dVerse

Just Do It

lillian65 Comments

Squint your eyes,
tantamount to willful aperture.
Unsee dissonance, the ugly, the bad.
Visualize instead the good wherever it may be.
Work it. Become it. Traverse only there.
X marks the spot and if you believe, it can be found.

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I’m hosting Meet The Bar Thursday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. At MTB, a particular form of poetry becomes the prompt. Today, I’m asking folks to write an Alphabet Sestet! A poem of 6 lines that uses an alphabetical sequence that appears in the first word of each line. Hence, I’ve used the alphabetical sequence S-T-U-V-W-X in my poem. The first word of each line, begins with the corresponding letter of the alphabetical sequence. Line 1 starts with S; line 2 starts with T; line 3 starts with U; etc.  Any alphabetical sequence may be used: writer’s choice!
Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us. It’s easy as A-B-C, 1-2-3 in the words of the Jackson Five’s wonderful early hit! 🙂  Image from Pixabay.com

Bereavement

lillian32 Comments

Evil incarnate soared that day
then plunged metal-searing hot,
into the hearts of thousands.
We reeled through dust laden,
tear and shock stained weeks –
searching, then praying
for departed souls.

Six-thousand-two-hundred-
and-four days have passed.
For many, all colored
by loss tinctured dawns.

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It’s Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets….and coincidentally, the 17th anniversary of 9-11. Amaya is hosting and asks us to go “on a loop.”  Return to a poem we wrote/posted on a previous September 11th and take a word or phrase from that poem to create a new one. We were in our beloved Provincetown, at the very tip of Cape Cod, on September 11th, 2016 — as we are today. I posted a poem then, Cape Cod Lure, that included the phrase “tinctured dawns” which is used again in this 9-11 commemorative poem. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Illusions of Evil

lillian55 Comments

Magician, sleight of hand his trade.
Quick undetected moves.
Misdirection while abracadabrahing.
No white rabbits.
No multicolored scarves
tucked up his sleeves.
Ladies’ man supreme,
handsome and mysterious.
Meandering lover, he savors the travel,
one step ahead of wanted posters.
Disappearing wives his specialty.

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Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where it’s Quadrille Monday! De hosts and asks us to include the word “quick” within our quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title).  Photo from pixabay.com

With Apologies to the Farmer in the Dell

lillian45 Comments

I rarely write the prompt first…but this time I must. Bjorn is hosting dVerse and we’re to use onomatopoeia in our poem – words that imitate sounds. Think “pluck” or “splatter.” He really wants us to concentrate on the SOUND of our poem. SO – in that spirit, don’t read my poem below. Sing it to the tune of The Farmer in the Dell – if you remember that from your childhood. Apologies in advance to those who don’t appreciate political satire/humor.

With Apologies to the Farmer in the Dell

The donald in the dell
The donald in the dell
hi-ho, the derry-o
the donald isn’t well.

Splitter, splatter, splat
Pluck it, plaudit, pratt
hi-ho, the derry-o
his lies are tit for tat.

Duplicitous as hell
His double-dealings smell
hi-ho, the derry-o
the donald isn’t well.

The donald gathers rats
The rats eat the cheese
hi-ho, the derry-o
the donald is a sleaze.

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Ravaged

lillian45 Comments

She sits slumped,
rot gut whiskey bottle
clutched in hands.
Stitch in side, she aches.
Time blurrs
lost in last nine shots.

Pennies by her feet
tossed by do-good passerby
don’t jar her mind.
Can’t think straight or at all.
Too far gone to live
not quite enough to die.

bottle-2257787_1920Written for Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Jilly is hosting and asks us to take one or two well known adages and significantly change them! Can you find the two I’ve used?
Photo from Pixabay.com Answer Key: Stanza 1 from “A stitch in time saves nine.” and Stanza 2 is from “A penny for your thoughts. ”  Explaining further, in case you’re not familiar with having a stitch (pain) in your side:  often happens to people when they’re running … or can be a sign of other medical problems too. 

The She of Serenity

lillian58 Comments

Nature’s nymph.
Child of the moon, wed to earth.
Mossy slippers quiet her step.
Willow frond skirt swishes in breeze,
natural scent blends with trees.
Seek her healing balm
amongst urban parks, forest glens.
Or retreat within your mind,
savor soothing rivulets of calm.

