I promise, she shyly whispered, to only stomp in mud puddles when the grumbles grab me. To weave daisy chains when the nervous-nellies strike. To concentrate on blessings like tulips, birch trees, snow flakes, puppies, and sweet juicy peaches. And her guardian angel smiled.
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. As pubtender for the day, I’m asking folks to include the word “promise” in the body of their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. They may use a form of the word “promise” but a synonym will not suffice. Stop by and see what folks are writing about – I promise you’ll enjoy! Image by ymyphoto from Pixabay
This day, back then, frightening. Light and love of my life, your heart stopped for six interminable minutes. Doctors, family, friends, all tethered you to this earth. I celebrate every day we have together.
Thankful to share life with you.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today we’re to write a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title, that includes the word “light”.
Eleven years ago this morning, George suffered a six-minute cardiac arrest. Because of what I call angels along the way, he is still with us, cognitively 100% okay, healthy and as fun-loving, kind, and wonderful as ever. I am forever grateful – thankful for every day.
Our road, rain slicked by spring storms, slippery driving through rivulets. Garden store trips for flower flats bring beautiful garden blooms.
Summer haze simmers above its asphalt. Seashore drives with our kids from toddler through teenage years. Back seat songsters to quiet texters.
Our road, dressed in autumn’s finest. Bright yellows to burnt oranges, like bouncing shimmering can-can skirts. Costume changes in passing seasons.
Difficult on many winter days, snow covered, sometimes impassable. Homebound, cocooned by drifts, content to savor relaxing by the fire.
Our road, our passage to and from. Just the two of us. Then three, then four. Now as two again.
The straightaways always faster than any other part, made distance and time fly by. Used to be our favorite parts.
Our road, these days? We prefer the meandering parts. The curves and bends that slow us down, taking longer to reach the end of the road.
It’s Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Sanaa asks us to post any poem of our choosing, or an ekphrastic poem related to the image she provided above.
NOTE: Sanaa will also host dVerse LIVE on Saturday, from 10 to 11 AM New York time. Look HERE for an embedded link that will take you with audio and video to a LIVE meeting where folks from around the globe will read a poem of their choosing aloud to the group – OR just drop in to watch and listen. The more the merrier!
He sits. Drained. Alone. Above his head, a framed drawing of straight parallel lines that never meet, meld, or blend. Like no one cares.
To his left, folded jeans stacked on a three-legged stool. Three-legged for stability, balance. A cairn he has created to say I was here. I lived here. I worked here.
They turned their backs on me. No one sees me. Instead they listen to his lies. I try to hold my head up. But I’m tired. I’m so tired.
I see their belief in his lies, the belief in their eyes. The mistrust. The fear. I sit numbed by hate. I can no longer take deep breaths.
I felt hope in this country I worked hard. I tried to ignore his lies. But others believed. Lies eroded trust until all around me, hope turned to dust.
He sits. Drained. Alone. Waiting. For who? For what? For you to make a difference. It’s your choice.
It’s Poetics Tuesday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish is hosting with a fun prompt! We’re asked to go to one of two websites she provides that feature record album covers. We’re then to choose one cover to inspire our poetry writing for today. I’ve selected the album cover for RM, ‘Indigo’ 2022. The poem is inspired by the photo album cover, and sadly, by the lies about immigrants told by Donald Trump and JD Vance – most recently, the lies told about Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio.
“Look at the image there. You can see a very small patch of dark blue, framed by a little branch. Pinned up by a naughty starlet, our dead Ms. Ruby Lipps here. Looks like she was stabbed, then managed to turn around to face the call board. She reached up to touch that photo for some reason? That’s gotta be her blood trail down the board, down the wall, until she collapses here on the floor. By her hand, is that a bloody word? Maybe three letters? Looks like M, O or D? Then a T? Who keeps the schedule here? How many clients did she have tonight? Any employment records at this dump? What’s her real name? Next of kin? Let’s go, people. This is the third case like this in a week. Someone’s got it out for sex workers in this town.”
Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for writers around the globe.
Today Kim is our host. She asks us to insert the following lines from French Poet Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud’s poem Novel, into the body of our piece of flash fiction of 144 words or less, sans title.
