 is a challenge to write a poem every day in April.  Today’s prompt:  write an aubade – a morning poem….perhaps about love, perhaps about Monday.  

Monday’s Promise

Last night’s shooting star
carried my wish
streaking across the sky
someone listening
outside our universe
promised me
tranquility and love
in yesterday’s tomorrow.

Shadow of Mine

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Shadow of Mine

We walk, you in front of me
one created flesh and bone
the other born of sun
elongated faceless gray.

Seamlessly
we stroll the beach
arms out wide now close in
darkness plays with light.

I stop you stop
your head turns as mine
we follow a gull’s flight
as it rises from the sea.

If I turn and reverse my course
will you dance behind me
like the kite that zigs and zags
when its master loosens his hold?

Parrot Fish

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Spending February in St. George, Bermuda was, as they say, food for the soul. The waters are truly iridescent. We were fortunate to see a bright parrot fish on one of our many hikes. When I got my camera out, it was gone. Gone — but remembered as I wrote the poem below.  Post Script:  Once spring has truly arrived in Boston, I’ll change my Photo page to the amazing Bermuda coastline.

 

Parrot Fish

The water so clear he can see
the parrot fish glide in and
out among the rocks
and Sargasso sea grass.

Eyes shaded, he tastes the salt air
and looks out at the layers of blue
from navy to azure to sky melting
into sea. Slowly, he remembers.

Her eyes. Pools of iridescent aquamarine
with feathered lashes opening and closing, half shut.
The blue so deep he wanted to dive into the pool,
possess it, feel the coolness on his skin.

Gazing downward again, the bright crimson
parrot fish is gone. Escaped. Riding the waves
as foamed breakers leave ridges in the sand’s
edge. And once again, he is left behind.

Waiting

lillian3 Comments

This winter, our month stay in Bermuda was many things. Lush comes to mind and is certainly evident in many of the photos I took (flowers, and the luscious fruit of the loquate tree).  Sitting on the porch in the warm morning sun, letting my mind wander – the idea of waiting came to mind.

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Waiting

she sits on the garden porch
deep purple morning glories
framed by loquat trees and palmettos
hands on her filigreed watch still
its mechanism stopped and exhausted
like her it was twisted and turned daily
eyes closed straining to see
his face in her lid covered darkness
head tipped backward upward
toward wispy clouds
imagining finger like threads
of white embraced by blue
it seemed in her mind
the perfectly timeless time
to feel his face
his hands
his breath
as the wind touched her body
and stroked her hair