He scent her,
over a cup of tea and slice of sole.
His moistened fingertips touched her lips,
lemon balmed her into paroxysms of love.
Twiglet #10: scent of lemon. Misky posts a twiglet every Tuesday: a short phrase, a word, to prompt a thought, a flow or a memory. Artist credit: Girl Holding Lemons by William-Adolph Bouguereau, 1899 -found in wiki art.
Simplicity is a roomy closet, an empty drawer,
stars overhead and terra firma souls.
Memories and dreams conjured
from maps, photo albums, paper and pen.
Long walks in whatever weather,
wherever place, your arms round me.
Thankful for everyday.
Tobacco Bay. Ten minute walk from our rental in St George’s, Bermuda.
We’ve travelled together
through all these years
hand in hand, even apart,
exploring each twist and turn.
So much of our story behind us now,
turned down corners on favorite pages.
Still, we walk on, more slowly perhaps,
wizened bodies and fuller hearts.
Listen my love
as we choose our next path,
to these words I quietly say.
Thank you time, thank you you,
for this and every day.
Today Mish hosts dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She interviews Ally R Saunders, a talented artist who spent most of her life in Nanaimo, includes some of her paintings and leads us to her website. I chose her painting Many Paths as the muse for today’s post. (My 47th anniversary is February 7 and Kim at dVerse just celebrated her anniversary) dVerse opens with this prompt at 3 PM Boston time.
My eyes cannot see my face
and yet, in this room
this darkened place,
I see me in your love
your soft whisper breath
your fingertips across my skin.
You are my looking glass
image me into our dreams
light my heart, my soul,
light stars within my eyes
explode my senses,
nova me this night.
And then, as passions fade,
we shall sleep entwined
until the morrow’s dawn.
I’m hosting Poetics at dVerse today – that wonderful virtual pub for poets. I’m asking folks to write a poem that includes a unique verbification – a noun or adjective used as a verb. Think Google — originally a proper noun, the name of a company. People started to say “google that” and through repetition, it became a verb. How about “ganache me” — wouldn’t that be delectable? My post, One Night, verbifies nova – a star that suddenly flares and then fades slowly. Come join us at dVerse to read and enjoy; and maybe, also, to post your own verbification! Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Photo: in public domain.
Crimson me
solitary vibrant leaf
bright among the detritus of fall
Crimson me
rising sun ‘neath lone streak of cloud
splashing daylight into roiling ocean’s blue
Crimson me
hand-tied twisted rambling tail
flying high with diamond kite in sky
Crimson me
red rose beribboned bright
silent love song from stoic gone rogue
Palette of smudged pastels and oils
color me in life’s brightest hue
more than a blush, a sheen
I choose patina
to shine, to soar, to sing
I choose to live in love
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Victoria is tending bar today and reminds us how important the role of repetition is in our lives. As it can be in poetry. So today we write using repetition – a phrase, a line; a sound or a syllable within a line or stanza.
Photos are from Bermuda and Cape Cod, except for the rose which is in public domain. B
slipping from here to there,
drifting toward sleep
my hand reaches for yours.
Fearful still,
I will not let you cross alone
this darkening nocturnal bridge.
Fingers interweave. I wait. I listen.
Soft even breaths become my evensong
and I succumb to dreams.
Hosting the dVerse virtual pub for poets today. I’m asking folks to write a poem that contains the word “bridge.” So many possibilities! Come join us – bar opens at 3 PM Boston time.
curl me softly?
Straight lines do not appeal,
nor pointillist detail.
Giverny blur me
in weeping willow,
mauve wisteria and lupine tendrils.
Soften words with lyrical strokes
lightly touch my lips,
whisper quietly in fading sun.
Hold me,
spoon me
in waning silvered moon.
Welcome back to dVerse! Bjorn opens 2017 with the quadrille prompt to use the word “curl.” dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, opens at 3 PM…come join us…curl up with a cup of coffee or a mimosa, share your take on the word and or read what others have to share in only 44 words (definition of a quadrille)!
Sweet fawn, framed by forest clearing
breath vapor hangs in air,
eyes wide alert, stare through snow.
Crystal flakes cling to coat,
velvet brown ears quiver
hear soft cries and crooning sounds.
Hooves muted by drifted snow
young woman and man oblivious
as wet nose pushes stable door ajar.
Innocent deer stands quietly,
sees calves lying in tussled straw
lambs nearby, quietly sleep.
And there, wrapped in woolen shawl,
a small babe with contented smile
held close to mother’s breast.
A simple pastoral scene,
Love and Light born this morn.
Photo credit: Benjamin Earwicker. Title from Isaiah 9:6
Poetic license taken (creativity beyond the traditional story).
White crystalline flakes
cascade from dark skies
falling, drifting quietly,
upon the rural scene.
A lowly ass plods slowly
pulled forward by a bearded man.
They lean forward,
tandem force against the wind.
The young woman huddles, sways,
shifted side to side by the animal’s gait.
Feeling movement from within,
she burrows into her woolen shawl.
Talons sunk in frozen bark
feathered body blending into frigid tree,
the snowy owl stares steadily
at the slow motion scene,
watches the couple disappear
over the hill beyond,
unaware, in the darkness,
of the Light that is to come.
Photo in public domain. Poetic license taken (beyond the traditional story).
The earth moved, an aperture in time.
Tectonic plates shifted within her soul
left behind an open space,
a void within her life.
She stood above where he lie.
Moist grass licked her ankle bones,
feet planted firmly as she stared down,
eyes a spiral, boring deep and deeper still.
And when the summer storm came
she gently lowered herself,
a prostrate form upon the mound,
to protect him from the pelting rain.
She imagined his shape beneath hers,
tucked her arms close in beneath her chest.
Face resting upon the stone
she felt the granite, cool upon her cheek.
I love you always she whispered.
And lying still among the tombs
lying with him once again,
she felt his love within her heart.
lillian the home poet 