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.
my heart knows your eyes
blue iris sway in dry breeze
wilting like your love
sweet purple wet flesh
first bite of plum delicious
your tongue licks my chin
sea salt licks tart sweet
your kiss, standing on the shore
waves crash, passions soar
I was alone, but for a moment
amidst pealing bells.
Suddenly you were there
tear streaked face buried in my chest.
Memory flash of newborn nestled into me.
And then you were gone
dancing joyfully,
her white veil trailing on your arm.
Our footprints disappeared
in cool damp sand ridges
as we walked, farther and farther
into the wetness of low tide.
Heads bowed,
eyes shaded from glare,
the water glistened
in glorious serenity.
We shared our solitude,
hand in hand
grateful we chose the off-season
to rediscover togetherness.
This is rewritten, using Glisten as a base, the first poem posted here, on March 20th.
I cried today
peeling onions
at our black marble countertop
knife chopping
on the old scarred cutting board.
I laughed at myself
as salty tears seasoned diced sweet yellow
enough for two, waiting for your footsteps.
I cried today
walking in the rain
the Charles covered in mist
damp fog coolness on my face,
your absence by my side.
A young couple scurried by
unaware that my tears ached
with rivulets from the sky.
I cried today
in front of our tv
on our corduroy couch
stained by tears on wales.
Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr,
an Affair to Remember
their ending so bittersweet
ours so not.
And I wondered
if anyone,
beyond these walls
could hear
my silent
primal
scream.
Motivated by rereading a prompt from my poetry mentor, Holly Wren Spaulding, in a previous class with her. Write a poem using “anaphora” — repetition of a word or phrase.
The house is quiet again
all things-children put away.
If I close my eyes
I can hear their laughter echo,
see small bodies
clambering on to youth chairs.
Stillness surrounds me
memories sustain me.
Families, and time
move on.
Toys packed away until another time.
The flat smooth spatula
dips in sweetness
slowly connects with layers
methodically swirls its thickness
then dips again, rises again
and moves in circles
across the top of delicious.
Flirtacious, sultry summer
sizzles then rains cool
young men strut shirtless
female bosoms tempt their eyes
summer slyly bares their lust.
I do enjoy the Tanka syllabic form: 5-7-5-7-7.
Gives a little more leeway than a haiku:
when 17 just won’t do.
lillian the home poet 