Can we pull a rabbit out of the hat?
Where is Tink when we need her magic?
Forever young, forever healthy fairy dust.
Sadly, we see the tied-together scarves
stuffed up the pretender’s sleeve.
Musical chairs it’s not.
The chairs are disappearing too fast.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dverse, the virtual pub for poets where today the prompt word is “magic.” Quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
thou art my bedfellow.
You joust to slay my sleep,
pummel me with dire near-dozing dreams.
not to rest, but to rise instead.
Darkness turns light,
switch slapped by frustrated hand.
thou art the victor
your bleary-eyed spoils.
I’m hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. The prompt word is “spoil” – or any form of the word. Quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time – come join us! Image from Pixabay.com
Do not ruminate.
Savor the past but live now,
today has choices.
I remind myself today
and will tmorrow,
happiness is a choice.
Mish is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She asks folks to write about lessons they are still learning in life. Photo from our time in Norway last year.
Eyes closed, gaze within
picture sun and feel its warmth.
Searching deeper . . .
deeper still . . .
seek the ocean’s glistening path.
Breathe in . . .
and now sigh out . . .
bask in rest within your mind.
Permit the balm, accept its calm.
Slowly begin to open . . .
eyes . . . heart. . . soul.
You are a gift within the gift,
God’s new day.
Napowrimo Day 6: Pay particular attention to line breaks, pauses, space. A poem a day until its May. April is national poetry writing month.
Photo is Easter morning’s dawn from our deck in St. George, Bermuda. We return to Boston today.
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!
genetic bits and pieces
human building blocks
lately I realize
I am most me
when I am with you
and slow yourself down.
Don’t beat yourself up.
Think key largo
and slip into three-quarter time.
I’ll dance with you
to any music, any time,
any place, any where.
Except the polka.
I hate dots and oompah bands.
Victoria is hosting dVerse today, a virtual pub for poets. She asks us to write a poem that incorporates music. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time….stop by and add your own musical voice, scat with us, or just enjoy some of the other folks jammin’. For those non-musicians among my readers, opus, staccato, rest, beat, key (as in key signature), largo (as in slowly), 3/4 time, note and of course polka all refer to music. Photo/graphic credit to freepik.com
It was a day like any other day – until it wasn’t.
Rocking the elliptical to A Hard Day’s Night, I suddenly stopped. Did some invisible vice just clamp on to my chest? The Beatles still blared in my headset, I started to pump again . . . nope . . . can’t breathe. Off the machine . . . slowly out the club door into the sweltering day. I watched my feet in slow motion as the sun magnified everything. Sweat dripped through my pores. The elephant sitting on my chest was an unbelievable load. Takotsubo? The heart blows out in the shape of a Japanese octopus trap. Really? And everything slowed down to match the thick soup of summer’s oppressive heat. If you’re a woman who lives with stress, or has lived through stress, you should know the word: Takotsubo. I didn’t. Until I did.
octopus seeks its prey
eight suctioned tentacles grab and twist
latch on to suck out life
It’s haibun Monday at dVerse Poet’s Pub where Toni is tending bar. She asks us to write a haibun (one paragraph of prose followed by a haiku) that relates to hot hot hot — perhaps a memory from a hot summer day. This is my memory. My experience. I urge all readers to read about Takotsubo, sometimes called Broken Heart Syndrome. It is real and frightening. In most cases, women completely recover with no lasting damage to the heart. I am, fortunately, one of those women, although it took three months. We must all learn to handle stress in our lives. It is a matter of life and death. Photo on left is a Japanese octopus catcher. Xray on right shows the left portion of the heart blown out like a takotsubo….the heart does not pump efficiently. Take care of yourself out there!