What spirits roam this earth? Moon gods no longer constant fatigued by cloud-strung battles, wax and wane their beams. Seasons test the sun, warmth succumbs to winter gales.
Spirits gone these many years hover o’er our heads. Their whispers ride the winds. Arise my children, each day sublime, whether warm or cold or dark or light, reach out, touch hands, and dance.
Smile hope upon your neighbors be they far or near. Smile hope upon your loved ones be they on earth, or in the heavenly sphere. All gaze upon the same bright stars.
Love this day together, my children, for I am with you as they are too. Greet each day sublime, hearts flush with gratitude, no fear. Listen for their whispers they are always there to hear.
Every time I see them it creates an image in the present which in seconds or hours or a day or years, depending on recall, is always in my past.
We gathered to honor the matriarch. From Texas, Illinois, California, Wisconsin, Minnesota, North and South Carolina, Massachusetts, Tennessee, and Virginia too.
She was the rock, the foundation. Granddaughter of Swedish immigrants, upholding the traditions. Her life, lived for so many.
A career in nursing, a ministry of sorts. She offered healing to the afflicted. From surgical assistance to the elderly’s pains, to the scrapes of school-age youth.
She taught her children compassion. Lessons passed on to grandchildren and their children. To nieces, extended family, friends and neighbors too.
She faced the depths of loss and pain, courageous and resilient. Sustained by faith in God and love of life, she taught us even through her death.
Family gathered to pray, to sing, to share a meal. Tears and smiles comingled. Yesterday’s emotional today, so filled with love and caring support. That is the essence of this family, what we share and treasure most.
Those moments of yesterday’s today, far too quickly in our past. But still they give us hope and strength, to face all of our coming tomorrows.
Written in memory of Janice Stewart. The family gathered on Saturday, December 11th at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Wheaton, Illinois to celebrate her life. She will be missed by so many.
PHOTOS: Hjalmer Hallberg immigrated from Sweden. He and his wife, Anna, settled in Chicago, Illinois. The photo on the left shows their five grandchildren. From left to right: George Hallberg, Nancy Jahnke, Lynne Gehrke, Janice Stewart, Donald Hallberg. Neil Netherton, Nancy’s brother, passed away many years ago. He was Hjalmer and Anna’s sixth grandchild. The second photo was taken immediately following the celebration of Janice’s life at St. Paul’s Churchon Saturday, December 11th.
Working in the kitchen, she ruminated on the unfairness of it all. Three times passed over. For men with less experience! She propped open the instructions for how to shuck oysters. Get oriented with your oyster; nestle it in a towel. Really???? What idiot wrote this? She stabbed the knife tip into the hinge. What a jerk she was for staying. Rotate the knife blade and separate the top shell from the bottom. She dug in the knife. Twisted it. “Are you upset?” he’d asked. Stupid dull blade! The oyster shell blurred. I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife into your gut. Oh how I wish you were nestled in this towel right now! She slammed the shell down on the counter in disgust. I’m done. She picked up the phone and dialed his private line.
Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Lisa introduces us to the writer Zora Neale Hurston. We are to write a piece of prose that can be no longer than 144 words, sans title, and must include the line I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife from Hurston’s “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me” in World Tomorrow (1928). Image cropped from a photo at Pixabay.com.
April showers can be dour but they have a special power bringing to us May-time flowers. Now outside, no need to cower, fling off masks and smile for hours!
In celebration of the new CDC announcement and Governor Baker’s announcement regarding masks outdoors!
She crossed a bridge with the utmost faith knowing her husband, gone so long, and her Lord would be on the other side. We who wait in this waystation bid her farewell and rest and we move on as we must.
Sometimes a bridge is like a catapult, a sudden bolt from here to there. Others seem miles long as we cross treacherous waters, painful steps, unsure of where they lead, straining to make the span longer still.
I stand outside tonight, staring at the stars above our universe. I wonder and I hope. Peace and unconditional love must surely have met you as you knew it would, when you crossed over to the other side.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today, Merril talks about bridges and asks us to either write a poem in a particular form, or to somehow write about bridges. This poem is dedicated to my sister-in-law Starr. We lost her on April 10th. She and I were planning on my visiting in July….it was not to be. I shall miss her. I do miss her.
bother me with sunlight today, streaming through windows this crisp cool day. Bother me with good news, happiness smiles and a baby’s grin. Bother me with a romantic tale full of daffodil cups, a good merlot and love tendered kisses. Please, do bother me!
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De hosts, asking us to use the word “bother” or a form of the word in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Pub opens at 3:00 PM Boston time – come imbibe some words with us! Also posted at Day 19 NaPoWriMo.April is National Poetry Writing Month and the challenge is to write a poem every day of the month.
Moon sliver slice of shimmer always brings a promise. Full moon’s glory will come then shall begin to ebb but never be lost. Moon sliver slice of shimmer always brings a promise. Full moon’s glory will come and so it shall continue as we’ve seen and and those will see after us.
Written for NaPoWriMo Day 17 where the prompt is to write a poem about or related to the moon. April is National Poetry Month and NaPoWriMo challenges us to write a poem every day of the month.
Sunny daffodils, wave your ruffled heads. Delicate cherry blossoms loosed by spring breeze, softly, silently, rain pink petals upon all below. Candy-cane red and white tulips stand tall beside double-layered pinks and yellows. Soon bleeding hearts will dangle gently over sweetly petite lilies of the valley. And lanes will burst forth with lilac blooms, myriad shades of purple perfuming the air. Bedazzle me, Mother Nature. I am so ready for your greening, most especially after this long reclusive year!
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today we go LIVE at 3 PM Boston time and folks have the opportunity to visit, put faces and voices with author’s names and read aloud if they wish. Come join us! Link is on the dVerse site, at 3 PM Boston time.
Photos all taken around our building here in Boston, at the Public Gardens and at the Harvard Arboretum….in past years. Spring is still trying to green this year!
Rusty, stiff, unwilling introvert this Covid-confined self.
Like a long steel girded tunnel beam after beam day after day sameness leads nowhere stretches far ahead, farther than the mind can tolerate.
Until science leaps through hoops crosses finish line, wins trophy emblazoned HOPE. Elixir in a sterilized needle. Shots into arms engage wills energizes souls.
Dim light, once far beyond the grid glimmers, brightens, glows, grows. Lights up faces around the world. Emergence is near.
Written for Day 4 NaPoWriMo. The prompt is to use an image from Liminal Spaces@SpaceLiminalBot as motivation for a prompt. I chose the image above.
lillian the home poet 