After watching the news . . .

if I put on lacy anklets
chalk hopscotch on my sidewalk
tie these grey locks into pigtails
and read Golden Books,
will everything be fun again?

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Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. I’m “tending the pub today” and look forward to reading all the posts. Photo taken a few weeks ago at the Corvette Diner in San Diego’s Liberty Station – our waitress’ feet!

Delectable

Strawberries.
Luscious dimpled red,
capped by emerald-leafed crowns.

Thumb and forefinger
pinch greenery,
slowly bring to mouth.

Eyes dilate.
Yearning at first sight
turns to absolute delight.

Sweetness explodes.
Taste sublime
brings smile divine.

Nectar-trickle escapes lips
stains white linen,
evidence of fulfilled lust

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Fulfilled hides the prompt word fill
Photo taken as we brought these amazing strawberries home from the Hillcrest Farmers Market in San Diego. Poem written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today De asks us to include the word, or a form of the word, “fill” in our quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! 

Winter Glistens

“As I left China farther and farther behind, I looked out of the window and saw a great universe beyond the plane’s silver wing. I took one more glance over my past life, then turned to the future. I was eager to embrace the world.”
Wild Swans, Jung Chang

Youth and middle age.
I am far past those lanes,
beyond that curve in the road.

Photos framed on shelves.
Who I was and who I loved
all along the way.

Mirrored image returns my gaze.
Silver haired and wizened,
in this, my final season.

No turning back.
Winter’s snow always glistens
even in the setting sun.

I shall embrace this scene.
This my new world forever,
as ever I shall be.

Mish is hosting Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She asks us to choose a book near us (or from a link she provides) and look to the last lines at the end of the book….and then let those be our poetic muse for our post today! Thus the last lines to Wild Swans, included before my poem.
Photo from our trip to Norway a few years ago.

Got the Zing!

I shall not go quietly.

Monocolors about to shift
enabled by passing time.
A last hurrah.

Flashing reds and golds
kicking up my heels,
swirling dervish as I let loose.

Revelry earned by business suits,
years of accountability
must-dos and many don’ts.

I shall dance the can-can.
precisely because I can
and am.

My name may not be Autumn,
but watch me go out
in a blaze of glory.

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Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Bjorn asks us to write using metaphor. Photo cropped from one in Pixabay.com. 

Before you were born . . .

I dreamed of holding stardust in my hands.
Wondering who you were inside of me,
moving softly as my belly expands.
Some being, ethereal? Feathery?
Then you abruptly kicked. Staggeringly.

Doubts, questions, fears, realities unfurled.
How to protect you enough in this world?
Then you, pushing. Pushing until you’re through.
Angry. Squalling. Blotched face. Legs fetal curled.
But once in my arms, my stardust I knew.

Today Frank is hosting dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. We continue to explore the Dizain — a particular form of poetry that includes 10 lines, each with 10 syllables, and a rhyme scheme of ababbccdcd.  There is to be a “turn” in the poem after line 5.  For me, as always with forms, and in particular forms with a set rhyme scheme, it is a struggle to have the meaning of the poem come through without calling attention to the form.  Although folks at dVerse have been working with the Dizain for a bit, this is my first attempt. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come try your hand at a Dizain! Photo is from pixabay.com  

We Gather Again

Fifty years ago,
we wore bridal veils.
Walked past the elders’
with a cursory but loving nod.

Then family reunions,
joyful raucous gatherings
at the twenty
and thirty-something’s table.

Then babies appeared on hips,
high chairs crowded table seatings,
crayons joined forks and spoons
and the elders watched lovingly.

Too soon,
teenagers rolled their eyes,
talked about whatever they do,
made lists for Santa’s exchange.

Someone tried to reproduce
Auntie Maia’s meringue cookies.
Papa Milt’s son took over
his carving-the-turkey role.

Beloved faces,
grandparents,
uncles and aunts
disappeared from the scene.

And now, tomorrow,
we gather again,
a new generation
gracing a bridal veil.

And just for a moment I see their faces.
Generations
who instilled love of family,
no matter the distance or age.

Then quietly
we walk into the room,
smile knowingly and take our seats.
We now, are the elders’ table.

For Kenji

‘Tis legendary
not ordinary,
‘cross sea.
Firm friendship, nary
time’s adversary.
To be
older, not wary.
Smiles luminary,
esprit.

Inspired by my recent visit in Yokohama with Kenji Kojima. Photos of Kenji and I in our 1965 senior high school album. And a new photo of us taken together last week in Yokohama, Japan.

Kenji was an AFS exchange student from Japan during our 1965 senior year at Waukegan Township High School in Illinois. We had not seen each other since 1965! The years didn’t matter. The distance didn’t matter. The friendship held true and we enjoyed two wonderful hours together reminiscing, talking about our families and grandchildren. What an absolute privilege to see him again.

Poetry form is the Lai: 9 lines with the following syllabic and rhyming restrictions:

Line 1: 5 syllables, rhyme word a
Line 2: 5 syllables, rhymes with a
Line 3: 2 syllables, rhyme word b
Line 4: 5 syllables, rhymes with a
Line 5: 5 syllables, rhymes with a
Line 6: 2 syllables, rhymes with b
Line 7: 5 syllables, rhymes with a
Line 8: 5 syllables, rhymes with a
Line 9: 2 syllables, rhymes with b