dissonance
changing times
veins frozen still
warm love disappeared
vapid space adrift
begging please
alone here
Poem inspired by personifying the huge, monolith icebergs we recently saw in Antarctica. It seems to me that sometimes people feel like this.
Shall I sit
complacent?
Stilled
as if painted upon a wall?
Indelible street art
disintegrating in time?
No.
Dreamers, Mother Earth,
I care.
I give voice.
I demonstrate.
I remonstrate.
I strive to keep her arm outstretched,
a beacon of hope
promised to all.
First photo is street art from our recent time in Valparaiso, Chile. Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Amaya is hosting and asks us to consider pentimento. A word about pentimento: this can refer to an alteration in a work of art…sometimes visible to the viewer, such as the shadow of a flower appearing in a painting of the forest; or the hidden woman’s face in the bent neck of Pablo Picasso’s “The Old Guitarist.” Shifting this into poetry, Amaya asks us to consider a time we changed our mind. Pentimento in Italian means “repentance” so Amaya suggests we think about a change for the greater good. This started me thinking about Martin Luther King, the 60s, and the recent political scene. No matter the partisan side you lean toward, the election of Donald Trump did create a voice of activism that had been stilled in recent years. I was one of many women who found my voice and demonstrated with my daughter on the day after his inauguration. The recent #metoo movement is another instance of finding voice.
Her clan’s scheherazade.
Last in her lineage,
skilled by birthright
in the ancient art.
She follows the stars.
Finds her way,
village by village
to listen, to tell.
Stories they share
of birth, death, harvest,
and ceremonial hunts.
All grace her plots.
Mitochondrial details
events infused by voice,
sadness, daily banter, and joy.
Emotional spectrum wide and deep.
She the vessel of tales,
ewer of their heritage.
She is their story teller,
the carrier of life.
Written for my almost 11-year-old granddaughter who decided we should start the year with the same prompt word, “scheherazade,” meaning storyteller. Also penned for dVerse where Paul hosts today, with the word “grace” for a prompt. Apologies in advance to all who read and comment — it may take a while to respond as we embark today on a 34 day journey to S. America and Antarctica!
Dappler at heart,
pointillist by nature
she tinted words in pastels
sprinkling them one by one
among the needy.
For dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today, Victoria asks us to write a poem that employs symbolism.
twenty-four-hour news cycle
compromise, an unused skill
science be damned
and civility hiding god knows where
find me the bridge
over troubled waters
to sanity
to respite
clear my head
Sing to me softly of innocent dreamers,
babes in loving arms
carried to a better place.
Schooled in hope, promised opportunity
if they dare to walk tall
within the sight lines of humanity.
May their songs never cease.
Harrumph.
Abbracadabra . . .
Hurrah!
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😊
Helios banished
usurped by Thor.
Relentless temper rains
ruinous torrential tomorrows,
inundates the land.
Cloud-sieves drain seemingly forever.
Altruism birthed midst missing sun.
Notable acts of kindness shine,
emerge, kindled by catastrophe.
Frank hosts dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets, asking us to write an Acrostic. An acrostic includes a word or phrase hidden within the first letter of each line. You find the word by reading vertically down the left side of the poem. Image in public domain at pixabay.com
She fancied herself a sun goddess
gathering warm rays
sending smiles out to the world.
Photo credit: good friend, Marie Mumford
Shadow lady,
from wherever-you-prefer
cash-only for hire,
she an artist’s muse.
Name-her-as-you-wish
pose her as you will.
Her rule, never touch,
sparks a masterful brush.
Face concealed,
enveloped in a penumbra of voile
anonymity always required.
Pastels, oil, charcoal, or clay
shades of black, white or grey.
Bright hues perhaps?
Your choice.
Clothing optional, save the veil.
Perched upon a chair,
garters hold stockings taut
bare breasts paint themselves.
Curses fall upon that masked face,
as she survives within the pale.
Fee collected, she hurries home.
Scarf thrown upon the chair
no mirrors with which to see
that face so hidden then,
now sipping cup of tea.
Years later,
accompanied by her spouse
she visits galleries,
genteel pastime of the upper class.
Smiling ever so slightly
she spies her former self,
framed in golden gilt
hanging upon the wall.
She, an artists’ muse,
their anonymous visage.
Paid a pittance then
worth a fortune now.
Written for today’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. I’m delighted to be hosting so step right up to the bar. The prompt word for today is “shade.” Use the word itself or any derivation of the word in the body of your poem. My poem today is inspired by a recent visit to Boston’s MFA to see the Matisse Studio exhibit. I was enamored with this painting, Seated Figure with Violet Stockings, oil on canvas, painted by Matisse in 1914. My imagination took a leap from the painting to this musing. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us in the shade!
lillian the home poet 