dVerse

Excerpt from a 17th Century Young Woman’s Diary

lillian54 Comments

I cannot tolerate my life! My intellect, dismissed at every turn. My fingers bleed as I mind my needle. Young men cross the seas on great ships. They find adventure while I sit here. They hunt great whales; something I can only dream of. Oh yes, I carry a part of those great creatures within my bodice every day. Their great bones defiled to stays, crushing my ribcage, attempting to confine my will. Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy upon my soul.

Born female in this world, the great bane of my life. But my plans are made. My brother’s breeches hid beneath my bed, with scissors to cut my hair. Next week, I too shall set out to sea. Breasts bound by rags, but spirit freed. I shall become young Phinneas, and taste the adventures too long denied me.

Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the vitual pub for poets around the globe. Today Linda provides the line “Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy” from May Oliver’s poem “Azures” published in the book Wild Geese.

In prosery, we must use a specified line from a poem, exactly as written, in a piece of prose that is no more than 144 words long, sans title. It is similar to flash fiction — but must include the specified poetic line. We may change the punctuation of the line, but the wording must be exactly as it appeared in the original poem.

Image: Woman’s stays c. 1730–1740. Silkplain weave with supplementary weft-float patterning, stiffened with whalebone. Los Angeles County Museum of Art, M.63.24.5.[1]

Frozen Tears

lillian6 Comments

They spoke to me that day,
ice shelves weeping
falling into sea.
Like hands clapping for attention
their loud crack of fissure
turned our heads
We watched,
photographing the majestic.
Leaving Antarctica’s Paradise Bay
we saw remnants of her tears,
ice bergs – some small,
some humongous,
clogging our way.
And yet all we did
was maneuver through,
oblivious to her pain.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe, where the prompt Thursday was to use imagery and/or personification in our poem. Photo taken on our 2018 Antarctica cruise. Witness to climate change’s deleterious effects on melting ice shelves causing sea rise. Paradise Bay, silent save the birds and the cracking of shelves as they fell.

Snow Globe and More

lillian15 Comments

This is not a snow globe
this is me seeking refuge
slipping mentally inside,
beautiful crystal orb.

This is not a snow globe
but a world disrupted.
Lies pummeling us everywhere
beliefs shaken, in disarray.

Wellbeing, within our grasp.
Shake loose the tyranny.
Set it down firmly
and stop the madness.

This is a snow globe.
Sentries within trust us.
When their world is shaken
they know we will reset the calm.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today we are asked to write an object poem and begin with the words “This is not a ….” We are asked not to simply describe the object, but to relate to it. How does its existence affect me….what does it mean to me….how do I relate to it at this moment. Photo is the snow globe on our coffee table … a Christmas decoration I’ve had for many years. I love to tip it and see the beautiful shimmering “snow” swirl inside.

A Dora Ditty

lillian41 Comments

Known for dabbling in couture,
Dora decorated herself
like you would your house,
mimicking holiday seasons.
They thought her daft
and could only laugh
as she walked down the street
in a Christmas wreath,
at their annual Easter parade.
Her reward?
Most Unusual Bonnet.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. It’s Quadrille Monday and De asks us to use the word “dabble” in our quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. I went for humor today — figure we can all use a little chuckle in these upsetting, challenging and unusual times.

Where is thy Epiphany, oh Lord?

lillian2 Comments

Would-be leader:
brazenly denigrated the disabled
name-called, disparaged so many.
Usurped Lenin’s words, Enemy of the People.
And we gasped in shock,
watched as he became

our leader. And all could see.
He swooned at tyrannical dictators,
locked innocent children in chain link cages
denied science, endangered earth.
Denies a virus its due respect,
callous as thousands upon thousands die.

People carried lit torches into the night
spit epitaphs at Jews and blacks and browns.
This chosen leader praised these folks.
They’re “good people” he said
and he did nothing to change the tide.
And we watched, some ashamed.

Our chosen leader lied and lied and lied again.
Some lies repeated so often
morphed into truth for far too many,
angry people starved for validation.
Supremacists lurking in the shadows
came out in droves, baited by his words.

Some people dared to say, this cannot be.
But others among us,
some in leadership roles
consumed his lies
until they began to take root,
fill their mouths like canker sores.

He created his own reality.
We watched as too many followed
until the fire he lit became a blaze.
Destruction reigned over their shocked heads.
Death was in their house
and they cowered in fear.

We watched with sickening bile
on this day of Epiphany.
Surely they would now understand.
And yet they took their place again,
his mouth still incised upon their faces.
They spewed his lies for all to witness.

We watch days later, true evil unveiled.
Not just him, but scores of others.
His sycophants, a scourge upon our land.
We wring our hands and pray,
where is the justice, oh Lord?
Only in us, our voices must be raised.

I’m “filing” this under Cherished on my blog because I cherish this democracy and pray for its preservation.
Written on January 9, 2021.

