Seascape rhythmic swells, sonata in blue. Harmonic melody carried by balmy breeze. Percussion added as sea foamed waves lap shore. Time signature ever changing, sand grains shift and ripple too. I sit mesmerized, all this balm to my soul. Smile serenely, softly, as unconscious movement of tongue reveals salty upper lip. Apt coda to this masterpiece ~ nature’s wondrous symphony.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sarah asks us to consider “blue” in our poetry. Photo is from our time in Bermuda a number of years ago.
She crossed a bridge with the utmost faith knowing her husband, gone so long, and her Lord would be on the other side. We who wait in this waystation bid her farewell and rest and we move on as we must.
Sometimes a bridge is like a catapult, a sudden bolt from here to there. Others seem miles long as we cross treacherous waters, painful steps, unsure of where they lead, straining to make the span longer still.
I stand outside tonight, staring at the stars above our universe. I wonder and I hope. Peace and unconditional love must surely have met you as you knew it would, when you crossed over to the other side.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today, Merril talks about bridges and asks us to either write a poem in a particular form, or to somehow write about bridges. This poem is dedicated to my sister-in-law Starr. We lost her on April 10th. She and I were planning on my visiting in July….it was not to be. I shall miss her. I do miss her.
Sun melted snow trickles down, enlivens creek, soon to expand to winding river’s width. Once a harbinger of spring, displaced cherry blossoms float downward in breeze. I grieve the season’s loss and the loss of you, as pink petaled rain gently falls. Blossoms cling to gurgling stream, like sweet rosé lingering upon nature’s savoring lips. Kingfishers nest in branches looking down upon headstones, all ornate save one. Your simply etched name and the grandiose sculptures, all indiscriminately covered. What more wealth do you or I or any of these dead souls need than nature’s unconditional kindness? This reminder of her accepting love. This exquisitely serene pink rain.
Written for last Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Laura is hosting and reminds us that today is UN Chinese Language Day.
She asked us to choose one of four poems she provided, and with as many re-reads as we needed, to imagine what the poet painted and what impressions were conveyed…and then reinterpret the poem in our own style. We must use the title of the poem we choose and of course, credit the author. We may only use a few words from the poem itself. The poem I chose to reinterpret is below:
Winding River ~ Du Fu Each piece of flying blossom leaves spring the less, I grieve as myriad points float in the wind. I watch the last ones move before my eyes, And cannot have enough wine pass my lips. Kingfishers nest by the little hall on the river, Unicorns lie at the high tomb’s enclosure. Having studied the world, one must seek joy, For what use is the trap of passing honour?
bother me with sunlight today, streaming through windows this crisp cool day. Bother me with good news, happiness smiles and a baby’s grin. Bother me with a romantic tale full of daffodil cups, a good merlot and love tendered kisses. Please, do bother me!
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De hosts, asking us to use the word “bother” or a form of the word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Pub opens at 3:00 PM Boston time – come imbibe some words with us! Also posted at Day 19 NaPoWriMo.April is National Poetry Writing Month and the challenge is to write a poem every day of the month.
Sunny daffodils, wave your ruffled heads. Delicate cherry blossoms loosed by spring breeze, softly, silently, rain pink petals upon all below. Candy-cane red and white tulips stand tall beside double-layered pinks and yellows. Soon bleeding hearts will dangle gently over sweetly petite lilies of the valley. And lanes will burst forth with lilac blooms, myriad shades of purple perfuming the air. Bedazzle me, Mother Nature. I am so ready for your greening, most especially after this long reclusive year!
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today we go LIVE at 3 PM Boston time and folks have the opportunity to visit, put faces and voices with author’s names and read aloud if they wish. Come join us! Link is on the dVerse site, at 3 PM Boston time.
Photos all taken around our building here in Boston, at the Public Gardens and at the Harvard Arboretum….in past years. Spring is still trying to green this year!
People have necks as do much of the animal kingdom. Tigers, sloths, grizzly bears, giraffes and turtles too.
Akin to giraffes are we. We stick our necks out leeeean way over to gawk, and try to stand out in a crowd.
To me, even zoo giraffes are majestic. Necks out-stretched, they stand tall. Calmly eat from high-top tables, drink from troughs on very tall poles.
I think some of us are like that. Neckwise, not staturewise. Some people live in zoos of their own making.
Cocktail party impressarios. Standing tall at high-top tables neck craned to see VIPs, they politely sip. No one looking? They lap and slurp it down.
