dVerse

Glendalough…

lillian18 Comments

…thy voice speaks to me.

Rolling hills of green
ancient Celtic cross
sixth century monastic ruins.

Paths echo medieval prayer
parlay murmurs of buried souls
stones tipped and etched by time.

I tread lightly through hallowed ground
savor the quiet of this place.
Glendalough, thou art a soothing song.





Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Mish prompts us to write of an abstract thing (I chose serenity) using sensory description. Photos: Glendalough, Ireland, the valley of the two lakes renowned for its Early Medieval monastic settlement founded by St Kevin in the 6th century. We opted for an excursion that took us into the countryside, outside of Dublin, rather than a city or pub tour. This is a truly beautiful and mystical place.

Traveler’s Guide

lillian23 Comments

Sow seeds of beauty as you travel earth.
Mirror the sun.
Shine kindness upon frozen souls,
splash colors brightly.
Climb as the ivy does,
each dawn higher,
each morn basking in hope.




Written for dVerse where Björn hosts, asking us to write about soil/earth. Photos: Norwegian fjords; gardens in Blarney Village (Ireland); house in Kinsale, Ireland; dawn from the deck of our cruise ship on our way to Dublin. Final photo taken in midst of Norwegian fjords fascinates me — note the shadow of mountains on the mountain — looks like a face!

Lysefjord

lillian25 Comments

Echos of light reflect rugged beauty.
Silent walls of rock carved by glaciers,
mirror themselves in ancient seas.

We sail, necks craned,
staring, gaping in awe.

Awareness dawns
in setting sun.

We are but specks
on the scales of time.

       

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where Monday’s quadrille (4o word poem, no more no less) prompt is to include the word echo within our poem. Photos from recent Norwegian Fjords cruise. 

Sequel

lillian39 Comments

I doth tromp amidst this misty fjord scene
my youth expired, seeking to inquire.
Searching caves, knowing my child’s desire.
To sail with thee, frolicking where I’ve been.

Since my desertion, what is thy routine?
May I but hear you roar and see your fire?
Meet my child, that is all that I require.
And so I bare my shame, I plead and keen.

I’ve shared with him my childhood tale of joys
of pirate ships and rides upon your tail.
Prithee show yourself and accept my plea.

I dost promise thee, he shall bring you toys,
climb upon your back to happily set sail.
I shall bow to thee, grateful for his glee.

IMG_1660

Kim is hosting dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. She asks us to rewrite a popular song in the style of a sonnet (perhaps Shakespearian), without telling readers what the song is. Sonnet: 14 lines: two quatrains followed by two tercets — all in iambic pentameter with the following rhyme scheme: abba, abba, cde, cde.  This was a real challenge for me! Warning: even the mighty Will Shakespeare diverted from the strict form occasionally.  Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!  (Photo taken a few years ago on our Alaskan trip)
LYRICS:  Puff the Magic Dragon

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Little Jackie paper loved that rascal puff
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff oh

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee

Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on puff’s gigantic tail
Noble kings and princes would bow whene’er they came
Pirate ships would lower their flag when puff roared out his name oh

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee

A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys
One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar

His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his life-long friend, puff could not be brave
So Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave oh

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee

Writer/s: LEONARD LIPTON, PETER YARROW
Publisher: Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

The Old Lamp Lighter

lillian33 Comments

Lamplighter of yesteryear
resides light years away.
Nightly strolls relocated,
he illuminates the stars.

Written for dVerse where I’m hosting today, asking folks to write a poem that contains the title of a Billboard Magazine #1 hit recording from the year they were born, or their early years of growing up. The Old Lamp Lighter, recorded by Sammy Kaye and His Orchestra, 1947. Below is a drawing my 10 year old grandson did for this post.

FullSizeRender

 

What Is Shall Be Was

lillian56 Comments

Shadows tread in life’s past.
Embers gleam red passion,
pale to ashen grey.
Ship wakes sink into oblivion.
Sand dollars, once much more.

