memories

Haibun Delight

lillian41 Comments

I sit waiting. Orchestral music building. Gilded theatrical surroundings. Audience hushed. Clara, in white flimsy floating gown, on pointe. Drosselmeyer’s back to us. His arms outstretched dramatically. I know what is coming. The audience knows what is coming. And yet we gasp as the tree begins to increase in size, taller and taller. And our applause grows louder and louder and spirits soar higher and higher.

darkness waits for dawn
sliver grows to orb of light
always gifts the morn

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Today we have a surprise guest host at dVerse.  Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time for haibun Monday.  A haibun is prose, which cannot be fiction, followed by a haiku. My prose refers to that most magical scene in the Nutcracker when the Christmas tree grows before our eyes. Photo: best sunrise photo I’ve ever taken in Provincetown!

The Visit

lillian7 Comments

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.

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Cherished Memory

lillian51 Comments

He was a quiet man. I don’t remember playing with my father or hearing words of praise or love. I don’t remember hugs. But I do remember a few summer mornings each year when I was young. A silent drive to the lake. A long walk out the pier. He’d take a wriggly worm from an old tin can and put it on the end of my bamboo pole. And we’d sit. Just sit. A skinny little girl with giraffe-knobby knees and her whiskered dad, under the rising sun and ever bluing sky. No need for words. No need to catch a thing.

Steadfast sky and sun,
their promise always fulfilled.
Light shall break through clouds.

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It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Toni asks us to write a haibun about the day sky. Thanks Toni. Your prompt brought back this cherished memory.

For Sale

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Hands scraped, pulled and peeled.
Stripped bare in three hectic days
she gave up secrets long unseen.
Layer upon layer
she revealed her past.

Mauve moons, café scenes
wedgewood-blue stenciled designs
pale rose buds the last.
Memories removed, she stood
waiting, exposed

until they came again.
Colors slathered, rolled.
Taupe, beige, and palest grey.
Senses dulled, she cowered,
pale in disbelief.

Windows wide-eyed,
she watched
as strangers came to gawk.
Pried her private parts,
talked as if she was not there.

Once so full of life and love,
a shell of what she was.
Homeless,
just a house
lifeless on the streets.

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Memoriam

lillian63 Comments

Did you hear the winds rustle that day?
Metaphors soared on the backs of gulls.
Thousands of unused words,
ideas not yet writ,
wended their way into the night sky.
A poet’s earth journey complete,
she lives now, forever beautiful,
among the shimmering stars.

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Quadrille (44 words) written for dVerse as Grace asks us to use the word “journey.” dVerse is celebrating its fifth anniversary this week. Link up to join in the celebration!
Written in memory of poet Viv Blake who died suddenly on July 5, 2016. Photo taken while in Portland, Maine this past June.

Night Time Nostalgia

lillian2 Comments

nights etched in mind
black water glistens
harbor lights beam on sea
shadow figures lean toward wind
far away music starts and stalls
tree frogs serenade the stars
stars peek from black sky
Bermuda’s scrim of night

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Photo from our deck in Bermuda, just before the stars came out in force….in February. We were right on the harbor….so many beautiful evenings!  Prompt is from my recent June class — write a poem of nostalgia.

Scentalicious

lillian49 Comments

Backyard lilac walk-about
honeysuckle and new cut grass
leaves piled high, burning bright
apple-pie-oven and baking bread
grandma’s wrinkled talcum skin
gingerbread men and cinnamon
outside pine tree brought within
season by season,
scentalicious all

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Written for dVerse Poets’ Pub with Grace tending bar today. Today’s Poetics asks us to write a poem about scent.

Baby Album

lillian11 Comments

I still look at it.
On birthdays and occasional winter days,
when the snow swirls
and makes the windows glazed.
I wanted to keep moments of you
for you to meet, much later in life.
Lock of hair, corn silk fine.
Stick figures with circle knees
drawn by pudgy hands.
First this and first that.
A young mother’s notes.
Faded ink and colors smudged,
spine too thin for all within.
I wanted to keep moments of you
for you to meet, much later in life.

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Written for a June challenge from Holly Wren Spaulding’s class: write about something you saved for someone else.

Reunion

lillian2 Comments

Friendly foursome of youth
we lived near Mississippi shores
dancing with fire flies,
oblivious to time.

Fifty years of days gone by
we meet again,
laughter etched in faces lined,
steps slowed by trials of time.

Remember-when stories shared
told and retold louder now.
Sitting young in wizened frames,
we laugh and love in cherished time.

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Old friends. Young hearts. Augustana College is located in Rock Island, Illinois — along the shores of the mighty Mississippi – our alma mater. 

Elegy

lillian31 Comments

Father to five, beloved son,
you left far too suddenly.
Unable to escape or run,
knees buckled at Death’s glee.

And we were left behind in shock,
screams and rampant grief.
Angry words turned empty talk,
echoed wails with no relief.

Standing graveside, stooped in loss,
tears drenched with memories
fell upon your coffin etched with cross,
placed ‘neath quaking Aspen trees.

Rest now, my brother dear
and know that we are well.
Your children’s children keep you near,
and their children shall as well.

For all their hopes in future years
their smiles, their deeds in numbers swell,
all of these my brother dear
your legacy do tell.

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Written for dVerse — asking us to do an elegy today.
Photo is my brother, nine years older than me, died far too young at 51. Gone more than twenty years, I still miss him.