Did you know the sun is always shining, even if behind a cloud? Frowns can be turned upside down into a smile, just by remembering that. There is no distance looking blue, when we walk barefoot in dew kissed grass that tickles our feet.
Call me Pollyanna, many do, because I choose to believe there is no top to any steeple if I make up my mind to climb. Be it with strong legs or, at my age, a little blusher, mascara, a pen, and a plethora of words.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah hosts and asks us to consider the poem November by Thomas Hood. One option in today’s prompt is to use a line from his poem and include it in our poem. I’ve chosen two lines from his poem: “No distance looking blue” and “No top to any steeple”. Image from Pixabay.com
Some days I’d like to be in the midst of fog. Where mountains, yesterday tall and imposing, disappear today. Where ethereal moist clouds descend to earth, enveloping her in softness. Bring me serenity, as mist hovers over land, hides imposing granite walls too difficult to climb. Soften my being with the lightest of rain that pours not, rather drifts in swirls round my head, my eyes, my limbs. Take me to that weathered landscape where nature cajoles hatred into oblivion, and we simply marvel at beauty we did not recognize before. Take me there, if not in reality, then in dense dreams of solace, just for a little while. I crave escape.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, from 3 to 4 PM Boston time, we shall gather face-to-face via GoogleMeet at OLN LIVE! Link to join can be found here at 3 PM or shortly thereafter. Just click and come join us! You’re invited to read a poem of your own…or simply sit in and listen…we’re a friendly bunch and it’s quite fun!
The lonely lady sat under the cherry moon drinking beer from the dregs of a can. Battered and bent, the can that is, found behind nearby trees.
She sipped the tepid stuff with a straw found in a Dairy Queen cup. She didn’t begrudge the stray cats who found it first and licked it clean.
Holding her pinkie up as she sipped she fancied herself a queen, enjoying her finely steeped tea from a delicate porcelain cup.
Nose held up high between her sips, she imagined herself at a cocktail party. She’d never admit she was simply avoiding the stench from dog feces nearby.
She turned down an indecent proposal from the man two benches down, never one to be swept away by anyone’s grandiose airs.
Mirabelle maintains her standards, her dignity and pride shining through. “I once was a wealthy Contessa, dear two stars over, from above the moon.”
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and introducing people to the Golden Raspberry Awards. They’re the opposite of the Academy Awards. Instead of presenting an Oscar for the Best Movie of the Year, Best Actor, Best Documentary etc, they present Razzies for the Worst Movie of the Year, the Worst Actor etc. A piece of trivia: Sylvester Stallone has won more Razzies as Worst Actor than any one else: he has ten!
In today’s prompt,I’ve provided a list of thirteen movies that won a Razzie as Worst Movie of the Year and asked folks to write a poem that includes at least one of the movie titles, word for word, in the body of their poem. Folks are free to use more than one. I’ve used five: The Lonely Lady (1983); Under the Cherry Moon (1986); Cocktail Party (1988); Indecent Proposal (1993); and Swept Away (2002). Photo from Pixabay.com
She dreamed of becoming a famous poet. On her eighteenth birthday, she outgrew the foster-care system. She walked out of old man Henrys’ flat for the last time, carrying her journals, writing supplies, toothbrush, two pair of socks and underpants, two flannel shirts, and twenty dollars, all stuffed in her backpack.
In Central Park, she sat down and began writing about what she saw. Children playing tag; people jogging; women pushing baby buggies. As the sun set, she lay down on the bench, looking up. Just to get a different perspective. Everything was upside down. She saw how in the street of the sky, night walks. Scattering poems in her head, the stars blinked telling her it would all be okay. She’d sleep now. In the morning she’d stop in Starbucks and see if they’d hire a poet who could double as a barista.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Today Linda is hosting Prosery Monday where we’re given one line from a poem, and expected to insert that line, word for word, into a piece of prose that is 144 words or less, sans title. In essence, it’s the one time poets at dVerse write flash fiction! We may add punctuation to the line; but we may not insert into or delete any words out of the line.
The line Linda chose for us to use is ‘In the street of the sky, night walks. Scattering poems.” It comes from Tulips & Chimneys by E. E. Cummings and is the last line of IX- Impressions.
I was born to die pushed out into life as were you, screaming curdling wails.
Each night we bid goodbye slipping off to sleep. Each day we greet anew, seek love amidst our trails.
I simply want to clarify, all one species are we. Pray tell and think it through. Reject bigotry, all else that ails.
Hatred twists judgement awry. Respect provides a healthier view.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Bjorn is hosting and introduces us to a new form, the Bref Double. It consists of three quatrains (stanzas of 4 lines) and an ending couplet. The rhyme scheme is axbc, axbc, axbc, ab BUT the second lines in each of the quatrains do not have any rhyme, hence the x designation.Image from Pixabay.com
‘Tis scared she’d been, two hundred years ago. He’d locked her away in the family mausoleum, she crying to be free. Abandoned, starved, she suffered a godforsaken death. Her curdling wails still heard in howling winds on stormy nights at Charter Street Burial Ground.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De asks us to use the word “scare” or a form of the word, in a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
Photo was taken a number of years ago when we visited the Dissidents’ Cemetery in Valparaiso, Chile. Image is of a lock on a mausoleum, obviously not opened in many many years.
