slipping from here to there,
drifting toward sleep
my hand reaches for yours.
Fearful still,
I will not let you cross alone
this darkening nocturnal bridge.
Fingers interweave. I wait. I listen.
Soft even breaths become my evensong
and I succumb to dreams.
Hosting the dVerse virtual pub for poets today. I’m asking folks to write a poem that contains the word “bridge.” So many possibilities! Come join us – bar opens at 3 PM Boston time.
There were no cell phones. No super highways. No air-conditioned cars. We rode with the windows down and used paper maps. That summer we drove from Waukegan, Illinois to Cape Cod. My mother often sat with her feet up on the dashboard and her full skirt pulled way above her knees. She hated the heat. “We’re finally there,” my father said as he pulled off the road. I was in the back seat, playing with my Revlon doll. There were small cabins scattered around the driveway and you could barely see the ocean at the end of the dirt road. A man ambled over and my father asked “How much?” I don’t recall the amount or the cabin number we stayed in, but I do remember clearly what the man said next. “Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds stayed here last night.”
sand dunes on Cape Cod
wind swept over many years
memories lost to time
Lady Nyo (Jane) hosts dVerse Haibun Monday and asks us to write about a memory from childhood. Given the recent deaths of Carrie Fisher and one day later, her mother Debbie Reynolds, it seems appropriate to write about this particular memory. In terms of a timeline, Revlon dolls were made by Ideal, beginning in 1955. Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds were married from 1955 – 1959. Haibun: a paragraph or two of prose (not fiction) followed by a haiku. Photos: Cape Cod National Seashore near Provincetown. How serendipity that I now live in Boston and since 1998, have spent one or two weeks every year in Provincetown, Cape Cod.
curl me softly?
Straight lines do not appeal,
nor pointillist detail.
Giverny blur me
in weeping willow,
mauve wisteria and lupine tendrils.
Soften words with lyrical strokes
lightly touch my lips,
whisper quietly in fading sun.
Hold me,
spoon me
in waning silvered moon.
Welcome back to dVerse! Bjorn opens 2017 with the quadrille prompt to use the word “curl.” dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, opens at 3 PM…come join us…curl up with a cup of coffee or a mimosa, share your take on the word and or read what others have to share in only 44 words (definition of a quadrille)!
In the quiet spaces
my heart awaits a miracle.
A family with no home
carrying a gift within,
sought shelter on the darkest of nights.
Turned away,
their solace lay with stable mates
and a symbol of Love was born.
As the world seethes
a baby in Aleppo writhes with pain,
feels not the love promised to many.
Angels hover,
ethereal wings tattered and torn.
Their yuletide song has but six words.
How has it come to this?
Created for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. dVerse will take a holiday hiatus, but I shall keep posting here. Heads up! Tomorrow’s post is about our recent trip to Australia and includes some amazing photos of a mama wallaby and her joey!
Special thanks to Bjorn, Gail and all my fellow pub tenders. And a very special thanks to all dVerse participants for making 2016 a great year!
elusive time
slips through fingers
like threads of gossamer silk
elusive time
disappears like dew drops
as sun steeps blades of grass
elusive
as sheaves of journal pages
covered in faded ink,
tear drop stains
softened by the years
journal pages
fingered tentatively
as she sits, mind wandering,
wizened body ensconced
in pale grey prayer shawl
I’m hosting the bar at dVerse today, a virtual pub for poets, and asking folks to write a poem with the word “time” in it; or a poem about a particular time etched in their memory. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop by and imbibe some poetic words or take up the prompt yourself. We’d love to have you! Photo credit: Kristen Hultzapple.
We rented an Iowa farmhouse in 1973, in the midst of loess hills and cornfields. The acreage included a silo, machine sheds, pigs’ digs, and a large barn with 1876 chiseled into the fading red wooden door. On this particular January night, in the midst of a howling blizzard, we heard thumping at our door. Cat, our inherited outdoor farmcat, sat on the stoop. Bulging pregnant belly of yesterday gone, her teats hung low. We offered a bowl of warm milk as George donned winter gear. He set out to follow Cat and insure her new kittens were safe, protected from the storm. She led him in and out of buildings, round that farm for thirty plus minutes. He finally gave up the hunt and came inside, looking like a freeze-frame from Dr. Zhivago. Mucous frozen mustache. Beard turned prematurely white with snow. We feared the worse. And then . . . some weeks later, on a clear, crisp and sunny day, Cat paraded by our window with a smirk on her face. Six little ones scurried behind.
winds howl, snow pelts earth
nature’s creatures burrow deep
wait for calming sun
It’s haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Toni asks us to write about a night we remember. The haibun form includes a paragraph or two in prose (must be nonfiction) followed by a haiku. Photo is in fact, the old farmhouse mentioned in the haibun. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop by and imbibe some poetry or share your memories of one special night!
