love

Come Walk This Lane

lillian6 Comments

NaPoWriMo Day 28:  no prompt

IMG_6878

Come Walk This Lane

We travel the road with smiles and song
two seniors, a little girl, and giggles galore.

Slowed by aging knees and cataracts
our steps hesitate on uneven ground.

Her six year prance, skips and tugs
a young colt straining against its reins.

Hands seasoned with brown age spots
grasp fingers fresh from popsicle licking.

The wheels on the bus go round and round
segways to Knock knock. Who’s there?

Elephants! Suddenly we’re swaying
makeshift trunks and holding tails.

Beware! Silliness is contagiously infectious
in close proximity to grandchildren.

Loss

lillian3 Comments

NaPoWriMo April 25. Without Prompt.

Loss

Eyes droop heavy
tear salt encrusted lashes
stare forward unseeing.

Throat gags trying to escape
the cloying flower scent
preserved in artificial cold air.

Silent screams inaudible
smothered in the cacophony
of shushing hushing voices.

Hands folded, cold
should be warm in mine
swinging down our lane.

Comprehension dawns
sun shines out of synch
with the ending of our days.

Sole Soul View

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NaPoWriMo   Day 13 is to write a riddle poem.  Three descriptive clues/views of the same thing — very pedestrian!

1.
Every day
on floor carpet sidewalk
step briskly to corner office
tap below glass-top desk
by floor to ceiling window
sealed shut to the soul.

2.
Move forward upward onward
stretch tall to top shelf
where dusty books and what-ifs lie
walk run tip on toes
ready-set-go
limp across today’s finish line.

3.
Climb berber covered stairs

to suite with rose trellised paper
quickly untied unshod slip between
slick and silken sheets nuzzling her toes his mates
meeting hopefully so late again this night
like last and last and last.

Prism + Palinode

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NaPoWriMo

Day 8 National Poetry Writing Month Prompt is to write a palinode: defined as when a poet retracts a statment made in an earlier poem.  Prism was previously posted under One Sentence Poems. Posting these just under the wire today.

If you’ve not seen my Sunrise Return to Sweden, published this morning — please do scroll down and take a peek — one of my favorites.

 

Prism
When I’m asked, How do you see the world?
I squint a bit under the bright light
looking for the crimson of her scarf
and answer, Through a kaleidoscope.

Palinode
As she slips through the crowd
 not acknowledging me again,
I clear my throat and add,
But mostly as a labyrinth.

Monday’s Promise

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April is National Poetry Writing Month.  NaPoWriMo 2015 is a challenge to write a poem every day in April.  Today’s prompt:  write an aubade – a morning poem….perhaps about love, perhaps about Monday.  

Monday’s Promise

Last night’s shooting star
carried my wish
streaking across the sky
someone listening
outside our universe
promised me
tranquility and love
in yesterday’s tomorrow.

Parrot Fish

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Spending February in St. George, Bermuda was, as they say, food for the soul. The waters are truly iridescent. We were fortunate to see a bright parrot fish on one of our many hikes. When I got my camera out, it was gone. Gone — but remembered as I wrote the poem below.  Post Script:  Once spring has truly arrived in Boston, I’ll change my Photo page to the amazing Bermuda coastline.

 

Parrot Fish

The water so clear he can see
the parrot fish glide in and
out among the rocks
and Sargasso sea grass.

Eyes shaded, he tastes the salt air
and looks out at the layers of blue
from navy to azure to sky melting
into sea. Slowly, he remembers.

Her eyes. Pools of iridescent aquamarine
with feathered lashes opening and closing, half shut.
The blue so deep he wanted to dive into the pool,
possess it, feel the coolness on his skin.

Gazing downward again, the bright crimson
parrot fish is gone. Escaped. Riding the waves
as foamed breakers leave ridges in the sand’s
edge. And once again, he is left behind.

All We Need

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buttercup_meadow_pointed_flower

Have you ever just escaped the craziness of the world by tent camping? It makes you realize how little we really need to be happy.

All We Need

We travel at a hurried pace
away from a stoplight-elevator-world
toward those long-planned
six nights and days.

The tread wheel flattens
heart rates slow
as the green meadow comes into view
scattered clumps of butter-cups and violets.

Personnas molted, we sit
and breathe deeply
the kind of gut-breaths
that expand the good parts of your brain.

Coffee gurgles over the fire
lit by one match
branches, twigs and
scraps of yesterday’s paper.

The one we quickly scanned
standing up at the glass table
gulping from mugs
with ergonomic handles.

With long swishing swallows
of aromatic elixir
we watch our six day world
through the thick mesh of a tent flap.

Rain starts to fall
quietly in that all day soaking way –
so we laugh
and clink our tin cups together.