Also note: the Charter Street Cemetery is Salem, Massachusetts’ oldest cemetery, founded in 1637. Salem is of course, the home of the Salem Witch Trials of 1692.
What a sham! Poo on you! You shall not still my tongue, nor shall you have me. Cash? Mere bribery. You’ve noticed but my shapely form and never asked my name. My name is Ava. Tar it not. You shall not name me a witch, sir. I am a woman of substance.
And you sir, are but a juggernaut, steamrolling your way into petticoats of young girls. Threatening them like Tituba, dare they not succomb. Poor Tituba, incarcerated, questioned these many days. I have talked with them all, sir. No longer will they remain silent.
No longer are they your mollified band. Ana and Sarah, Elizabeth, Susannah, and Rebecca as well. In church on the morrow, sir they will bare their legs, thigh high. Exhibit their bruises and mottled skin, then point their fingers at you. You are the witch sir. May you burn in hell.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Today, Punam is hosting from India, where she’s been celebrating Diwali. She introduces us to a number of words from Indian languages that have become a part of the English language. For example, bandana comes from ‘bandhana’ which means to tie as well as ‘bandhej’ which is the art of tie-dye technique used on fabrics in Rajasthan and Gujarat. Punam provides us with 15 such words and asks us to include 4 in our poem. I’ve used 5: shampoo, cashmere, avatar, juggernaut, and bandana. See if you can find them all!
The poem obviously refers to the Salem Witch Trials of 1692. Sarah Good, Elizabeth Howe, Susannah Martin, and Rebecca Nurse were all convicted and hung.
You’ll find the photo here in an article written about Salem’s history. It’s the home of Judge Jonathan Corwin (1640 – 1718) and is the only structure you can visit in Salem today with direct ties to the Witch Trials. By the way, Salem is literally overrun with tourists this time of year! Living in Boston, we are but a 30 minute commuter rail trip away. We visit Salem in the summer for fun….don’t go near it in October!
October’s full moon shines kindly in darkest skies, unobliterated by city’s glare. Gleams its bright spotlight upon Vermont mountains, hills and forest trails. Trees stand tall in fall crisp air, raucous cacophony of colors punctuate serene picturesque scenes. Leaves’ iridescent glorious hues, crimsons, burnt orange golden yellows, wine-reds too. They flaunt their beauty beneath your steady gaze, defying winter’s wish to cause their demise.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah asks us to consider various names for an October full moon that she provides in a list. She explains that different areas of the US and indeed, different cultures, have different names for the full moon. I’ve chosen the name, Kindly Moon from the list.
Image of Vermont fall from Pixabay.comApologies: could not find photo of a full moon shining on a glorious fall Vermont scene. But you can definitely get the idea from this photo.
Ah, belladonna, how formidable art thee. Thine power used since Roman times. Claudius and Augustus, dead, wifely potions lethal with thee.
Medieval women placed drops of thee in their eyes. Became alluring with wide-eyed innocence, capturing a gentleman caller’s proposal curtailing his gigolo lust.
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Kim asks us to use the word “bell” or a form of the word, in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image from pixabay.com
Belladonna is a potent plant. Reserach tells us in Roman times, it did indeed kill Emperors Claudius and Augustus when placed in a potion made by their wives. It is said that Macbeth of Scotland used it to poison the liquor supply of invading troops from England. In medieval times, drops of belladonna were used by women for cosmetic purposes: to widen their eyes to make them seem more alluring. Today, belladonna is used by many opthamologists to dilate pupils for examination.
Of course she shed tears after 70 + years shared with her one true love. Since we first saw her Grace the world is a far different place. Her long life a gift from above.
I fancied the Royals forever it seems, listened to their wedding, dreamed my dreams. In 1947, I was only 9 but in love. A handsome prince, Philip, stole my heart but Elizabeth was his mate, never to part. Little girls like me dreamed of that kind of love.
Mother and I watched Elizabeth’s coronation. in the middle of the night I was filled with elation. Crowns, royal robes, jewels reigned from above. Philip stood tall as she became queen. Such pomp and circumstance I never had seen. He looked at her with such love.
Over the years I have admired the queen wearing colorful outfits, blue, pink or green matched head to toe, hat, coat, and glove. Children and grandchildren blessed her life. We saw very little of her role as wife until Philip died. Queen’s tears shed for love.
Written by Lindsey Ein and read aloud at our OLN LIVE! So happy to have Lindsey participate and to share her poem with all of you here.
lillian the home poet 