I am the hug shared at goodbyes and hellos.
I am the small child’s smile, peeking shyly, behind your legs.
I am the high five to a Special Olympian’s extended palm.
I am the sun rise over tomorrow’s ocean blue.
I am the baby who grasps your finger, nuzzles into your chest.
I am hope. I am life.
I am the good, and I am here.
Life is a path between the stars.
Tantrums at two were not my youth,
long before those days
cicadas nested in cedar trees.
Old age will not be defined
by creaking limbs and bleached bones.
I will float with abandon,
as myriad shades of liquid blue.
I shall become the ocean wide
waves crashing upon the rocks
seeping in and out,
among the sands of time.
The lunar tug shall continue me
and my waters shall lap the earth.
Abhra hosts dVerse Poets’ Pub, Tuesday Poetics and asks us to answer the question, what would you like to be reborn as or return as?
Photos: from Bermuda, myriad shades of blue!
Interesting fact: cicadas were dependant on Bermuda Cedar trees for their survival, and when the cedar forests died in the 1940s, the cicadas began to quickly disappear. They are now extinct.
We will cross the bridge tomorrow, following bagpipes and the hearse.
Ancient stones shape two arches and guide the current’s flow. Last week’s storm brought a rush of silt and murky waters. Today the river is clear and calm. I see fish moving in and out among pebble mounds. The sun moves slowly across the scene, leaving shadows in its wake, but I remain on its golden side. My gaze moves to the road beyond. And I know, although I cannot see, the plots are there, just around the bend.
Heron waits, ready to pluck
fish flow ‘neath ancient bridge
life moves through to death.
Written for dVerse, a Pub for Poets….Haibun Monday #6. Gabriella Skriver shared several of her photos and asked that we choose one to motivate our writing for today. I loved this bridge one. A haibun begins with short compact prose and concludes with a haiku — the haiku cannot be a duplicate of the prose, but must be complementary. Generally, a haibun in the true sense of the form includes elements of nature and moves to an inimitable truth.
I am the serpent
undulating, smooth mounded earth.
I meander your secrets,
fossilized creatures and bones
soils of thousands before you.
My head and tail mark each solstice
beginning and end, light within me,
but I do not cease in either place.
My spirit continues as grasses
a wave of wind in ancient song.
See me and then seek others,
mounds of shapes for ancient eyes.
Yours too can see my living rest,
effigies and raised birds in earth.
Share my calm. Join my native prayer
and let me be.
Serpent Mound in Ohio. According to Gloria Steinem’s My Life on the Road, “Like so many other mounds, it would have been destroyed to make room for construction if money hadn’t been raised to save it, in this case, with the help of a group of women at the Peabody Museum of Massachusetts.” I’ve never seen Serpent Mound but have been to Effigy Mounds in Iowa. Written for dVerse, Pub for Poets’ challenge: write an ecopoetry by exploring and dwelling in our relationship with nature in such a way that implies responsibility and engagement.
Where is this place your camera stills?
I want to step inside, kaleidoscope left behind,
a monochrome to soothe the soul.
Bedspread created long ago,
thread-circle trails of small stitches
smoothed by generations’ rest.
Wooden cupboard beside the bed
holds graceful, long necked pitcher
inside smooth china bowl,
poised to share cooling waters
rinse woes from worried hands.
Single curtain draped in gauzy folds
lacks taut crease, pressed edge or hem.
Pulled gently to one side, reveals stone wall
somehow softened through old glass panes.
Flowers blossom just beyond,
lines blurred between petal, stem and earth.
No black, no white, no bright cacophony.
The serenity I will surely feel,
if I could step within.
Photo Credit: Kaz Gosper. Thank you Kaz for allowing me to write a piece about this stunning photo from your trip to the Port Arthur historic site in Tasmania. I truly enjoy following daysandmonths — Kaz’ site where she shares her absolutely stunning photography. Please drop by and enjoy her work! Also sharing this piece with dVerse Poets Pub, open link night #164 where Gayle tended bar last evening!
Curtains open wide
streaming sun shines warmth and love
today I shall live.
It was all they wanted for their anniversary. They’d traveled every state and hiked so many trails together. They just wanted to go back to the beginning. The old amusement park.
We brought them to the litter strewn vacant lot. We’d heard the story so many times. The Tunnel of Love where the boat rocked in dark water, pulled forward by chains. Their first kiss.
They saw the rusted turnstile; ride long gone. And as is if we weren’t there, embraced. Their kiss, strong, passionate and deep. We blushed. Our father and mother, a man and woman at their core.
Word Count: 100 Photo Credit: Amy Reese. Written for Friday Fictioneers, so deftly organized by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Skeleton trees rattle outside my window
the moon, their spotlight
as branches click like castanets.
No mouth, no heart, no head
just limbs flailing in the winter wind, so alive
though sap was spilled in days gone by.
They tap upon the glass as if to remind me,
seasons do change. Just keep in step
and move with us, partners in the dance.
The gift of greening shall evolve
and music shift to spring-time waltz,
nature’s present in days to come.
I smile, looking through the pane
today’s impossible will bloom tomorrow.
And I shall wire rose buds together,
a welcome wreath upon my door.
Motivated by the Sunday Whirl, Wordle 233. Create a poem using these words/forms of these words: head, mouth, present, wire, change, gift, possible, spill, skeleton, moon, keep, step. Each Sunday a different Wordle is given! Very fun to take up this challenge. Photo credit: Heather Elaine Kitchen
I need your help,
the crocodile is getting close.
Time just seems to disappear
even on ho hum days.
Please send Tinker Bell
to flit round my head.
I’ll remember then
to think wonderful things.
And the starry sky
outside my window
will look more inviting
when it’s my turn to fly.
lillian
Quickly’s Winter Doldrums Jan 10 Prompt: write an epistolary poem – a poem in the form of a letter.
He sat upright
surrounded by canes, walkers
tv guides, checkerboard games,
and the people that accompany them
in a place like this.
He waited patiently
for the last strands of that age-old song,
some high pitched warblers
hunched over the tinny piano
pulled out for occasions like this.
Balloons hovered above his head
as candles dripped life-time moments
onto fondant flowers.
Festive paper plates too thin
for the thick slab he desired.
And so I asked the centenarian
for the secret of his longevity.
Well sonny, I always say,
close your eyes to dream.
Just make sure you open them wide
to watch where you step.
lillian the home poet 