A Christmas Carol

lillian31 Comments

Like sparkling lights
I love you

like tart cranberry sauce
and chocolate mousse

smooth and sweet
and roast turkey

the day of and days after
and after that’s leftovers

like youthful kisses
I love those leftovers too

the you and me
season after season,
still savory good.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Sarah asks us to write a response to a poem we’ve read in the past year. Below is the poem I modeled mine after. It appears in jelly roll, a collection of poems by African American poet Kevin Young, winner of the Patterson Poetry Prize and Finalist for the National Book Award. I tried to simulate his form and like him, used a type of music as the title. And yes, that’s my husband and I fifty years ago and obviously, much more recently!

Ragtime
by Kevin Young

Like hot food
I love you

like warm
bread & cold

cuts, butter
sammiches

or, days later, after
Thanksgiving

when I want
whatever’s left

Senses

lillian7 Comments

2020 Christmas season begins with a gray, gloomy winter view out my front window. Remnants of light snowfall melt into a muddy mess. Turning from bleakness, I behold the color of Christmas spread throughout every room. Our tall green tree lit with colored bulbs, covered with sparkling ornaments collected for 60 years from travels and special life moments in my family. Red candles in brass candlesticks glow, the scent of cinnamon and peppermint awaken my senses. Alone, missing my family, I close my eyes and they are here.

Redbird in front tree
Sings familiar melody
Amaryllis blooms.

(Written by dear friend, Lindsey Ein)

Haibun for 2021

lillian45 Comments

As I think back on new beginnings in my life, I’m struck by how self-centered or family oriented they all were. Graduations, the births of our children and grandchildren, weddings, birthdays, rejuvenatement – never say retirement. New Year’s Eves don’t really come to mind as momentous occasions – until this year.

As we have in so many years past, George and I watched the crystal ball drop in New York City’s Times Square from the comfort of our home. We counted down the last ten seconds of 2020. But this time, when we hugged in 2021, I was literally overcome with emotion. Tears flowed and I clung to George. I was surprised at the depth of my emotional response until I realized what it encompassed. Hope on a global scale. Hope in the form of a vaccine. Hope that millions will escape misery, ill health, and untimely deaths. This moment in our lives, was a moment shared round the globe. It was so much bigger than us sitting on the couch. We were simply a microcosm of a weary world, rejoicing in hope.

snow pack melts in sun
trickle grows to waterfall –
like hope rushing forth

Today, I’m tending the bar at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. We open 2021 with Haibun Monday. My prompt is to write about new beginnings. Think about how that phrase may relate to you. Perhpas you’re reminded of a new job, new garden growth, a new season. Anything that comes to mind in terms of a new beginning. BUT . . .
. . . I remind people that a haibun must meet certain requirements:
* 2 or 3 succinct paragraphs of prose that must be true
* followed by a traditional haiku.
Traditional means much more than simply 3 lines of 5-7-5 syllables.
Come join us at 3 PM Boston time and find out what a traditional haiku really is!

Photo: taken on our South America/Antarctica cruise in January 2018. Vincennes Rosales National Park, in Puerto Montt, Chile.

In the Midst of a Blizzard

lillian31 Comments

Snow falls deep. Whiteness blankets outside. In-
side I sit and stare. Contemplate this.
This white scene. My life. Our world.
Looking out, I turn to look inward. Examine my I.
Memories of who I was. Who I am.

George Floyd’s image flashed over and over as
this rich country opened its eyes. Rich?
In what? Inequities. Color continuum laid bare as
I realize I grew up in la la land. My I?
White as far as I could see. White privilege. Need?
I had none. Have none really. So now, am I to . . .
to what? To admit? Because I can no longer just let this be.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for writers around the globe. It’s our last prompt of 2020 as dVerse takes a winter vacation and returns with a haibun prompt on January 4, 2021.

Today Peter from Australia asks us to consider endings and gives several suggestions on how to do that, including writing a Golden Shovel poem. Unfamiliar with the Golden Shovel form? You take one poem or line from a poem and use it to create your own poem. BUT the trick is, each word in the line, in the order they appear in the line, must be the last word in the lines of your poem! I’ve used the line “in this world I am as rich as I need to be” from Mary Oliver’s Winter. So look back at the poem and read only the last word in each line, from top to bottom: “in this world I am as rich as I need to be”.

Photo taken this morning from my window….yes, we are in the midst of a snow storm and by the time the pub opens, we will have at least 12 inches on the ground; perhaps up to 16!

Happy holidays to all my dVerse friends . . . and here’s to a happy and healthy 2021!

Gala for a Centenarian

lillian20 Comments

He sat straight-backed, alert,
surrounded by canes, walkers
tv guides, checkerboard games
and the people that accompany them
in a place like this.

Hands folded, he waited patiently
for the last strands of that age-old song.
Some high pitched warblers sang off pitch,
hunched over the tinny piano
pulled out for occasions like this.

Balloons hovered above his head
as candles dripped life-time moments
onto pastel fondant flowers.
He spied the festive paper plates,
too thin for the thick slab he desired.

And so I asked the centenarian,
what is the secret of your longevity?
Well sonny, I always say,
close your eyes to dream.
Just make sure you open them wide
to watch where you step.

Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Bjorn will host as we go live today from 3 to 5 PM Boston time. Those who post a poem will have the opportunity to read it aloud, if they choose to do so. Come share the fun, connect names with faces and hear the voices of many dVersers!