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
. . . remember that old song? Of course you do. Sing it with me! Skip to my Lou, my darlin’!
Let’s skip stones across a pond and then, chalk in hand, draw hopscotch on a sidewalk. Later you can pour me a Scotch and we’ll pour over old photo albums laughing at our childhood antics.
A bit puckered out and perhaps tipsy too, we’ll gawk at the stars, sitting on the stoop. Stooped shoulders with a myriad of wrinkles. Madeline L’Engle’s wrinkles in time singing Skip to my Lou, my darlin’! Oh let’s just skip the malarkey and admit it.
We’re septuagenarians in love with life!
Melissa has us zeugmatically speaking for today’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She explains, “zeugma is defined by Merriam-Webster as ‘a figure of speech in which a word applies to two others in different senses.’ Zeugma is a rhetorical device that is used to emphasize, add humor, or surprise a reader.” Hopefully, I’ve done this correctly with the words skip and pour. The words Scotch, stoop, and wrinkle are played with a bit here as well. Madeline L’Engle’s famous novel, A Wrinkle in Time, is also referenced . . . sort of!
Fly with me, my love, once more into the skies to sail upon the seas. Far away lands, new tastes and sounds. Kisses iced with salty breezes, dessert to cap our days. When sun’s warmth wanes, stars will glisten above the wake. Through all our travels when I am with you, I am home.
have some aches and pains but able to walk and reach dishes on the second shelf. Enjoy a good book sleep beside the love of your life and have family that cares, said the septuagenarian.
To be blessed is to be with your forever family who plays fetch for hours on end, lets you get on the couch with them . . . occasionally, and get kibble treats for just sitting still, said Zoey, the dog.
To be blessed is to enjoy sunshine filtering through your leaves provide shade to a couple’s picnic beneath your branches sport reds and burnt oranges in the autumn season mourn the dropping of leaves and skeleton shivers knowing your resurrection will come next spring, said the seventy-six year old Metasequoia.
Written for Day 5, NaPoWriMo where the prompt is to “try your hand at writing your own poem about how a pair or trio of very different things would perceive of a blessing.” The line “to be blessed” and the idea for my poem is taken from the poem used to illustrate the prompt, “The Blessing of the Old Woman, the Tulip, and the Dog” by Alicia Ostriker.
*There is indeed a Metasequoia tree planted in the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University in 1948. It is one of the oldest and first of its kind to grow in North America in over two million years according to the City of Boston official website. The photo, however, is of a tree in Boston’s Public Garden taken during an autumn walk several years ago.
I was not there, the day everything changed. When was that? When World War II ended? When Einstein discovered relativity? When nine-eleven crashed into infamy?
Or when Harry really met Sally? Or when you simply ate a peach that summer day, juice deliciously dripping down your tanned wrist. Somewhere at that moment, I suppose a child was born.
Truth is, everything changes with every breath we take. Every pivot, every spin, every loping run, something new becomes.
Nothing stands still. Except perhaps sentinel mountains in the Norwegian fjords. Yet even they are marred by subtle granular shifts as we gaze up at their rugged rockface surface.
Like when we turned around and our children became adults. We noticed when their braces came off that summer, but we didn’t register the daily shifts.
I don’t understand my image in the mirror. I know it’s me. But how did it become . . . that? Wasn’t it just yesterday, I was a brunette and you introduced yourself to me?
Fifty-seven years later, we walk more slowly, still hand in hand more often than not. We’ve passed through so many seasons together, the path is now longer behind than in front.
And so my love, in this moment that shall also pass by all too quickly, I simply must tell you. I am thankful for every day. I am thankful for you.
Written to share with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Saturday, March 18, dVerse will go LIVE with audio and video from 10 to 11 AM EST.
Folks from across the globe will meet face-to-face via Google Meet to read a poem of their choosing, and to visit across the miles.
. . . my to-do list is much too mundane to do. * Laundry * PT exercises * Vacuum * Clean out drawers
So I sit, pen in hand page patiently waiting to be filled, inscribed with delectable words. Words like bubblicious, fantasia, pomegranate, or perhaps persimmon.
Images dormant in my mind, clamor to appear on the page. Orange sherbet sun, shapeshifter clouds. Raucous carousel horses racing round and round a blurred world.
Shall I take my pen in hand? Or grasp that vacuum’s wand. Consider the choice. Attack cobwebs in corners of the house? Nope. Not today. Much more productive to clear cobwebs from my brain!
Posted for Open Link Night LIVE at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Come join us LIVE between 3 and 4 PM EST today, Thursday Jan 19th by clicking here……and then clicking on the link provided on the post. You’ll be connected to audio and video to meet folks across many time zones and countries. Come to read a poem of your choice OR just to listen!
We’ll also have OLN LIVE on Saturday January 21st from 10 to 11 AM EST. Click here and then click on the link provided for Saturday’s session. Hope to see many of you!
Born in May these many years ago, amongst lily of the valley and gaiety of tulips bright.
I am like the crocus enjoying first rays of spring sun in the midst of winter’s final stance.
Assertive, I push forward first to appear, even when slicked with chilling frost.
During coldest of times I burrow in found comfort. Your arms, ready to enfold me.
Like Mother Earth, you are my home in every season of the year.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa asks us to “become the embodiment of winter. Tell us what you feel during this season.” Crocus Me is where my muse took me!
NOTE: HOPE you will join us this Thursday, Jan 19, from 3 to 4 PM EST for OLN LIVE . . . OR . . . for the first time, on Saturday, Jan 21, from 10 to 11 AM EST.
You’ll find two links on Thursday’s dVerse: one for Thursday and one for Saturday. Clicking on the link will bring you to a live session with audio and video! Come meet your fellow dVersers and either read one of your poems aloud or just come to listen! The more the merrier! We’re a very friendly bunch!
January takes us to San Diego, California for two months. We trade in Boston’s winter for sunshine, temperatures in the sixties and seventies, and enjoy living in a small apartment rental. It will be our fourth year so we no longer feel like tourists. With our Senior pass in hand, we ride the buses and take commuter trains and trolleys around the city like seasoned San Diegans. Shopping at the local farmers market for fresh fruits and vegetables and fresh fish is a favorite Sunday pastime. And of course, that turns into delicious dinners in our home-away-from-home. We especially enjoy strolling the coastline, weekly visits to the world renowned San Diego Zoo, and listening to live outside concerts at Balboa Park.
So here’s to leaving our down jackets, wool hats and mittens behind and boarding the plane on January fifth. California, here we come!
snoozing burly bear wakes up energized by sun lumbers out to play
Kim welcomes us back to dVerse and asks us to write about what January means to us, in this first haibun of 2023. Photo is from the San Diego Zoo last year.
Life is candylicious with you. My Hubba Bubba, my Mr. Goodbar. My Swedish Fish, my Lifesaver. My Starburst when darkness falls.
You bring a Bit O Honey to every single moment we share. Everyday with you is a Payday, rich in laughter and love.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish is hosting Quadrille Monday and asks us to use the word “candy” or a form of the word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Do you recognize the candy names in my poem? Hubba Bubba, Mr. Goodbar, Swedish Fish, Lifesavers, Starburst, Bit O Honey, and Payday. Had fun with this one! Photo is from this past June: me and my Hubba Bubba!
lillian the home poet 