As the old saying goes, come dance with me. Below is a one sentence poem. Use it as the “poem within a poem”….write words before or after…..free verse, stanzas, whatever moves you. Create the title too. Put the full poem in a Reply or a Pingback. Two minds, better than one today – excited to partner with you!
My dreams flew by
on gossamer wings,
too high to reach today
even on tiptoe.
Broken dreams like shards of glass
crushed by careless once-knowns,
left behind on some godforsaken alley
below rusted tracks of elevated train.
Metal wheels scrape on steel
masses of humanity pass overhead
remnants of hope ignored
in their hurried blur.
Not like sea glass
tumbled smooth by life’s surprises
at rest in damp rippled sand
still warm in setting sun.
Collectors approach, soon to stoop, lift
and gently hold pieces of transformed shape
faded colors aged by time
defined and valued by place.
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Broken.”
What dreams lie within your mind’s eye
lying beside me this autumn’s eve?
Your chest almost imperceptibly rises
and flutter falls, like the owl’s eyes
staring strong and wise
flicker at a moth passing by the moon.
Soft sibilant sounds escape barely open lips
too soon years before, taped tight
received life-sustaining intubated air
machines whirred fear, invaded dreamless sleep.
My lids droop heavy, sleep demanding time
your dreams rest safe, secret till the morrow.
Our morning rite awaits, repeats these many years
Put down the paper dear, and tell me last nights’ tales.
Veil of sleep lifted by sun’s insistent rays
like my bridal veil, pushed back by eager fingers
you sought a promise kiss before God’s altar.
Not deep like later.
Kisses given one thousand times one thousand
over a world of tomorrows. Today we sit content
in time-withered bodies
wizened you beside my wisened self.
Amazed always, that you chose me
my soul complete, enveloped still.
In response to the Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge: what does “envelops” mean to you? Photo taken at dawn in Provincetown, Massachusetts.
Watch closely. The mundane
becomes sublime, if we care to see.
Fields of timothy grass ruffled by wind
black steed glistens galloping through fields
sinewy athlete leaps to float over highest titanium bar
sunflowers smile, heads turn to bask in their namesake’s rays
Swan Lake dancers glide and spin across soft lit stage
gulls with wings spread wide, soar above the sea.
I look up from crowded city streets
to see this artisan’s creation
shift colors in the wind
urban ethereal
beauty.
Janet Echelman’s aerial sculpture, As If It Were Already There, soars above Boston’s Rose Kennedy Greenway. It’s made by hand-splicing rope and knotting twine into an interconnected mesh of more than a half-million nodes. Whenever any one of its elements moves, every other element is affected. Its fibers are 15 times stronger than steel but appear lace like. Do watch the short videos. They’re breathtaking! We were mesmerized. We’ll go back to see it at night, when it is lit with thousands of LED lights knotted into its threads.
The large guest room hides
from baby squalls, ice cube maker
coffee grinder and garage door sounds
a three floor climb to indoor heaven.
Double bed entices with heirloom quilts.
Wall to wall, three-paned window
frames tall verdant backyard forest
invites dreams, a portal to the mind.
Mornings are delectable. Sun filters
myriad shades of green, breeze shivers
through leaves, becomes visible in movement
dew evaporates chills to warmth.
Pure luxury to lie in bed, eyes open wide
as sun rays seep through window panes
left to right, flit from branch to branch
like reading nature’s tale revealed in glass.
Morning presents positive possibilities
light unchecked by darkness or distress.
I become the bird that spreads its wings
and flies toward the day.
Caught in depression’s dark place
she hopped a no-name train
out-bound from her no-where life.
Metal wheels grate steel on steel
vibrations scream to emptiness
emotions scraped raw, again and again.
Unseeing people clamber on and off
cellphones plastered to deaf ears
unknowingly define her nothingness.
Surround sound automatically
projects periodic hypnotic names
leads lucid riders home, town by town.
Destiny speaks the loudest words
cut into her ragged soul
Last stop, Wonderland.
Thousands ride the subway system in Boston every day. They’re anonymous people, right? . That idea is the Muse for this poetic story. And yes, Wonderland is the last stop on the Blue Line in Boston’s subway system.
City life can be invigorating. Sometimes I crave the natural of the sea. The juxtaposition of these two got me to thinking about the two sides of myself and voila, this “person” resulted. I do think that sometimes, there’s a “reclusive idyllic” in all of us…..as in today’s Daily Post Word Challenge.
Life’s Choices
Reclusive by nature
she lived everyone else’s dream
a New York-Wall Street-Starbucks life.
She woke ten years ago, exhausted
ignored the ticking clock
sipped coffee slowly and decided.
One greatly, not gently used car
stuffed suitcase, and road map later
she searched the road for seaside serenity.
Dune shack dweller these many years
she fancied herself a Crustacean
sliding through life sidewise.
Exo skeleton deliberately developed
avoids tourists, sudden noises
eye contact and sand castles.
Off-season, she feasts on quiet
vast stretches of sand, sea and sky
shell discarded, she feeds her soul.
Perception
can be
may be
is
or is not
reality.
Life’s challenge?
To know
the difference.
Last day of challenge to write a poem every day during April, National Poetry Writing Month. FYI: will be taking a hiatus from the blog until Monday, May 4. Taking a trip to visit family and slip into my mom and grandmom roles. Please do join me again on Monday!! Happy weekend to all and congratulations to all my fellow poets who completed the NaPoWriMo challenge!
Blur
She lives on a merry-go-round
senses dulled by blurred vision
maniacal calliope music
takes her nowhere every day
mired in circle sameness.
She chose the blue horse
its golden mane rich in gilt
matched her lust then shocked
her as its cold cylindrical pole
ignored her calls to stop.
He rides two steeds behind her
eyes wild, hair disheveled
desperately out of synch
up down to her down up
gains no ground moving still.
Hot desire fuels
his mad useless pursuit
anchored by metal plates
bolted to the wildly
spinning floor.
Live life
savor love
delectably delicious!
lillian the home poet 