dVerse

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! 

Makin’ Noise

lillian21 Comments

I have these dance shoes
+++++full size, my size now
+++++taps on soles like woodpecker nose
silenced in a drawer.

Could make loud flaps
+++++not with wings but toes
+++++not on trees but floors
+++++shuffle off to buffalo
make myself be known.

Had smaller ones years ago
+++++noisy kid on taps on tap
+++++poured out energy bar none
+++++little girl was big out there
brave feet shushed by none.

Maybe I should tap again.

   

Written for Holly Wren Spaulding’s class. Prompt: “free yourself from the standard rules of English syntax” and perhaps also write about something that could have another meaning. Two ways to read to my post today: 1) read only the lines that are not indented to find the poem within the poem; and 2) read the entire thing. As the phrase goes, popularized when Senator Elizabeth Warren was silenced in a congressional hearing not so long ago, “She persisted.” (We shall not be shushed.) For the non-tap dancers: a flap is a tap step, as is the shuffle-off-to-buffalo. And yes, those are my shoes in my drawer and yes, that’s me many many many years ago! Shared with dVerse where today is open link time – meaning anyone can share one poem with dVerse readers – the virtual pub for poets across the globe. Come post your own or imbibe some words! Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. 

Haibun Feast

lillian40 Comments

We sat beside our daughter at a rough, hand-hewn table that stood on two-by-four legs. At the time, she was studying at the Hochshule fur Musik in Freiburg, Germany. We’d been invited to dinner by her fellow student, Christiana, who’d grown up in what was then East Germany. Christiana’s parents and brother were visiting. And so we joined them in her rural one-room rental, with access to bathroom and kitchen. We brought the wine.

The family served a simple meal on mismatched chipped plates. Wildflowers sat in a glass jug. No napkins. No English. And yet we laughed and spoke with our hands and eyes. At times, our daughter translated. I do not remember what was served, nor the aromas. I do remember the simplicity. The open and freely offered friendship across cultures. The sharing of so much more than food.

amidst weeping glaciers
debris fields give way to streams
wildlife quenches thirst


Written for Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Toni asks us to write about one of the best meals we’ve ever had. Photo is of us during a glacier hike in Alaska. We eventually got to the foot of the glacier that, through its melting, creates this stream. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come share a meal with us! 

Impressionist Scene

lillian53 Comments

We walk silently, side by side
wander from delineated path.
Step softly
into mountain meadow
enveloped in heady scent.

Wildflower carpet at our feet
damask cloth spread upon the blooms.
She sits demurely
holds one tempting peach aloft,
just beyond my reach.

I stretch to touch her wrist
guide velvet fruit to slightly parted lips.
Succulent flesh drips sweet nectar,
blurs into rivulet on milky neck.
And I sit mesmerized.

Her image blurred through tears.
Serene beauty
framed amidst soft meadow hues.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Bjorn hosts and continues with his exploration of artistic movements. We are to paint with words, in the style of Impressionism, capturing images to create a scene. Impressionism is not dark. We are to lighten our poem with colors, but preferably not using color words. Instead our images/objects/scenes mentioned should evoke a sense of color by their very nature. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come share your impressionistic view or just stop by to imbibe some words! 

Rat Race on a Horse

lillian44 Comments

They live a merry-go-round life
maniacal calliope music
spinning circles, senses blurred
chasing what could lie ahead.

Blue horse, her mount
golden mane rich in gilt
cold cylindrical pole
clutched in lust.

Two steeds behind
eyes wild, hair disheveled
desperately out of synch
he up-downs as she down-ups.

Desire fuels the chase
bolted to spinning floor
moving unmoved
money, sex, fame
forever around the fluid bend.


I’m hosting dVerse today, the virtual bar for poets, asking folks to think about amusement parks, fairgrounds, carnival barkers. Write a poem that somehow uses an image from that scene – or captures a memory one has from going to such a place. Bar opens at 3PM BOSTON time, in the midst of Boston’s blizzard today! Come share a poem of your creation or just imbibe some words from poets around the world.

Helen Cecile

lillian48 Comments

Discombobulized,
she was like that.

Wound up tight tremors,
taut sprockets of the mind.

Spring-like nerves compressed
temper flares spewed.

Church hands folded, twitched, 
flailed by noon.

Even keel sailing
turned runaway train.

Expect the unexpected,
she was like that.


Kim is hosting today’s quadrille ( a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title) at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, and asks us to use the word “spring.” Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! 

Hundertwasser Me

lillian43 Comments

Blueprints in a cacophony of color
design my living loving house.
Angleless corners round flowing rooms,
textured floors pad souls on soleless feet.

One winding willow tree, rooted in love
grows up through every floor.
Climbs beyond skylight so all will see,
budding tiara atop our greening roof.

Two forms of light magically illuminate.
I-believe-claps activate sun in every space.
Twinkle twinkle little star releases scrim,
sparkles day dreams, night time’s too.

Inside is outside in my paneless house.
Plantings nourished from within,
grow and bloom beyond the sash.
Our family lives with open doors
and all are welcome here.

     


Sara hosts Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. She asks us to build a house within a poem. My imaginary house is influenced by seeing the Hundertwasser House in Vienna many years ago. Friedensreich Hundertwasser, Vienna artist and architect, 1928 – 2000. Painting on top left is Hundertwasser House in Moonlight, color lithograph based on the original by Karl Goldammer, 1995. Photo on right is the actual Hundertwasser House, public housing on the corner of Lowengasse / Kegelgasse, Vienna. Third image is his painting: The 30 Days Fax Painting, 1994 and gives you a sense of his style as a painter. He defied the straight line and believed in the poetic quality of inhabited space: irregular alignments of windows, the spatial integration of trees and wavy lines in his urban plans. Uneven floors and undulating rough cast walls, tree-roofs, bearded windows, and tree tenants were features of his architecture.

Iowa Haibun

lillian43 Comments

Rural Iowa and fifteen acres of land. Three rusty metal cross-bars hold taut clothesline flapping white sheets and cotton diaper cloths. I stand on tip-toe, reaching high to pick low-hanging fruit. Branches sag with their weight. Nearby, the garden waits. Beet greens wilt, red-veined, atop vegetables grown too plump beneath the soil. Feathery dill goes to seed as crazed zucchini plants maze through cukes and pumpkin patch.

In the distance, I see dust rise before I hear the car. George is returning from city life to our quiet country home. A space to live simply on the land.

rolling hills of green
beribboned by dusty roads
corn silk dries in sun

It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Toni is tending bar and speaks to us about the Japanese tradition of foresting — simply walking through the woods, unplugged, relaxed, listening and smelling what is true. Our Haibun must be one or two tight paragraphs of prose (not fiction) followed by a haiku. She asks that we write about a time we simply enjoyed the out-of-doors or a natural place. She wants us to relax with our readers — offering a post of calm.