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.
Pointillists paint millions of dots
until one image appears.
Up close blur
becomes meaningful
with three steps back.
Even a merry-go-round stops
lets passengers on and off,
provides a straight steel pole
to ease the way
in its calliope whirl.
Perhaps the answer then
is a palette or a shiny black steed
to guide me through
and make some sense
of this place you call life.
Boundaries between this world and the next
blur as I stand in mist
feet upon the earth, arms raised
billowness seeping from the sky.
I tip my face into the hovering cloud
spirit worlds surround me
and you are here,
my cheeks moist from your caress.
Slowly, sadness comes with warmth
as sun clears the air, blues the sky
eyes tear to realize
I am grounded, and you
are truly gone.
In response to Daily Post Challenge: Boundaries. Photos from dome car ride near Anchorage, Alaska.
Their love never showed itself
in word or touch.
It simply travelled
through a colored atlas
of their own making.
Sunday rides in a battered Buick,
state highways traced in orange.
Twenty-fifth anniversary in Hawaii,
circled in pink
like their matching floral shirts.
Retired early, she insisted,
they sold all their worldly goods.
Left a three bedroom colonial
for a small motor home,
and rambled through forty states.
College towns starred in blue
for the young at heart.
Green highlights for favorite parks
and the Grand Canyon’s purple X,
the greatest site of all.
Now, in a pastel assisted living center
map of colors upon her wall,
she gazes out the window
at red and yellow tulips,
his ashes beneath their blooms.
With quaking hand
she touches coffee cup to pane,
then slowly to her lips.
This, their morning kiss, a ritual
now the road is still.
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.
Cool crisp sun filled morn
sand colder between my toes
sea shore autumn calm.
Waves lap, winds gust
two gulls quarrel over one morsel
breath cools hot black liquid
sips then swallows.
All these sounds
echo in my ears
yet here I sit,
amidst the silence of the sea.
Another beautiful Provincetown sunrise. Sadly, our two weeks is about to end. Tis a special place – truly food for the soul.
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.
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.
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.
lillian the home poet 