inspiration – Page 17 – lillian the home poet

…and the Blind Shall See

October 9, 2015October 9, 2015lillian20 Comments

Her face, my map, my guide
in this moment of charged silence.

I touch her eyes, feel cool wet lashes
sensation on my fingertips
questions in my heart.

Fingers move quickly to dampened cheeks
trace rivulets of silent tears.
Drops of fear or rejection or what?

Her lips purse together gently
in a bird-peck kiss upon my palm
press deeper, part slightly in a moan.

She leans in and I read her yes
hands grasp mine as we enter
this divine communion called love.

Thank you, God
for this gift of touch
for this woman who lies with me.

For joyful tears, now mine
from sightless orbs that see.
She loves me as I am.

Motivated by WP Writing 201 prompts: map, ode, metaphor

Early Fall-Crisp Day

October 6, 2015lillian12 Comments

A single red-orange leaf
floats unnoticed to the earth.

Acorns and hickory nuts
ping and thud upon the roof.

Once proud tall hollyhocks
droop in frostbit demise.

Logs lit to flame, hiss steam
hoarfrost warmed in hearth.

I sit, crocheted afghan in my lap
coffee mug nearby
and savor the season.

One Sentence Ode to Provincetown

September 28, 2015lillian7 Comments

She listens to the waves
gently lapping on the shore
the gurgle before the swoosh;
feels the sun upon her face
watches it glisten on the sea
and feels content to sit and do
absolutely nothing.

Sunday Seaside

September 26, 2015September 22, 2015lillian5 Comments

Sight line ends
where water creases sky.
Rhythmic waves,
the breath of wind.
Gulls glide by in slow motion.
Clouds first pink,
turn violet grey.
Glisten paths upon the sea.
Surely I am in church today,
my knees upon the sand
seeking intercession
in genuflection,
closer my God to thee.

Photos from beach by our deck in Provincetown. Assignment from my September 21 Day Challenge was to write a poem using the strategy of litany (listing) and end with a longer sentence, with a stronger meaning.

Ideas within the Tide

September 22, 2015September 19, 2015lillian3 Comments

Beads of wet
on grey wooden slats
reveal smooth foot prints
within pools of dew.

Purple veined hand
tames breeze ruffled pages,
etches black ink phrases
between blue lines.

Noon sun directly overhead
deck floor dry, tracks gone
forehead drenched
in streams of sweat.

Words flounder,
pen drags letters
as ideas dry up
like low tide sand.

A New Day Dawns

September 21, 2015September 19, 2015lillian6 Comments

And the sun shall break forth,
blush clouds pink then shift
seep tinges of deep warm reds.

A lonely gull sits sentinel,
witness to the changing palette
as waves stir the sands.

And somewhere a newborn cries
seeks her mother’s breast
as seedlings sprout in a monet garden.

For this is a new day to claim
cause and determination for joy
because we can.

We touch, we live to love
this day another,
thankful
together.

Cape Cod Muse

September 16, 2015October 6, 2015lillian5 Comments

Sea breeze carries a slight chill
as she pulls the sweatshirt close,
sips hot strong coffee under rising sun.

Later that day, sweatshirt off and visor on
she palms lotion between her hands
rubs coconut scent upon her limbs.

Feet on rail, notebook in hand
ideas float as gulls hover overhead
pen hits paper as birds dive into sparkling sea.

Sun shifts westward, coolness returns
she dons layers again
like words stacked upon the page.

Days in this place
turn into moonbeams
and she retires to be born again.

Cape Cod, Provincetown, little piece of heaven on earth. AND: this turns out to be my first poem published! Provincetown Magazine, October 1 issue, 2015.

Provincetown

September 15, 2015September 16, 2015lillian8 Comments

Someday, visit Provincetown,
nestled in the crook of Cape Cod’s tip,
at earth’s end and life’s beginning.

Savor the Watermark Inn
her quiet beach in early morn
ripples on sand and gulls overhead.

Long necked cormorants preen
then disappear, dive deep
to reappear fifty yards down shore.

Long Point lighthouse gleams white
stands tall across the waters,
stalwart to all who sail these seas.

Summer sunrise etches pink ripples
on softly lapping waves
and cotton candy clouds.

September sun melts orange red yellow
mirrors foliage on the town side
of fall quiet Commercial Street.

Come see this place my friend,
and serenity will visit your soul.

This poem motivated by a prompt in my September Poetry Challenge Class: Read Postscript by Seamus Heaney…..think about a time you traveled through a landscape that stopped your heart…do take interest in all elements of this poem (Postscripts): place names, references to season, landscape details etc…..he uses the second person “you” in his poem.

A Glimpse in Time

September 13, 2015September 13, 2015lillian5 Comments

I press my hand into the rock
this cave dwelling of yesteryear
and yesteryears before that
hand in hand, exactly
living inside solidified.

Bending still,
my eyes turn upward
seek the crevasse,
its light
and breath of breeze.

Clouds stir
create, reform
amorphous ambivalent shapes.
A spirit courses through my fingertips
perhaps rides the wisps above.

And I understand. I feel. I know.
Those before me, before them
all are dear to her,
threads of life intermingled
tied to the earth’s core.

Me in 2003 — at Walnut Canyon, Arizona. The Sinagua people lived in the cliff dwellings within the mountain sides. This is me, putting my hand into a print in the cave wall — I was so moved. My hand fit exactly. I’ve never forgotten it. The second “picture” – my words, written next to the picture in my scrap book….”It is an amazing feeling of connection to humans of another time.” All these years later, still remember that feeling and it motivated this piece.

We the Voyeurs

September 5, 2015September 4, 2015lillian7 Comments

We fly in this metal cylinder
to escape the city frenzy
and we still sit in the midst of it.
Hear metal belt click shut
and engines roar
feel the rush of air
from round blow holes overhead.
Nothing natural in this enclosed world.

Binoculars hang about our necks
a noose we choose to use.
Instead of trekking high,
step by step, from tree line to the sky
we ride a four wheeled bus,
now dusty from its assault,
on roads carved deep
into your very core.

We crane our necks
at white dots on mountain tops
adjust a rubber eye piece to our face
seek to magnify without a fuzzy blur.
Specs become horned dall sheep,
heads down to graze upon the rocks
unaware of human spies
with black binoculars eyes.

Last night, we communed with earth
faces up, we stared
into the cold black diamond sky.
One star jarred loose,
arced its way across the sky
as if to tell us in its glitter script,
you are the voyeurs within this space.

Denali National Park bus. The Kantishna Experience goes to the end of the one and only road in the park — to mile 92. I was struck by the magnificence of the land and its inhabitants: grizzlies (see poem Ursa), caribou, moose, dall sheep. And I kept thinking that we were the voyeurs, the interlopers in this incredible place.