It always rises.
In rain or snow,
whether you see it or not.
Hiding behind clouds,
invisible under a putty grey sky.
It’s there
blessing the new day.
Its rays smiling upon you,
gifting hope
even on the stormiest days.
If only we believe.
It’s quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, De asks us to include the word “smile” or a form of the word, in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Photo by Anandu Vinod on Unsplash
Abracadabra
because I want a magician’s wand to
change what was into what was not and what could be.
Defy divisiveness,
effects of hatred, and speaking of the “us” versus the “other”.
Forge ahead to find new paths.
Gather those who want positive change.
Hand in hand with hope, honesty and just
intentions, may we begin to
just listen. Truly listen
knowing we are all located within the same sea of humanity.
Listen and listen more. Open our ears and hearts.
Make a concerted effort,
not numbing the pain of others into
oblivion.
Prayer is not enough. In the
quest for healing, we must
reflect on what could be and make it so. It may
seem
tenuous
until we verbally and actively
validate the
worth of all God’s people.
Xenophobia is not an option.
You and I, if we’re honest, also have roots in other places.
Zest and good will toward all humanity: may it be our Resolution for 2026.
Written for Meet The Bar night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. We’re asked to become Abecarians: Create a poem of 26 lines where each line begins with a letter of the alphabet and the letters are sequential. I’ve written from A to Z. Not the first letter of the first word in each line. Image from Pixabay.com
People are different.
Color, ethnicity, gender,
religious beliefs, language,
citizenship, culture.
Gather them all in one place,
in concentric circles
facing each other, holding hands.
Each circle defined by a trait.
Note: circles have no beginning or end.
He who joined first disappears.
She who joined last disappears.
All are integral to their circle.
Herein lies a truth of geometric principle.
Concentric circles differ in radii
but have the same center point.
And what is that same center point?
As Maya Angelou famously wrote,
“We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.”
The center point is our humanity.
Sadly however,
truth is not constructed reality
when the builder is a demolitionist.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets across the globe. Today I am hosting: go to https://dversepoets.com to see the prompt this poem is motivated by.
We were raised in families where the television show “Father Knows Best” was also the way of the household. Travel happened twice a year for me: a visit to my grandparents’ home in Florida and a vacation week in the Wisconsin Dells. I always sent her a postcard. It never dawned on me that I lived in a white privileged world and she did not.
I went to college and she left home. She took jobs where she found them. Eking out a living, then moving on. She sent postcards along the way. In 1963, from DC. She’d heard MLK’s “I Have a Dream”. In 1969, from the Catskill Mountains. She’d found love and acceptance at Woodstock. “The granites and schists of my dark and stubborn country have accepted me. My new partner and I can be ourselves here. Come visit!” I never did.
Image by Karl Egger from Pixabay
Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Prosery Mondays are the only prompts where writers are asked to write prose, not poetry. We’re given a line from a poem and we’re asked to insert it, word for word, within a piece of flash fiction that is 144 words or less in length. Today Merril gives us the line “The granites and schists of my dark and stubborn country” from Nan Shepherd’s poem “The Hill Burns”
The Innocence of Youth Unveiled is fiction. It is not autobiographical.
He or she or it peers out from window’s side.
Black obsidian-like pupil
orange incandescent iris.
Half there, half hidden.
All knowing? Fearful? Oblivious?
Seer by unearned reputation
among feathered fowl.
I arrange alphabetical letters.
Create single words, strung-along thoughts
gibberish with mismatched curves.
Leaked ink stains fingers,
dribbles dots on embossed paper
smears black blotches.
Accidental undefined punctuation blobs.
What seers roost among us?
Spew artificial intelligence scenarios.
Indulge everyman, everywoman,
every androgynous human.
Note the ever present “man” in that word.
Want it? Steal it or create it. At the cost of many
for the pleasure of few.
That all seeing obsidian eye?
Taxidermist’s handiwork unfinished.
Half-body only.
Nothing else behind the window.
What you see? Rancid carnage,
stuffed roadkill. Alternative reality.
This is all we get.
““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““`
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m hosting the pub’s Open Link Night today, as well as dVerse LIVE on Saturday from 10 to 11 AM EST. Folks can post any poem of their choosing, no required length, form, or topic OR write an ekphrastic poem, one that is motivated by one of three “window” images I’ve provided, or any “window image” of their choosing. Owl image above from Pixabay.com
Join us LIVE on Saturday, October 25th, between 10 and 11 AM EST!!
