feet solid upon this earth.
when ashes float
upon ocean’s tide?
What of my spirit
clamoring for release
from embers’ dust?
Shall my essence
melt amongst the stars?
Dissolve into tincture of dawn?
Swirl within some galaxy
unknown to earthly man?
Mingle through generations,
welcome those yet to come?
Somewhere beyond this realm,
out there beyond?
Perhaps this earthen home
is but a way station
weighed down by skin and bone,
awaiting release into a dominion
of absolute timelessness.
An otherworldly universe,
glimpsed only by the dreamers,
those who peer
beyond this spatial dwelling place.
Photo Credit: ESA/Hubble; European Space Agency, NASA, and J. Hester (Arizona State University)
Posted for dVerse where I’m delighted to host Tuesday Poetics, asking everyone to look up! Write a poem inspired by one of four photos, taken and released by the Hubble telescope, included in the prompt. Jump into the photo, imagine its world; write about space or not. Simply be inspired by the image and see where it takes you!
dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
NOTE: I emailed the Hubble site from which the four available images come. Permission was given for this prompt, providing each poet includes the exact photo credit as listed on the site and thus copied to my prompt.
She remembers hot spots,
hands thrown up in disgust.
spewed words laced in spittle.
She walks this Icelandic landscape alone
breathing sulfuric stench.
Eyes sting, nostrils flare.
She feels and sees and hears
the earth stew, bubble,
seethe and steam.
Flumes sputter, gain strength,
spray vitriolic anger.
Shielding her eyes,
she searches for some shade of green,
some sign of hope
beyond this godforsaken land.
If she stands still
she understands now,
she will be consumed.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Our host is Kim and she’s talking about “flexing your verbs” in a poem about a landscape. Photos were taken outside Reykjavik, Iceland on our recent trip. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come imbibe some verbs with us!
dry themselves to seed.
Inside-out they sow themselves
to green and bloom again.
Written for Misky’s Twiglets. Two word prompt given this week, “inside” and “out” to spark a thought, a phrase, a poem. The shorter the better, hence the name twiglet. Photo: taken last year on the Rose Kennedy Greenway in Boston.
Descending into Earth’s belly
we clamber over solidified lava,
misshapen slabs, coarse and sharp.
Crouch. Walk. Crawl in darkness.
Her innards surround us.
Two thousand years have passed
since she belched fire
spewed molten fury
encased this land.
Liquid anger flowed and ebbed
cracked in cooling drafts
left behind tunnel pathways,
cold witness to those fury days.
My mouth agape,
body chilled to the bone,
we move through this, her confession,
the scars of a temper once unleashed.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Paul asks us to write a poem from our underground travels. Paul opens Tuesday Poetics at 3 PM Boston time. Photos: from our recent excursion into the lava fields and extinct volcanoes outside Reykjavik, Iceland. We actually went underground and explored a 2,000 + year old lava tube. That’s me in the purple. Last photo is what the land above the tube looks like — that’s lichen growing on ancient lava fields. Very barren and harsh. Iceland is one of the world’s most sparsely populated countries. It has extensive volcanic and geothermal activity (see photos with my one sentence poem entitled Geyser. About 50% of Iceland is mountainous lava desert. Only 1% of their land is cultivated.
earth spews steam
in unseemly belch.
Photos from outside Reykjavik, Iceland. There are 300 volcanoes in Iceland. 50% of Iceland’s landmass is mountainous lava desert. The famous Blue Lagoon is in the midst of lava fields with waters heated by the natural geothermal heat “beneath the earth.” These photos show the steam belching from the earth. In some places, large geysers shoot up. Iceland collects this geothermal energy and uses a system of pipes below streets in Reykjavik to keep streets from icing over and they also provide heat and electricity to homes in Iceland. Absolutely amazing to see.
earth sheds detritus
clutter clutched in melting snow –
rivers cascade spring
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets from across the globe where today, Paul is tending bar and asks us to write about rivers. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come river dance with us!
moss, lichen and fiddle ferns
padded damp silent floor
cool moisture clings
leaves shiver in residual rain
stubborn clouds persist
dawn struggles to lift the shade
Post written in response to Day 12 of 21 day challenge online course led by Holly Wren Spaulding. Write about a room.
Stones lean precariously after years of neglect. Some cracked. Others bedecked by lichen. Tall wild grasses and spindly trees surround antiquity. Tourists hike the nearby road, unaware. Disconnected to what was. But the Earth knows. She periodically sheds tears, some frozen in anguish, others gentle in their falling. Her memory forever graced by those embraced within her folds.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today’s prompt is to write prose poetry. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. This is a special place in cyberspace where poems are shared and read. Come join us!
hissing gushing geysers
She breathes as her children live.
Inspired by recent dVerse prompt to write about breath. Photos: Tauranga NZ on the farm used for Hobbiton in Lord of the Rings; Rotorua, NZ — geysers on land of the Maori people; untitled painting by Louise Hearman, Australian artist, exhibited at the Art Museum of New South Wales — all her paintings are untitled; and Lake Wakatipu near Queenstown, NZ. All taken on our recent 40 day journey to Singapore, Bali, Australia and New Zealand. I have now returned and shall be posting regularly again. Hope you’ll join me often — I enjoy the feedback of readers!
Clouds slung over land
like a prayer shawl before the dawn.
They cling softly to earth’s shoulders,
until sun begins to warm her soul.
Mist slowly slips away
leaves moisture upon her limbs,
like tear drops shed in supplication
seeking grace for this day.
Monday’s quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words) for dVerse, that virtual pub for poets, where today Kim is tending bar and folks are writing about clouds. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop on over and imbibe in more clouds. Photos from a past trip to Alaska.