Garden me . . .
cacophony of brilliant colors.
Red roses, blue lobelia
and raspberry-tinted cone flowers.
Beguile me with sweet scents.
and honeysuckle too.
Nearby apple trees
offer their sturdy limbs.
I climb . . .
dislodging blossoms on the way,
sit atop and dream.
Quadrille posted to dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Victoria is hosting today and the word to include in our exactly 44-word poem (sans title) is “garden” . Photos from Pixabay.com except the lilac, which is outside our building. Poets from around the world gather at dVerse. Come join us!
Lone gull at dawn
sits calmly in repose.
Papaya stained sky,
mirrored hue on ocean tide.
Lone gull at dawn
anticipates promise of new day.
Spreads wings to full span,
ready for flight.
Pauses only moments
in rippled sand by lapping waves.
I breathe in the silence,
a beautiful hushed scene.
Lone gull runs gracefully
barely touching span of sea
then lifts, gloriously,
soars toward the unknown.
Poem written in response to Laura Bloomsbury’s prompt, Flights of Fancy, which appeared on July 28 at dVerse. Posting it today as I host dVerse’s Open Link Night. We are a virtual pub where writers from around the world share their poetry. Come join us!
Photo taken September 2019 at Provincetown, Cape Cod.
Wilting daisies crown her head. Twined in double-chain necklace wilted more, they weep happiness like old mood-rings on blue-veined hands.
Bare knees peek out beneath tie-dyed ruffled skirt. Tire-tread sandals grace her feet, big toes polished in fireworks.
She seeks nothing now, mind enveloped in hazy blur. Nothing but a return to youth before the savagery of time.
Love IS. Love the world. Love everyone as your kin. Crooked sloppy words painted on torn off shingle.
She holds it high for no one to see, proud of its weathered look. Blotched spots drip from letters like tears shed in her dementia world.
At seventy-one, determined to return, she roams these Woodstock fields empty now, save her memories. In her mind, she is there, back in her revolutionary days.
Merril is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today she asks us to consider the idea of revolution. We can write about it in any way: revolution of the planets, a spinning top, a political revolution, new ideas and inventions, medical discoveries. You get the idea.
Love is primal, fiercely protective. She understands that. Why doesn’t he?
Listening with a keen ear, she stands on rocky ledge, exhausted but alert. Will he find them? Her little ones are quiet now. Appetites sated, they sleep so sweetly. Their limbs tangled together, lying so close to each other. A red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills, illuminating the only path he can take to reach them now. Bramble burs prickle her scalp, tangled in her hair. Days on the run, she is more than disheveled. His bullet only grazed her, but the wound is beginning to fester. He will still want her. Will he continue the hunt? He covets her little ones. Their young fox pelts will bring a good sum. She hopes this new den will escape his site and he will turn to other prey.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today I am hosting PROSERY MONDAY.
The prompt is to include either the line “a red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills” OR the line “moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops” in a piece of prose (not poetry) that is 144 words or less. The two lines are from Carl Sandburg’s poem JAZZ FANTASIA – you’ll find his full poem here.
PROSERY: inclusion of a particular line (word for word) from a poem, in a piece of prose – can be flash fiction, memoir, or nonfiction. A form unique to dVerse where we usually write poetry! The PROSE must be 144 words or less.
Ship of dreamers
homeland left behind.
We cross vast seas,
anxiety churned by pitching waves.
we stand tall,
crane to see her torch.
Hands clasped, excitement peaks.
Grinning widely we circle round,
as she comes into view.
We are joyful Swedes,
ready to begin anew.
Brian Miller, founder of dVerse, helps us celebrate the pub’s 8th anniversary today by providing the prompt. He wants us to capture a moment in our poem, reminding us that moments come with a context. The happenings before and after the moment. Today I write motivated by a Hallberg family photo, taken in 1906, at the moment Hjalmer Hallberg and friends saw the Statue of Liberty, when coming to this country from Sweden. I write in the first person, trying to imagine this moment.
You loved me Joe
only to go.
I’m singin’ these blues,
you still my muse.
But I remember long ago
I pleaded, don’t go.
But you left me alone
strummin’ the twelve-bar blues.
My spirit so damn low,
heart’s dyin’ like indigo.
I had fun with this one…..tried to write a poem as a 12-bar blues composition. The chord progress of a 12-bar blues is I – I – I – I – IV – IV – I – I – V – IV – I – I Translated to a rhyme scheme, I used AAAA-BBAA-CBAA.
The video is a short description of how to create and play the 12-bar blues chord progression. Fun to listen to.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Kim hosts and asks us to include the word BLUE or a form of the word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
Merm me –
shiny gleaming teal and aqua blue
magically beautiful and intelligent,
free to explore and dare.
Merm me –
flow, glide, glissade
braided seaweed round my wrists
necklaced in seashells and coral bright.
Would that I could . . .
escape earth’s rancor
and rollick in rolling waves.
Of what good are legs
and human lungs
is inhumanity on earth?
What if only life within the sea
in and of the sea,
can live and love
within the lunar tides?
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today De asks us to write a poem that is somehow related to mermaids. Image from pixabay.com I must admit, I have always been smitten with the idea of mermaids!
Saturday, October 19th, 2013. A beautiful crisp fall day. Our condominium complex drive was cheerfully planted with bright cushion mums. Little did we know in July 1997, when we moved from Iowa to Boston, how important that housing choice and this date would become.
Our condominium high rise building is across the street from side entrances to Massachusetts General Hospital, one of the premiere healthcare facilities in the United States. As some of you already know, on Monday, October 14th, 2013, my husband suffered a six-minute cardiac arrest in front of our building. He was rushed by ambulance to MGH; put into an induced coma on life support. They lowered his body temperature and gave him a paralytic drug to keep him absolutely still, trying to minimize brain damage.
On Tuesday evening, October 15th, his body temperature was slowly raised as he was weaned from the paralytic drug. We were told he may or may not wake up. If he did, it would not be for at least 72 hours and, in all likelihood, he would not be himself. Against all odds, he woke up at 9 PM that night. Wednesday morning October 16th, he was taken off life support, intubation tube removed, and he correctly answered all questions posed to him by a neurologist. On Thursday, October 17th, he was moved to the cardiac step-down unit, out of intensive care. Friday, October 18th, he had a defibrillator implanted. Saturday, October 19th, he was released from the hospital. And in one shining moment, with our son and daughter on either side of him, he walked back home. Back across the street and back into our lives.
dark clouds dissipate – – honeysuckle blooms again bees hum in bright sun
Photo is a bit blurry as I was crying tears of joy when I took it. Written for Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today I’m hosting and asking folks to write about one shining moment in their lives.
Rolling hills, myriad shades of green. Drive slowly, windows open . . . Fresh crisp air, cloudless blue sky. Drumlins shaped patiently by glacial ice, Mother Earth’s gentle curves. Vibrant wildflowers here . . . flowering brush there. Stop. Rest. Inhale the quiet calm.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. We are to use the word “drum” or a form of the word, within our exactly 44 word poem. Image from Pixabay.com