“There you can see a very small patch of dark blue, framed by a little branch, pinned up by a naughty star.”
We may change the punctuation in the lines, but the exact words and word order must be kept intact.
String of Black Pearls. Ida B. Wells, Daisy Bates Maya Angelou, Amanda Gorman Toni Morrison, Lorraine Hansberry Rosa Parks, Angela Davis Shirley Chisholm, Barbara Jordan Misty Copeland, Aretha, Ella, Etta, Billie, Viola Davis Oprah, Simone Biles Jessica Watkins Dr. Kizzmekia Corbet and Kamala Harris
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Lisa asks us to include the word “string” or a form of the word (not a synonym) in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
I sit gazing. The world around me asleep except for occasional gulls flying overhead. Stillness surrounds me waiting for the sun to rise. This ocean, the morning before, roiled in protest to darkness disappearing. Today it lies calm, smooth as glass. Two sailboats sit atop the water their hulls mirrored reflections, motionless, tranquil, silent in the absence of wind.
Skies stained with thin veneer of pastel pink await the dawn. As sun’s sliver stealthily appears, skies rouge in excited anticipation. Sliver grows to arc, to half-circle, to orb, and I sigh. Thankful for another day.
Photos taken yesterday morning from our deck in Provincetown on Massachusetts’ Cape Cod.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Open Link Night and writers are invited to post any poem of their choosing. Bjorn, our pub tender today, also provides an optional prompt you may choose to use.
ALL are invited to dVerse LIVE on Saturday, September September 14th from 10 to 11 AM New York Time. The link to join with audio and video is embedded here. Come and read one of your poems aloud OR come to just sit in and enjoy! The more the merrier!
Star sparkled night sky, overhead silent scrim. Ocean’s dark calm lies before me, laps shore to sleep.
Daylight dawns bright. Gulls call to light, scene transposed. Water sparkle glistens, sun’s fairy dust upon the waves.
Photo: glistening water from our deck in Provincetown this morning.We are in the beginning of our annual two weeks in this beautiful place. Thankful for every day.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for writers across the globe. I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics today, asking people to write a poem somehow related to the sea or the ocean. Any form; any length. Simply on the topic of the ocean/sea.
Julia’s delectable mousse au chocolat, my annual nod to France’s Noel.
Best qualité chocolat les oeufs: yolks and whites separated unsalted butter and deep dark espresso splash of citrusy Grand Marnier sugar only to slightly sweeten. Whisking, whisking, beating, beating, licking fingers, licking whisk. Final touch, the folding. Soft-peaked egg whites into sinful chocolate mixture. Airy deliciousness carefully spooned into grandmother’s crystal goblets. Gently placed on refrigerator shelf until its late night serving.
Christmas Eve dinner done. We sit quietly savoring this melt-in-your-mouth dessert. Julia’s delectable mousse au chocolat, our annual nod to France’s Noel.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Sanaa is pubtending and asks us to write a poem about food! And yes, I do make Julia’s Mousse au chocolat every Christmas! The page for the recipe in this book is well spattered and smeared with chocolate and has my notes all over it. It is truly delicious!!!
Listen carefully, my love as we walk on cool stone slabs curving through the woods. Naturalists laid this path so others could forest bathe, basking in its mesmerizing calm.
Leaves rustle in cooling breeze. Spring waters gurgle somewhere beyond the trees. Yesterday’s rains still moisten fern fronds, brightening their myriad shades of green.
White-breasted nuthatches flit between branches. Their low-whistled notes accompany our slow meandering pace. Hand in hand we walk through serenity, our hearts, our spirits, melding into one.
Written for OLN Thursday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, I’m hosting the pub and folks are free to post any poem of their choosing OR write a poem inspired by one of two photos I’ve provided, the above being one.
NOTE: and if you’d like to see many of our poets in action, come join us LIVE on Saturday morning, August 17th from 10 to 11 AM New York time.Click HERE,and then click on the link given for Saturday’s session. You’ll be connected to audio and video for our live session. Feel free to stop by, just to watch and listen, OR, if you’re so inclined, to read aloud any poem of your choosing. We’re a very friendly bunch. The more the merrier!
lillian the home poet 