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Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where it’s Quadrille Monday. Kim is our able and creative pub tender. She asks us to use the word “earth” in our exactly-44-word poem. Photo taken on our trip to Ireland. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Immigrants

lillian38 Comments

Our ancestors. Our families.
They sailed through rough seas.
They worked hard, dreamed big.
We are us because of them.
Their identities may fade but
Their determination remains apparent.
Pictured and posed in family albums,
They live on in sepia tones.

 

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. It’s Meet The Bar Thursday (MTB) and Frank hosts, asking us to write a Reverse Poem. Read it top to bottom. Read it bottom to top. Line by line. It makes sense both ways. Quite challenging! 

Photos:
Left:  Hjalmer Siegfried Hallberg, born in Sweden, 1884. Arrived Ellis Island, NY at age 22, in 1906. My husband’s grandfather.
Right: Adam Gruenwald, born 1857 in Germany. Arrived in U.S. in 1880. Grandfather to my father. 

And here it is in reverse, including the same punctuation at the end of each line.

Immigrants

They live on in sepia tones.
Pictured and posed in family albums,
Their determination remains apparent.
Their identities may fade but
We are us because of them.
They worked hard, dreamed big.
They sailed through rough seas.
Our ancestors. Our families.

Marengo Years

lillian19 Comments

How did a city girl end up a high school English teacher in rural Iowa? From graduating in a class of eight-hundred-fifty, quick-stepping to Pomp and Circumstances so the procession wouldn’t last an hour; to senior class sponsor of thirty-two, holding students back until the prior one was all the way down the aisle and seated – so the band could play the entire song.

Town square on Main Street. No traffic lights. Elementary school kids on decorated trikes and bicycles in the high school homecoming parade. Future Farmers of America, 4-H, and drama club. Six-on-six girls’ basketball and a superintendent who sometimes wore bibber overalls. Houses with unlocked doors and party-line telephones.  Church cookbooks and pot-lucks. Friendly people always willing to share, listen, and lend a helping hand. My second time in high-school. More special than the first.

ten foot drifts that year
folks hunkered down waiting for plows –
farm cats warm in barns

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Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. It’s Tuesday Poetics and Amaya is hosting, asking us to remember our school days. Photo: Our rented farm house in rural Marengo, Iowa.

Not Your Toymaker’s Daughter

lillian52 Comments

I prefer to live outside the box.
I am not a jack.

I won’t jump at your desire.
I am not a puppet.  Or a toy.
I am more like a cat.

Independent with nine lives.
And trust me,
none of them are yours.

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De is hosting dVerse today, asking us to use the word “box” in a Quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Image from WikiCommons: 1863 Harpers from Thomas Nast.

for far too many . . .

lillian50 Comments

Brown girl dreaming,
tattered ribbons woven
through dark tresses.
She walks in beauty
always plodding upstream,
seeking answers to secrets
from the center of the world.

Oh, to make a joyful noise
that all might hear in high fidelity.
Shout love triumphs hate.
One hundred white daffodils
strewn upon blood soaked streets
could turn a pinkish hue.
Become peace roses beneath our feet.

Oh for those inalienable rights
to be shared amongst us all.
Beyond the hour of land divided,
us and them transformed to we.
To prosper, pain free,
beyond this faithful and virtuous night
into and during every living day.

Or was that Declaration,
that torch held high
to those across the seas . . .
were those just words and symbols?
The happiness project
never intended to be shared,
never meant to be?

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August 9th is National Book Lovers Day and National Hand Holding Day, International Day of the Word’s Indigenous People, National Rice Pudding Day, and National Polka Day! It’s also OLN (Open Link Night) at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Folks can post one poem of their choosing – any form, any topic. 

In honor of National Book Lovers Day, I’ve posted a “book spine” poem written with book titles, all from the bookshelf on my desk. Reread the poem, and you’ll find these titles, in this order:

brown girl dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson
Ribbons – Spring/Summer 2017: Vol. 13, No. 2 (Tanka Society publication)
she walks in beauty (A Woman’s Journey Through Poems)  by Caroline Kennedy
Upstream by Mary Oliver
Secrets from the Center of the World by Joy Harjo and Stephen Strom
Joyful Noise (Poems for Two Voices) by Paul Fleischman
High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
A Hundred White Daffodils by Jane Kenyon
The Hour of Land by Terry Tempest Williams
Pain Free by Pete Egoscue
Faithful and Virtuous Night by Louise Gluck
The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin