Innocent child stands
kite in hand.
Optimism lives.
A lune written for NaPoWriMo Day 1. April is National Poetry Writing Month. A lune is a three line poem with either a 5-3-5 syllabic count or a 5-3-5 word count. Photo is this past Good Friday, a national holiday in Bermuda, celebrated with kite flying. It was a joy to see!
Much has been written about the dawn of a new day. For me, it has always been the moments before that, which stir my soul. When dark shadow clouds and navy blue-black sky meld into india-ink black sea. It is all a scrim, a gauzed blanket that lies above and beyond with no horizon line.
The shoreline blurs, smudges, like a charcoal master piece. There are no browns, only shades of ebony and beginning blue. It is a delicious hush. Before the sun begins its slow ascent from underneath somewhere, slowly tinting edges into floating worlds of pink and violet, revealing solid lines and building shapes. Before that color of pales, there is only the unseen, blurring barely to the discernable. In that moment of suspended darkness, there is the presence of hope.
Clouds before the dawn
shadows undulate with hope
darkness woos my dreams
Written for Dverse Poets’ Pub Haibun Monday — this week Grace asked us to springboard from one of three given quotations. I used the following: “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” – Mary Oliver A Haibun is prose, followed by haiku and usually underscores nature and some higher truth.
The tall waving grasses are always green
in this blessed and hallowed place.
Tombstones crumble, long passed souls embrace
‘neath palmetto fronds, while angels pray unseen.
And one lone cherub, an alabaster figurine
guards still the lad beneath her, quiet in grace.
The tall waving grasses are always green
in this blessed and hallowed place.
The sea nearby crashes waves of aquamarine,
spews salted grits of sand through air to stone efface.
Sacred words, names and years, all but erased
yet bones and dust beneath, feed this earth serene
the tall waving grasses are always green.
Gayle, in dVerse, asked us to create a Rondel: 3 verses (2 quatrains and a quintet). It must have a refrain: Lines 1 & 2 are repeated in lines 7 & 8; and line 1 must also be line 13. The rhyme scheme must be ABBA ABthen-line-1-and-line-2 ABBAthen-line-1. The challenge is to have the form “disappear” within the meaning of the poem. Photos: from our walk yesterday which included meandering through St. Peter’s cemetery, established in 1854, located atop a hill in St. George’s Bermuda.
Life is a path between the stars.
Tantrums at two were not my youth,
long before those days
cicadas nested in cedar trees.
Old age will not be defined
by creaking limbs and bleached bones.
I will float with abandon,
as myriad shades of liquid blue.
I shall become the ocean wide
waves crashing upon the rocks
seeping in and out,
among the sands of time.
The lunar tug shall continue me
and my waters shall lap the earth.
Abhra hosts dVerse Poets’ Pub, Tuesday Poetics and asks us to answer the question, what would you like to be reborn as or return as?
Photos: from Bermuda, myriad shades of blue!
Interesting fact: cicadas were dependant on Bermuda Cedar trees for their survival, and when the cedar forests died in the 1940s, the cicadas began to quickly disappear. They are now extinct.
Where is this place your camera stills?
I want to step inside, kaleidoscope left behind,
a monochrome to soothe the soul.
Bedspread created long ago,
thread-circle trails of small stitches
smoothed by generations’ rest.
Wooden cupboard beside the bed
holds graceful, long necked pitcher
inside smooth china bowl,
poised to share cooling waters
rinse woes from worried hands.
Single curtain draped in gauzy folds
lacks taut crease, pressed edge or hem.
Pulled gently to one side, reveals stone wall
somehow softened through old glass panes.
Flowers blossom just beyond,
lines blurred between petal, stem and earth.
No black, no white, no bright cacophony.
The serenity I will surely feel,
if I could step within.
Photo Credit: Kaz Gosper. Thank you Kaz for allowing me to write a piece about this stunning photo from your trip to the Port Arthur historic site in Tasmania. I truly enjoy following daysandmonths — Kaz’ site where she shares her absolutely stunning photography. Please drop by and enjoy her work! Also sharing this piece with dVerse Poets Pub, open link night #164 where Gayle tended bar last evening!
On the edge of my seat
waiting for the world to twirl
days to churn, months to plod,
lean in and listen to me.
Bring me to that place,
the sea of tranquility
oasis in the desert of hate
respite from words spewed
like foaming waves upon the shore.
Where people listen
see beyond semantic walls
smile, consider, reflect
as conscience takes a pause.
Take me there, now.
Please
Photo taken in Bermuda in 2015.
Come meander with me,
a moon walk among scattered dreams
to explore the tantalizing.
Choose the light and join hands.
This shadow of mine shall disappear
as we climb out from the depths.
Secrets one and two shall be no more,
and we shall discover all we need
in that open space created by shared souls.
Our desires shall blend, one upon the other
like rose petals cling to their bursting bud
in the midst of a slow delightful rain song.
And we shall be two as one,
ready for Monday’s promise
this feeling, this exhilaration,
this passion called Love.
Motivated by Quickly’s Winter Doldrums: Create a list of titles – then be creative with them. Sunday’s Invitation includes titles from some of my very first poems (started writing poetry in February 2015) and are some of my very early posts (started site in March 2015). Meander, Moonwalk, Scattered Dreams, Tantalizing, Choose the Light, Shadow of Mine, From the Depths, Secrets One and Two, All We Need, Rain Song, Monday’s Promise.
In the midst of the forest, a winter mystery.
Quietly I tread, trail growing in drifts
this midnight walk to escape my emptiness.
One soft breeze, but for a moment,
takes my eyes to the scene.
Wide-winged depression on new fallen snow
sole sign of disturbance this quiet night.
Footprints absent, no tracks, not a soul,
trees stand tall, hushed in veil of white.
An aura of glimmer appears in that shape
lifts slowly, approaches, then hovers
with me in its midst,
that moment of calm, a moment of peace.
Crystals of light narrow to rise
higher and higher, and then they are gone.
Snow mounded where once they lie
and I left in wonder, my eyes to the sky.
snow angel photo by Debbie Shiel
Aperture in the universe
newborn, idea, or brush stroke
unfolding, release.
Something unknown
outside the well worn crease,
explodes through bland ticks of time
into significance.
A bit of pyrotechnical grandeur
becomes millions of colored lights,
if only we dare to dream.
In the darkest of nights
ceiling light turned on
pin pricked scrim draped overhead,
we lie down upon our bed
and revel as the stars appear,
even in our quiet room.
dVerse Poetics Tuesday: First time joining this group. The prompt today is to write about stars….during these winter nights before the winter solstice, their light is symbolic to so many.
lillian the home poet 