When
life
gets
all
staccato,
insert
a
rest
and slow yourself down.
Don’t beat yourself up.
Think key largo
and slip into three-quarter time.
Note:
I’ll dance with you
to any music, any time,
any place, any where.
Except the polka.
I hate dots and oompah bands.
Victoria is hosting dVerse today, a virtual pub for poets. She asks us to write a poem that incorporates music. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time….stop by and add your own musical voice, scat with us, or just enjoy some of the other folks jammin’. For those non-musicians among my readers, opus, staccato, rest, beat, key (as in key signature), largo (as in slowly), 3/4 time, note and of course polka all refer to music. Photo/graphic credit to freepik.com
Feeds: TBD
Baking Time: 65 to 70 years.
Time may vary, depending on your power source
Ingredients:
One ripe chick or rooster
Zest of lemon pepper (sometimes called life)
1 cup of sunny disposition, firmly packed
1 Peter Pan attitude [the flying kind; not the collar]
Dash of bitters, tempered by condensed joy
Step lively – do not beat.
To achieve needed volume,
may use lower speed or additional appliance.
Texture may be wrinkled – this is normal.
Choose icing to your liking.
Tutti fruiti is, by far, the most popular.
Add cinnamon red hots for extra kick.
Tinsel may be used for effect during the Christmas season.
Best served with a glass of cold chardonnay,
although a virgin bloody mary may also make merry.
Enjoy!
For today’s Poetics prompt at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, Mish asks us to write a recipe poem! She includes a list of suggestions such as a recipe for peace, merriment, etc and “rejuvenation” was among the suggestions. Well! That’s my word! See my About 🙂 Never say “retirement.” I’m in rejuvenatement! 🙂 So here you go, Mish! I accepted the challenge. Photo is of my Christmas tree when I was a little girl — drenched in tinsel! Hence the line in the poem.
Last night we sailed beneath the promise of a full moon. Standing on our deck above the ship’s wake, black diamond water glistened in lunar sheen. We awakened to a new day, hearts filled with gratitude and love, in Australia. We stand now, feet firmly on the ground, spirits soaring as we gaze together upon Sydney’s iconic bridge and opera house. The journey continues.
full moon graces sea
waves alit with wondrous glow
lunar toast to love
Shared with DVerse. Apologies again to my readers as we continue on this amazing journey: Oct 25 to December 2. Two cruises back-to-back with very little time or ability to connect to the Internet. Thus I cannot read from my dVerse poet friends’ posts. Once back to Boston, shall be in my normal writing AND reading pattern. Hoping you will excuse me.
There is a place where one man has made all the difference.
The people’s Bali lies far from glamorized honeymoon Bali. In Banjar Guliang Kangin, three hundred+ villagers survive. Men toil in hot humidity tending rice paddies. Trek barefoot in muck, guiding bovine through shin-high waters as they pull hand-carved rakes, furrowing mud. Others stand in water, backs bent, sticking rice plants in wet soil. Women rise daily at five AM. Walk to village market and buy day’s fresh food supplies as mangy dogs and cocking roosters run underfoot on dirt road. They use firewood to boil rice, cook fresh chicken and vegetables in clay pots. Weave flowers and seed as offerings to Hindi gods three times per day. Balance bundled lunch on heads, walking into fields toward hungry men. Children, who can afford books and uniforms attend free school through tenth grade. Farmers make $7 per week, Their children work in fields and family gardens.
We are among the privileged few taking a cooking class from Chef on this hot Balinese day. He meets us at market and humbly explains vegetable names and uses. Takes us to his village, walks us though rice paddy fields to open air school he built with bamboo poles and thatched roof. Teaches us Balinese cooking and at class end, smiling broadly, serves us foods we’ve prepared. “This is not my school. It is my community’s.” Chef left this village as a young man. Traveled to Australia to learn English and culinary arts. Worked in kitchens, ultimately a Hyatt, saving monies. Two years ago at age fifty, he returned. Built this school. Established relationships with cruise ship lines and hotels. He buys food and teaches multiple cooking classes every day. His work has literally built a bridge, improved homes, and insures that each village child attends school. As women toil at home and men plant fields, he is feeding a village, dish by dish.
Pale female cardinal
daily builds nest, stick by stick
winds of change blow by
Wonderful day in Bali. So very glad we did this excursion, experiencing Balinese culture and helping this village by working with Chef. Such a humble, giving man.
lillian the home poet 