Toddler’s rosy ice-cold cheeks. Zooming, bumping down icy hills on cafeteria-trays as sleds. Crack-the-whip flying on ice skates. Chocolate ganache, icing supreme, marguerita on the rocks, please. Icicle turrets on snow castles, I scream for ice cream. Smiling me, at a list like this.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish asks us to include the word “ice” or a form of the word, in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.Image by annca from Pixabay
They lived a merry-go-round life senses dulled by blurred vision. Maniacal calliope music, mired in manufactured grooves.
She rode the blue horse its mane gilded in gold. hands cold on metal pole, forever spinning ahead.
He rode two steeds behind, eyes wild with lust chasing her round and round, never gaining ground.
Desperately out of synch his up to her down so close, but always out of reach. Gold ring dangling in neon lights they rode on and on and on.
Rewritten from a poem I penned in 2016. Shared at dVerse OLN LIVE, the virtual pub for poets around the globe, today, Saturday January 21st.
Come join us LIVE from 10 to 11 AM EST, Saturday, January 21st. Read a poem of your choosing aloud, or just come to watch and listen. We’re a very friendly bunch! Click join us…you’ll find the link for Saturday’s LIVE session here!
. . . my to-do list is much too mundane to do. * Laundry * PT exercises * Vacuum * Clean out drawers
So I sit, pen in hand page patiently waiting to be filled, inscribed with delectable words. Words like bubblicious, fantasia, pomegranate, or perhaps persimmon.
Images dormant in my mind, clamor to appear on the page. Orange sherbet sun, shapeshifter clouds. Raucous carousel horses racing round and round a blurred world.
Shall I take my pen in hand? Or grasp that vacuum’s wand. Consider the choice. Attack cobwebs in corners of the house? Nope. Not today. Much more productive to clear cobwebs from my brain!
Posted for Open Link Night LIVE at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Come join us LIVE between 3 and 4 PM EST today, Thursday Jan 19th by clicking here……and then clicking on the link provided on the post. You’ll be connected to audio and video to meet folks across many time zones and countries. Come to read a poem of your choice OR just to listen!
We’ll also have OLN LIVE on Saturday January 21st from 10 to 11 AM EST. Click here and then click on the link provided for Saturday’s session. Hope to see many of you!
Born in May these many years ago, amongst lily of the valley and gaiety of tulips bright.
I am like the crocus enjoying first rays of spring sun in the midst of winter’s final stance.
Assertive, I push forward first to appear, even when slicked with chilling frost.
During coldest of times I burrow in found comfort. Your arms, ready to enfold me.
Like Mother Earth, you are my home in every season of the year.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa asks us to “become the embodiment of winter. Tell us what you feel during this season.” Crocus Me is where my muse took me!
NOTE: HOPE you will join us this Thursday, Jan 19, from 3 to 4 PM EST for OLN LIVE . . . OR . . . for the first time, on Saturday, Jan 21, from 10 to 11 AM EST.
You’ll find two links on Thursday’s dVerse: one for Thursday and one for Saturday. Clicking on the link will bring you to a live session with audio and video! Come meet your fellow dVersers and either read one of your poems aloud or just come to listen! The more the merrier! We’re a very friendly bunch!
Violet was born after a spring storm. She emerged from between the rainbow’s green and blue arcs. I am a centenarian angel, called to witness her birth. I’d been handmaiden to Death through all my years, grief skewing my existence. I was granted this new assignment, my aging wish. To assist non-humans within a species immersed in flights of fancy and joy.
I nudged Violet’s tiny fairy wings, guiding her through the sun’s rays toward the Land of Beneficence. Here she would learn to interact with the young offspring of humans when she journeyed to their earth. To spark their imaginations before ideas of difference and negativity took root. The hope of humankind lies within Violet and all her pixie kin, born every time a rainbow appears. My task, your very livelihood, is within the rainbow. Everything I do is stitched with its color.
Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Today we are to include the line “Everything I do is stitched with its color” in a piece of flash fiction, composed of 144 words, sans title. The required line is from a poem written by William Stanley Merwin, 17th Poet Laureate of the United States.
