metaphor

On the Occasion of Seven Republicans Voting Guilty

lillian3 Comments

I remember Mrs. Jester’s house.
Reddish paint, curtains always open.
Mostly I remember her apple tree
blossoms bountiful,
sturdy limbs to climb.

That house has not aged well.
Foundation cracked,
three-quarters sinking low.
Panes of glass missing,
cracked or in shards.

Apple tree now diseased,
fallen waste dead at base,
putrefied in stinking mold.
All branches save one,
diseased from within.

Seven fruit, avoiding pestilence,
catch a bracing breeze,
land far away from tree.
Far from decaying rot,
their goodness intact.

Children on a walkabout
give wide room that rotting tree,
but see the golden orbs
and recognize their worth.
They stuff their pockets full.

At home the fruit is buffed and cored,
cut in quarters and enjoyed.
Children, wise beyond their years,
save seeds to grow again.
The youth shall become the sowers
and goodness shall survive.

Snow Globe and More

lillian15 Comments

This is not a snow globe
this is me seeking refuge
slipping mentally inside,
beautiful crystal orb.

This is not a snow globe
but a world disrupted.
Lies pummeling us everywhere
beliefs shaken, in disarray.

Wellbeing, within our grasp.
Shake loose the tyranny.
Set it down firmly
and stop the madness.

This is a snow globe.
Sentries within trust us.
When their world is shaken
they know we will reset the calm.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today we are asked to write an object poem and begin with the words “This is not a ….” We are asked not to simply describe the object, but to relate to it. How does its existence affect me….what does it mean to me….how do I relate to it at this moment. Photo is the snow globe on our coffee table … a Christmas decoration I’ve had for many years. I love to tip it and see the beautiful shimmering “snow” swirl inside.

Done

lillian17 Comments

Thunder raged outside.
Rain battered windows
rattled trees.
She slumped inside.

His words, his memory,
his voice. All hollow now.
Ink blurred by tears,
love’s letters torn to shreds

Ripped asunder.
Bits and pieces of paper
scattered across the floor.
Love spent, annihilated.

Too many bits and pieces,
impossible to reassemble.
She collapsed into the abyss
eye of the storm.

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Day 13: National Poetry Writing Month. Prompt from Toads was a real challenge today: 1) Write a poem using 3 to 13 words from the following quotation:

“People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.” ~ Diane Setterfield

2) AND the poem must employ a metaphor: a thing regarded as representative or symbolic of something else, especially something abstract. In Done, the storm rages outside and inside. Love letters torn into bits and pieces are her life; in her mind, too shredded to reassemble.

FOR A MORE POSITIVE AND FUN POST TODAY, go to my prosery post, for dVerse, The Second Act.

Jello

lillian8 Comments

Jello is this.
It has color. Except aspic.
And this.
It has sweet.

It is granular life.
Granular metamorphosis.
It has fear. Shivers afraid.
But laughs in wiggles.

It is granular life.

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TOAD readers: My error! I did not understand how to link days 1, 2, and 3 prompts so here are the links:
Day 1: https://lillianthehomepoet.com/2020/04/01/april-fool-not-i/
Day 2:  https://lillianthehomepoet.com/2020/04/02/chalked-to-you/
Day 3: https://lillianthehomepoet.com/2020/04/03/the-nuts-and-bolts-of-it/

Day 4 of national poetry month. The prompt from Imaginary Garden with Toads is to write a poem in the style of Gertrude Stein’s TENDER BUTTONS.  I’ve chosen to write about jello, attempting to create a metaphor for life while at the same time, writing a factual description of this food. Challenging prompt!

Published in 1914, Stein’s TENDER BUTTONS is divided into three parts: Objects, Food, and Rooms. It avoids any use of gender specific pronouns. It is considered a masterpiece of verbal cubism and a failure at the same time.  Here is an example directly from Stein’s text:

There comes a time. . .

lillian19 Comments

Developing her own voice
testing her wings,
child no longer.
He understood as a poet does,
metaphorically . . .
you cannot tether a bluebird to your wiles,
no matter how loose the string.

