Notes to Self

Perk up!
So the path behind is longer
than the trail ahead.
Wild flowers still bloom,
ready for picking along the way.

No more reins to white knuckle.
The children are loose
reining in their own foals,
galloping in fields you planted,
tended many years ago.

Embrace your lover joyfully
as days and weeks slip by.
Love more deeply, gently, surely.
Expect to share the morrow gladly
as you kiss the night goodbye.

Beautiful-Elderly-Couple-Hugging

Written fordVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Frank is tending bar, asking us to write a soliloquy poem today.  Photo from Pixabay.com

Darkness and Light: Beginning Anew

October 19, 2013. We walked across the street from Mass. General Hospital into a new life. My question: Is there always darkness before light? Night skies before the dawn. In utero before light at the end of the birth canal. Sleep before the alarm sounds. Death before new life.

Six minutes minus a heart beat. Thirty-six hours of induced comatose state. You suspended somewhere; eyes shut, machines whirring. Me existing in light which felt like the darkest of times.

You returned to us and the morning sun. Five days later, we walked home. Six years later, we are together still. Thankful for every day.

dark in chrysalis
strength builds, body renewing
life’s splendor springs forth

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Bjorn is hosting Haibun Monday and asks us to write about new beginnings. Haibun: 2 to 3 tight paragraphs of prose (must be true) followed by a haiku. The condominium building we live in is actually located directly across from the main campus of Massachusetts General Hospital.

Let us make magic . . .

let us lie together,
dreaming deeply
until we find an opalescent
magically luminescent forest.
Let us love
beside immortal sprites and spirits,
share dew drop kisses
amongst shimmering leaves.
Wouldst this be our shared lullaby,
that we might ignore the dawn
when reality beckons.

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today De asks us to use the word “spirit” (or a form of the word) within our quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Image from Pixabay.com

I am . . .

labeled Taurus by sun,
emerald green by hue.
Fire and earth,
my elements.
1947,
year of the pig.

All this I am told.
All this I read . . . and ignore.
You are my mirror.
In you, my reflection
has no labels,
no boundaries.

You release me,
you always have.
I suspect
you always will.
Stalwart, loving,
supportive, accepting.

Together,
two individuals
side by side,
in sync.
Two harmonious melodies
with unique time signatures.

Two strong vines,
you and I, intertwined.
We blossom sans labels,
sans categorizing systems.
We soar in harmony,
Zodiac be damned.

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Amaya is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She asks us to consider cosmology, the various systems that define us by elements, astrology, etc. Image is from a family album of geneology I am creating. That is my writing…and this is actually a page from my father’s desk calendar, ripped out the day I was born; laminated, and carried by him in his wallet until the day he died. He had another one from the day my brother was born. That small block printing “LILLIAN” below the calendar, is his handwriting. A draftsman, he always wrote in block print.

 

You are my touchstone . . .

You were my honey mine,
sipping bubblicious.
Feeling passions quake
in hot and youthful ardor.

You proposed with golden band
rich in love, but not in funds.
Hearts expanded, two to four,
those we called our wonder years.

Till suddenly we caught our breath,
their childhood gone, somehow over.
Watch we did as they left home,
amazed were we, as two again.

Seasons passed and reappeared
our path ahead, much shorter now.
But kisses still doth kindle joy
for you and I, our love defined.

Love divine, a decoupage
years layered upon years.
Passion flows through comfort,
your skin next to mine
love within familiar folds.

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Sarah hosts Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She is thinking about all the computer games that occupy so much time of some people. She asks us to choose three games from among those in a list she provides; and use those three names in our poem. I selected the games Honey Mine, Quake, and Overwatch – the latter split between two lines in stanza 3. Photo is taken at Pilgrims First Landing Park in Provincetown, MA. Most folks don’t know the pilgrims first landed in Provincetown but did not find it to their liking and went on to Plymouth. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time: come join us! 

Love Unwrapped

There is vulnerability
in unconditional love.
Sensual giving,
baring our souls.
We commune
in tonight’s passion
and tomorrow’s mundane.
We are,
as love is.

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Anmol (HA) is guest hosting at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. He asks us to explore desire and sexuality in poetry – and to write about desire and identity. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time…come join us!

Fashion Forward

Hats . . .
so many in a lifetime
exchanged with curves in road.
Strapped on through squalls,
gently worn on balmy days
stored on shelf when out of style.

Mother-hat,
adjustable as needed
blessed to wear.
Daugher-sister hats
occasions departed,
retired too soon.

Yourlove-hat
once perky, so with-the-times
never veiled.
Labelled vintage now
slightly creased with age,
worn with gentle smile.

Yourlove always,
shining in my mirror.