Want to see and hear poets from around the globe read their poems (all in English)? We’re a very friendly bunch! Come join us to sit in, read a poem of your choice, and/or join in the conversation. Click here and then click on the Zoom meeting link provided (video and audio). Hope to see you Saturday, October 25th between 10 and 11 AM at our LIVE session!
I roam this curving shaded path.
Hopscotch through my youth in rompers
skinny legs, scraped knees, curly hair.
Naively sweet and unaware.
In my myopic teenage years
I roam this curving shaded path.
Blinders on, friends all important.
Time flies, motion undetected.
Parenting years, our sweet children.
Together we laugh and love as
I roam this curving shaded path
encouraging strong roots and wings.
Now approaching eighty years young
with less trail ahead, we rest more.
Your love, holding the light high as
I roam this curving shaded path.
Written for Meet the Bar Thursday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Laura asks us to write a Quatern. That is a poem of 16 lines, divided into 4 quatrains (4 stanzas, each with 4 lines). Each line must have 8 syllables. There must be a repeated refrain that is the first line of stanza 1, the second line of stanza 2, the third line of stanza 3, and the 4th line of stanza 4.
Photo from a vacation some years back.
In the waning days of autumn
nature sheds its hilarity.
Crimson red, halloween orange,
and golden yellow leaves shrivel,
lose their vim and fall.
Farmers’ fields, stripped of crops
seem eeirly clold and barren.
I seek warmth, light and respite.
Candles lit, afghan wrapped,
mulled wine and book at hand,
I hibernate.
I am, afterall, a creature of nature.
Slowed by age
and sensitive to seasonal biorhythms.
Shared with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
You should have known,
pumpkins do rot.
Center stage, porch light blazing,
oohed and aahed at by passersby.
Bright eyes lit from within.
But candle burns, continually drips.
Insides shrivel, eyes begin to droop.
Carved in grin begins to sneer.
Inevitably the brouhaha ends
crowds thin, candle burns out.
Orange flesh sags, collapses from within.
Maggots begin to appear.
You should have known,
pumpkins do rot.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is OLN (Open Link Night) at dVerse so we can post any one poem of our choosing. No required topic, form or length.
nature’s cancan skirts
vivid orange, gold, crimson red
leaves delight the eyes
windows opened wide
fresh breezes ruffle curtains
pumpkins on display
witches roam the streets
moms and dads with little ones
door to door for treats
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Dora’s prompt is entitled Tripping the October Light Fantastic. She asks us to write a poem about October. Photo from last October in Boston’s Public Garden.
Scam artist ~
preyed on teenage girls.
Sarah was smitten.
Invited to the party,
good and plenty ripe
with handsome bachelors
all waiting to score.
Twenty years her junior,
mints in his pocket
to wash away whiskey breath,
he sidled up to her.
Join me outside?
I’m not into alcohol
not into these wild parties.
She believed him.
Chatted gamely as they left.
Went to his penthouse hotel room.
Next day, found by the maid.
Strangled, disheveled, damaged.
But he was long gone.
On the kitchenette counter,
unopened Oreos package, glass of milk,
Duds and Suds business card
propped up by the toaster.
Handwritten message on the card:
I like ‘em young. Listen to their dreams.
All of ‘em wanna be sugar babies,
I just make it happen.
Catch me if you can.
Love to all,
Mr. Goodbar
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today I’m hosting and listing 27 candy bars/candies and asking folks to include at least one in their poem. If the candy includes the word “bar/bars”, those words can be eliminated…but the candy name must be used exactly as it is. No words can be added between the words in the name.
Apologies for the darkness of this poem….sometimes my words go to the dark side. Perhaps it’s all the Jeffrey Epstein stories in the news right now. I know this is a frightening poem, even though it uses the following candies: Good and Plenty, Junior Mints, Milk Duds, Sugar Babies and Mr. Goodbar. I do not mean to make light of the Epstein files and their relationship to #47. It is a horrible story and one that must completely be released to the public. Again, apologies but the poem just came from my pen. My first poem for this prompt is MUCH HAPPIER!
Image made on Bing Create.
lillian the home poet 