Written in response to Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Linda is hosting and asks us to write a poem inspired by one of six particular paintings by Jacquline Hurlbert. I’ve selected Bluebird’s Journey, with permission of the artist. Find all paintings and information about the artist at jhurlbert.com

Raise a Glass . . .

lillian49 Comments

Drawn to a metaphoric life-style
she sparkled and effervesced
through a bubblicious youth,
toast of the town.
Aged now,
she sits beside her Christmas tree,
mulls over memories.
Clutches sachets of anisee seed,
crushed cinammon sticks,
ground cloves and citrus peel.
Low heat radiates
as embers die nearby.

 

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Amaya hosts Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. She asks us to think about secret ingredients…be they in a recipe or a poem. “Think subtle but noticeable.”

Raise a Glass talks about life in metaphors….from the champagne-like effervescence of youth; to the earthy sweetness of old life, like a mulled wine, commonly known in Scandinavia as GLØGG and in Germany as GLUHWEIN/glow wine.

Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Ars Poetica: through a forest’s eye

lillian26 Comments

Forest walkabout.
Slowly saunter, savor pine scent
see sun-lattice pattern through breeze blown leaves,
feel rock-strewn ground beneath your feet.
Find toadstool mushrooms
nestled in myriad shades of green.
Hear birds cackle, warble,
cry monosyllabic shrieks.
Or just get through.
Enter to exit the other side.
Rush from point A to B or G.
Been there but never saw.

Word forest, thy name is Poetry.
Slowly saunter through words
letters arranged, thought path on a page.
Smell rain. Picture grey clouds shifting,
sun blocked above the trees.
Hear rhythmic patterns,
singing sounds, harsh plosives,
hissing sibilants, warbling vowels.
Or just get through.
Enter to exit the other side.
Scan from point A to B or G.
Read that but never saw.

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Written for dVerse where Paul asks us to consider Ars Poetica: a term meaning “the art of poetry. ” An Ars Poetica poem expresses the poet’s aims for poetry and/or the poet’s theories about poetry. Also used for Day 12 Napowrimo. Photo taken in Ireland last year.

Two Lives – Metaphorically Speaking

lillian31 Comments

i.
He lived a crab’s life
sidling through his world
without confronting anything head on.

—————————————————————————————————————————–

ii.
She never knew who she was.
Today, servant to his whims
yesterday his foil.
Tomorrow, his jewel case on display.

In her youth, the obedient child.
Perfect pianist stretching to reach the pedals
daddy’s little girl,
mama’s protegé.

Turn this way, look here.
Here, not there.
Do this. Do that.
Twisted. Manipulated.

She’d led a kaleidoscope life
until all the pieces crumbled,
reduced to shards.

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Two poems, one short, one a bit longer, written for dVerse. Today, Bjorn hosts and asks us to write metaphorically. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time.  For those who need a quick review from their highschool poetry unit, very basically stated, a simile is a comparison using the words “like” or “as.” A metaphor is a comparison without using the words “like” or “as.”  Both photos in public domain at http://www.pixabay.com

Reminders

lillian23 Comments

Somehow,
even in the serenity of Cape Cod’s seashore
there are reminders of life’s turmoil.

Sea grass, once vibrant green
turned darkly dank
littering the shore,
forced asunder by ocean waves.

Three molted hermit crabs
espied at low tide,
battling over prized shell
future home for only one.

Salt water and mold
slowly rotting undersides
of aging, once sleek sloops.

In one’s calm,
one must not forget
those living through the storm.

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Posted on my blog on 9/13 —- but seems it fits beautifully for Bjorn’s 9/14 prompt at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. If you already read this yesterday, apologies. But I did want to repost for dVerse. Bjorn remins us that life has meaning metaphorically speaking. A metaphor is a comparison, without using the words “like” or “as.”  As I relax at the beautiful Cape Cod seashore, I am reminded by bits and pieces of nature, that others are struggling to recover from recent hurricanes and monsoons — struggling to regain a sense of calm and balance in their lives. For them, the storm, even when the rains and winds have ceased, continues.