Slip on spectacles;
do not seek spectacles.
Seek slightly furrowed brows
tear drops forming in their duct
delicate veins on clover leaf
cloud wisps tinctured in palest pink
puddled reflection of toddler’s yellow boot
catsup melding into whole wheat bread
smiles of mirth ‘neath crinkled eyes.
Slip on spectacles to see the good.
In the spirit of the poem, no photo or illustration included.
Motivated by a prompt from Holly Wren Spauldings online class…a list poem.
I recognized it.
A little pocket of silence.
I was hiding,
feeling sad and brittle
and about seven thousand years old.
A cause for revolution,
all this swinging.
You wanna see pretty colors?
More razzle dazzle?
Just sit down,
find the balance.
Shut the door.
Cease your relentless participation.
Accept the best I can do.
Victoria is tending bar at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. She asks us to do some Erasure Poetry. A new form for me. We choose a book or text and by “erasing words” from it (or an alternative way to say it is by choosing words from it), make up a poem of our own. We cannot add our own words…all words must be from the book or text. Each line in Thank You, Elizabeth is an exact phrase from Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love. Punctuation is mine. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Shuffle your troubles away.
Skip through leaves
listen to their rustle.
Hum three songs –
from your teen-age days.
Or shuffle off to Buffalo.
That’s a tap dance step
or a change in view.
Shuffle you happy,
shuffle me too.
I figures these days, we can all use a little humor and something to smile at! 🙂 Photo: a number of years ago, the grandkids hiding then popping out in a pile of autumn’s leaves.
I think . . .
no, I’m sure . . .
I think I’m sure . . .
he’s the one.
Yes, he’s the one.
But . . .
if I could somehow . . .
magically . . .
meander into my future . . .
will he be there?
in her narrow galley kitchen,
she planed to outgrow it.
The oversized refrigerator
became her gallery of sorts.
Photos of him taped to the door,
ultimately yanked off in anger
before the catsup was even gone.
New boys appeared and disappeared,
friends she planned to feed into lovers.
Time emptied the tape dispenser.
No boys, just gummy residue.
So she walked in the rain one day
going store to store, on a magnet spree.
Colorful dots. Hearts. Fanciful sayings.
Two bright rainbows.
And one empty royal blue photo frame
she stuck on the far-right upper corner
of the freezer door.
She was, after all, an optimist
through and through.
I’m hosting dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. It’s Tuesday Poetics and I’m asking folks to walk into their kitchen and peruse their refrigerator! Look inside. Look at the outside. What do you see that strikes your imagination that can be a jumping off point for a poem! Describe an object or use it somehow in a poem. Our refrigerator doors have always been a “gallery” of sorts with magnets and photos and sayings. So, looking at ours, I made up a young woman who uses her refrigerator door in somewhat the same way.
Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come visit and chill out with us today!
sing a song of happiness.
Care and love shall spin their bliss
dawn shines new, more brightly too
when all join hands and share the light
sing a song of happiness.
Make our world a kinder place
My granddaughter, Marika, age 9, made up a tune for this and sings it in the video below.
Sung by Marika, age 9 (my grandaughter). A quadrille (44 words) written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today De is giving us the prompt word, “hope.”
I’ve also posted another poem which uses all 42 words (including hope) in this quadrille series: Film Noir Take 42.
leaf-ruffled skirts of red and gold.
Nature’s can-can dancer,
autumn kicks up her heels.
My writing spills out from a deep cistern of life’s experience. Sometimes a bit dank and dark as the pen dips deeper. But never from the despair of a void.
I am a doer. A make-your-own-sunshine-on-a-grey-soupy-day kind of gal. Cheerleader-tap-dance vigor still runs through my veins. Lean machine, gone somewhat dumpy with the addition of an old age belly, I choose to look up and out, not down. My daughter once said to me, “Mom, every movie can’t be the Sound of Music!” But I do choose the channel, right? Write.
sunflowers smile at me
sheets flap and furl on clothes line
summer of my mind
It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Toni, our haibun queen, asks us to write about why we write the way we do. Who are we and how does that come out in our writing? My readers will have to decide if they think I’ve nailed this assignment. 🙂
These are two of my all-time favorite photos from Provincetown at the tip of Cape Cod, Massachusetts. We’re in the second week of our annual two weeks here. Even on grey and foggy days, there is a soft beauty to this place! Hmmmm sounds like my haibun! Haibun: a paragraph or two of tightly written prose (cannot be fiction) followed by a haiku. A haiku true to Japanese form, always includes a seasonal word. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Abbracadabra . . .
Palindrome: word that is the same, spelled forwards and backwards as in mom, wow, and hah! Also a four-way acrostic for dVerse. An acrostic contains a hidden word within the poem, usually spelled out from top to bottom within the first letter of each line. In this short short poem, read first letters of each line from top to bottom, or from bottom to top; and read the last letters of each line from top to bottom, or from bottom to top, and you get the same word! And the message/meaning is that sometimes, magically, a person’s personality can change😊
She fancied herself a sun goddess
gathering warm rays
sending smiles out to the world.
Photo credit: good friend, Marie Mumford