Blossom Me

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.

Also posted at Day 15 NaPoWriMo.

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!

A neck can be a beautiful thing . . .

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?


Tryst at Pine Woods

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.

Photo by alevision.co on Unsplash in the public domain.

Between Here and There

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.

If you could choose . . .

anxiety
panicky, out-of-control
debilitating, all-consuming, frightening
nervous, sleepless / composed, content
empowering, stimulating, calming
mindful, cognizant
serenity

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.

Missing Her . . .

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!

Who are the fools?

Foolhardy
hardened fools.
Foul actions,
faction’s divisive beliefs.
Believability be damned.
Dams broken open harshly flow,
flow drippings putrid.
Putrified racism.

Destroy hope?
Hope says never.
Evil stands for all to see.
Seeing it exposed, evil energy
energizes truth tellers.
Telling all, Truth wins the trifecta.
Trifle not with win, place or show
show all as one:

Respect.
Equity.
Humanity.
Let it be so.

Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I am hosting today – pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Writers are invited to post a poem of their choice: no prompt, no particular form. BUT, they must tag or somehow direct their readers back to dVerse so others can share and be exposed to this gathering of supportive and creative writers.

Also offered for NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing) day one. April is National Poetry Writing Month and the traditional challenge is to write a poem every day of April. As I have in many years past, I accept the challenge. This was actually written and posted on April 1; I simply forgot to tag NaPoWriMo.

A note on my post: I am drawn to the idea that this is April 1st, commonly called April Fools’ Day. I am also drawn to the trial of the police officer accused in the murder of George Floyd. Somehow, with my pen scribbling in my journal, this confluence of those two facts appeared. The death of George Floyd caused a national, actually a global movement, recognizing racism. Many took to the streets in the US and abroad, espousing that this is the time for equity and humanity. George Floyd’s death was but one example of racism – albeit the one that woke up many.

The Stars Declare

Night sky’s scrim beams on us.
Heads tipped, eyes heavenward,
cold crisp air embraces.
Hope gleams bright, if we believe.

Heads tipped, eyes heavenward,
stars shine, diminish doubt.
Hope gleams bright, if we believe,
this truth shall live through pain.

Stars shine, diminish doubt
hearts must open willingly.
This truth shall live through pain,
our love shall bloom again.

Hearts must open willingly,
words must tumble free.
Our love shall bloom again,
night sky’s scrim beams on us.

Late to post to Peter’s prompt for Thursday’s Meet the Bar night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. He asks us to write a pantoum.
Pantoum: comprised of 4 line stanzas the follow this pattern: 1,2,3,4; 2,5,4,6; 5,7,6,8; 7,9,8,1
In other words:
* the second stanza repeats the second and fourth lines of the first stanza, in its first and third line.
* The third stanza repeats the second and fourth line of the second stanza, in its first and third line.
* This pattern continues until the final stanza which repeats the second line of the stanza preceding it, as its first line; and the first line of the entire poem as its final line.

Quite tricky to write in the pantoum form and still have sense to the poem, without the form “sticking out” to the reader’s sensibility!

Convergence

Hands gnarled by fishing gear
introvert with lonely heart,
I’ve sailed the seas many a year.
I search the horizon,
especially in breaking dawn.

Skies painted tangerine,
meld into passionate reds.
Converge with glistening waters
awakened at first light as well.
She’s come to me only thrice.

Some say I imagine her. But I say to you,
I’ve cast my eyes upon that face
sweetly framed by seaweed tendrils.
I’ve marveled at her iridescence,
that silver-flecked aquamarine tail.

Once she rose up high as if to greet me,
as if to mimic the sun’s rising arc.
Her breasts, opalescent soft mounds
barely covered by white cap foam,
nature in its ultimate innocence.

I gazed until her eyes locked on mine.
That one glorious moment
etched sublime within my mind,
keeps me more at sea than ashore,
searching forevermore.

I seek that miraculous convergence
when divine dawn breaks early light
and she appears once more.
She, the sweetest balm in all the world,
for my aching lonely heart.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Tuesday Poetics and Laura is hosting. She asks us to think about the poet as a painter. And most especially, she asks us to consider the ekphrastic poem: “The practice of using words to comment on a piece of visual art is an ancient one. One of the earliest and most commonly cited forms of ekphrasis occurs in The Iliad, when Homer provides a long and discursive account of the elaborate scenes embossed on the shield of Achilles… the term ekphrasis derives from Greek, where it literally means “description” and was formed by combining the prefix ex- (“out”) with the verb “phrazein” (“to point out or explain”)”. (Merriam Webster)”

HOWEVER, for this prompt, she gives us a number of artwork titles from contemporary artists and asks us to use that title, as the title of our poem – without looking at the actual artwork itself. With our words, we are to paint the story of or the image of that title. One title she provides for the prompt is Convergence by Jackson Pollack.

Image by Sharon McCutcheon:”Unsplash”

Forevermore

Top of the hill. Treeless.
Wildflowers blanket the meadow
canopied by cloudless sky
bluebird blue.
She stands, shear linen skirt billowing
arms outstretched,
face tipped toward afternoon sun.

Long ago declared their place,
they still meet here every year.
This day. This anniversary of his death.
She feels again his touch,
so real within the mountain air.
Yellow buttercups glad to see her,
wave spritely in spring’s breeze.

Delicate petals succumb to wind,
part from stem and float toward her.
Adhere to tear streaked cheeks
just as his kisses did that final day.
Sandals tossed aside,
dew moistened grass licks her toes
and she smiles.

He is with her here.
Their love was real,
still is, and shall be
forevermore.  

Bjorn from Sweden is hosting OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Tonight the pub is live – poets will gather via the miracle of technology, visit with one another and read their poetry aloud. It’s marvelous to connect names with faces and voices. Everyone reads in English and we usually have folks attend from Sweden, India, the UK, the US, Australia, and other places around the globe. Come join us! Image from Pixabay.com