I dislike most the raucous barflys guzzling pints, tequila and whiskey shots. Standing on sawdust covered floors, they sway beside sticky high-top tables,
craning blotchy necks. They try to catch a waiter’s eye or land an easy mark, belching as the crowd mills by.
And that’s the rub isn’t it? Standing out in a crowd, necks craned, leaning in or out, all can be done appropriately.
Who then is the beast in reality? Faced with a challenge, a time to stand tall. I see far too many humans pull in their necks,
retreat in their shells and hide. Unlike the turtle, they never enter the race. My real question then is this:
Who really comprises the animal kingdom?
Written for Tuesday Poetics where Kim asks us to write a poem in the first person, comparing some trait of ours with something animal. I kind of went a bit strangely with this topic. I guess I had these giraffe photos in my head, taken last year at the San Diego Safari Zoo, and wanted to somehow write about them. Also shared with napowrimo day 13.
They met late in life. Widow and widower, their rooms were down the hall from each other at Pine Woods Rest Home. He insisted on being called James. Everyone knew her by Sunny. They both despised bland food and working jig saw puzzles. She liked flippy organza dresses and he always wore a tie. While many dozed in front of the blaring television, they shouted out answers to Jeopardy in a friendly competition. That Christmas season, they sat beside each other holding hands during sing-alongs. On New Year’s Eve, they joined in on the countdown at 9 PM. In her silk nightie that night, as the clock glowed 11:30, she heard the pre-arranged quiet knock at her door. “If you are a dreamer, come in” she trilled. This would indeed be a dream come true. Who said lovemaking is the domain of the young?
Today I’m hosting Prosery Monday at dVerse. In Prosery, writers are asked to write a piece of flash fiction that can be no more than 144 words, sans title, and include a specific line from a poem that the host provides. The line must be exactly as written in the original poem, except the punctuation can be changed. The line I’m having people include in their flash fiction today is If you are a dreamer, come in. It’s from Shel Silverstein’s poem Invitation from his book of poetry for children entitled Where the Sidewalk Ends. Prosery Mondays are the ONLY days at dVerse where we do not write poetry – we write flash fiction that includes a specified line from a poem.
What, cruel fate? When body ages naturally, stooped and frail but moving still, enjoying time with family and friends, you dare to strike unexpectedly?
You send blood careening to skull where corpuscles wreak havoc, inflict destruction without mercy. Life gasps bereft of speech, bereft of steps. Minimal movement left, only on left side.
Now dear Starr, comes time to leave, the good life lived. Sustained by faith, your one love gone far too soon, waits impatiently beyond.
Ascend into the universe, soar upon angel’s wings. Painful our goodbyes though we understand your need, your exhaustion, your readiness.
Your body upon its own journey, earthly path to far past stars. We hold your hand, not to tether you. Rather to show our love, provide comfort, an assuring touch in this transition time.
And when you are gone from here, body spent, spirit uplifted, you will be here with us and simultaneously there. Forever imprinted upon our heart.
This is dedicated to my sister-in-law Starr and her family. Starr, eighty-three, entered hospice this past weekend. She has five children, eleven grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren. She lost her husband, my wonderful brother, to a massive heart attack when he was only fifty-one. We shall all miss her terribly.
Written for dVerse where today Grace hosts with a prompt entitled “The Body and Poetry.”
Also included in NaPoWriMo Day 8 – National Poetry Writing Month – where the challenge is to write a poem every day in April.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse. Lisa is our host and asks us to consider “opposite poems” …… giving us several options for our creative process today. One is to follow this form: Line 1: a noun/subject Line 2: two adjectives that describe the noun/subject Line 3: three ‘ing words about the noun/subject Line 4: four words: two about the noun/subject and two about its antonym (opposite) Line 5: three ‘ing words about the antonym Line 6: two adjectives that describe the antonym Line 7: an antonym (opposite word) for the noun/subject The noun and its antonym I chose: anxiety and serenity Also posted for NaPoWriMo Day 6. Illustration: some wierd photoshopped photo of me done years ago.
Handknit, hand-dyed scarf. Raw wool dipped in boiled walnuts, transformed to mahogany brown. Steeped in golden rod, yellow yarn gleams. Red wine we often sipped, created rich burgundy section. Scarf left behind, she promised to return. Summer here, woolens stowed, save one colorful scarf.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time, come join us! Today’s word to incorporate into our quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title, is wine.
Also shared at NaPoWriMo for Day 5. April is National Poetry Writing Month and the challenge is to write one poem every day during the month of April. Photo from Pixabay.com
And yes: I’ve dyed raw wool with such things as walnuts, wine, onion skins, golden rod, and even beets!
lillian the home poet 