Time is a glutton. Step back in time with me, behind gardenia laden breeze. School days, school days, good old golden rule days.
I remember mother’s shaking hand, she enjoyed a staccato existence. Track my life Crayola bright. It must be a dream because they leave the body.
I was born to die and so many have blood on their hands. May you burn in hell.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. For Thursday’s Meet the Bar prompt, Laura asked us to create a “Found Poem” by using only the first lines of the first poem we wrote in each month of 2022. We cannot add any words to the first lines, except prepositions and conjunctions to assist with the flow of the poem. I’ve added three words: “behind, because, and.” The two lines, “school days, school days, good old golden rule days” are the first line of my haibun written on August 2, 2022. This was indeed a sudoku prompt but with no choice as to the lines of our poem for today. I was quite surprised to see these first lines….some quite dark!
Boldly may we walk, yet resolutely, carefully. Minding the soul of Mother Earth, respecting her fragility. Oceans rise in anger. Assault shorelines, swallow homes built too near. Heat past simmering patience. Melt polar ice, bleach coral reefs, threaten aquatic life. Can we appease her?
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, we’re to asked include the word BOLD, or a form of the word (not a synonym) within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image from Pixabay.com
NOTE: OLN LIVE will be on Thursday, January 19th from 3 to 4 PM EST . . . AND . . . on Saturday, January 21st from 10 to 11 AM EST. Come to the dVerse home page on Thursday and/or Saturday and click on the appropriate link that will take you to the live session. All are welcome across all time zones! Come to simply listen and meet poets from around the globe OR come and read a poem of your choice. We’re a very friendly bunch so we hope you’ll join us at one or both sessions. Mark you calendars now!
I was never there, the day everything changed. When was that? When World War II ended? When Einstein discovered relativity? When nine-eleven crashed into infamy?
Or when Harry really met Sally? Or when you simply ate a peach that summer day, juice deliciously dripping down your tanned wrist and somewhere I suppose, a child was born.
Truth is, everything changes with every breath we take. Every pivot, every spin, every loping run, something new becomes.
Nothing stands still. Except perhaps sentinel mountains in the Norwegian fjords. Yet even they are marred by subtle granular shifts as we gaze up at their rugged rockface surface.
Like when we turned around and our children were adults. We noticed when their braces came off that summer, but we didn’t register the daily momentum.
Hell, we just celebrated a New Year and it’s already old. Even this moment. It’s now the moment that just was. Did you blink? Did you notice it pass by?
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Merril gives us a list of podcast titles and asks us to write a poem including two of the titles: I’ve chosen “I Was Never There” and “Pivot”. Image from Pixabay.com
January takes us to San Diego, California for two months. We trade in Boston’s winter for sunshine, temperatures in the sixties and seventies, and enjoy living in a small apartment rental. It will be our fourth year so we no longer feel like tourists. With our Senior pass in hand, we ride the buses and take commuter trains and trolleys around the city like seasoned San Diegans. Shopping at the local farmers market for fresh fruits and vegetables and fresh fish is a favorite Sunday pastime. And of course, that turns into delicious dinners in our home-away-from-home. We especially enjoy strolling the coastline, weekly visits to the world renowned San Diego Zoo, and listening to live outside concerts at Balboa Park.
So here’s to leaving our down jackets, wool hats and mittens behind and boarding the plane on January fifth. California, here we come!
snoozing burly bear wakes up energized by sun lumbers out to play
Kim welcomes us back to dVerse and asks us to write about what January means to us, in this first haibun of 2023. Photo is from the San Diego Zoo last year.
Life is candylicious with you. My Hubba Bubba, my Mr. Goodbar. My Swedish Fish, my Lifesaver. My Starburst when darkness falls.
You bring a Bit O Honey to every single moment we share. Everyday with you is a Payday, rich in laughter and love.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish is hosting Quadrille Monday and asks us to use the word “candy” or a form of the word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Do you recognize the candy names in my poem? Hubba Bubba, Mr. Goodbar, Swedish Fish, Lifesavers, Starburst, Bit O Honey, and Payday. Had fun with this one! Photo is from this past June: me and my Hubba Bubba!
lillian the home poet 