Daguerrotypes.
Faces unknown
posed in serious countenance,
fade frozen in corroded frames.

Vestigial pock marks upon the earth.
Life marches forward
directionally unaware,
into the past.


Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. April is national poetry month so drop by to imbibe some words with us – or better yet, step up to the bar, no prompt on OLN. It’s an opportunity to share as you wish! Bar opens at 3:00 PM Boston time. Photo in public domain. 

Conundrum

lillian58 Comments

My hands caress
use opposable thumbs.
Yours do that,
and also shoot guns.

I bask in the sun
nurture my young.
You do that,
and stockpile guns.

I sit in here
looking out at you.
You stand out there
looking in at me.

I see your face
your hands
your feet,
so like me.

So why am I the one
locked in here,
you out there
staring at me.

   

Photos taken at the San Diego Zoo. I can stand for hours looking at the gorillas – they mesmerize me. I’m hosting dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets, asking folks to anthropomorphize within today’s poem. Give an animal or object human characteristics such that it behaves like a human. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time — come on over and anthropomorphize with us! 

The Shadow Knows

lillian29 Comments

There are places and times for pure childlike delight.

We’d been through a stressful year. Death hovered too close to our family. Through the miracles of modern medicine, assisted by angels along the way, we survived. And so we ferried in September to our beloved Provincetown at the very tip of Cape Cod. We walked for miles at water’s edge, marveling at the vast ocean. Our mortal footprints disappeared as the tide returned to shore. We witnessed new dawns. Gazed at a glistening moon path on darkest nights. It was a time of contemplation and somber thankful prayers. 

Until that early morn. Standing in the cool sand, my shadow elongated before me. Cast like a circus lady on stilts. Like mirrors where clowns stretch tall or wide. Magnified to the absurd. And it birthed a smile. And then a chuckle. And then a laugh. Pure childlike delight far beyond my years. And it felt good. 

owls perch and observe
cows chew their cud in solemnity 
spring lambs frolic free


It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, and Toni asks us to write about shadows. Any kind of shadows. A Haibun includes one or two paragraphs of prose and it cannot be fiction. The prose is followed by a haiku (3 lines with syllable counts of approximately 5, 7, 5). Haikus are about nature and include a seasonal word. Photo is my shadow in Provincetown. 

Fairy Tale Blues

lillian39 Comments

Farm girl drama queen
with big time dreams,
snared the son of a preacher
with her homey flirtin’ ways.
Singin’ the fairy tale blues.

Son of a preacher
turned big time doc,
maneuvered through the courtin’ tiffs
into a sometimes wedded bliss.

Mansion mama, party queen
livin’ the wonder life,
raisin’ two perfect girls
puttin’ on the ritz.

Spotlight stealer, cravin’ fame
ignored her co-star’s role,
didn’t see him exit left
singin’ the fairy tale blues.

Always the diva drama queen
she stabbed him in their final scene.
She’s doin’ five to ten now,
singin’ the fairy tale blues.


Image in public domain, from Pixabay.com. Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Frank is “tending bar” and asks us to write a poem with irony in it. Irony can be defined as a story with a surprise ending.

And the Waters Live

lillian46 Comments

Ghost riders no longer hover.
Train tracks dismantled long ago
phantom posts reveal their route. 

I did not mind their crossing,
if they could have glided silently
like parrot fish within my realms
or shape shifter clouds above.

It was the daily clatter,
metal wheels on transom
wide-open window chatter
reverberating rumbles.

I much prefer the quiet.
Hikers who gaze,
mesmerized by lapping waters,
sun glisten upon my face.

Occasional thunderstorms
pelt rain upon my scenic demeanor.
Rarer still, they apologize
reflecting rainbow arcs in smiles.


Posted for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Mish asks us to “give nature a voice.” Photo from Bermuda — along the Old Railway Trail. The Bermuda Railway operated from October 1931 until May, 1948. The hiking trail stops and starts on various parts of the islands that make up Bermuda — with ruins of stations, trestles, and roadcuts. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop on by!