NaPoWriMo2020

La Jolla Coastal Walk

lillian8 Comments

Winds whirl as clouds build
heavens thunder, upset calm.
Ominous sky shifts like easel askew,
pearlescent clouds turn darkest grey.
Ocean current races toward home,
whitecaps crashing shore.
Nearby, daisies’ ruffled petals
duck and dance to nature’s roar.

Sole large succulent leans in, thrilled.
Meets nature’s tantrum with aplomb.
Its tall spike-stems ignore the ballyhoo,
resolute, they refuse to sway.
I stand on cliff, sprayed by foam,
wait for rain, weather’s soaking encore.
It never comes and so with mettle
I hike further up the coast I adore.

Written for day 8 of National Poetry Month. Responding to a Toads prompt to write an L’Arora, a poetry form developed by Laura Lamarca. It is an 8-lined stanza with the following rhyme scheme: a, b, c, d, e, f, g, f. The poem is usually a minimum of 4 stanzas, but for Toads, 2 are allowed.
Poem motivated by photo from our La Jolla coastal walk about a month ago. Now we are back in chilly Boston! 

Covid-19, The Unveiler

lillian25 Comments

Welcome to the After Awards,
bracelet signifiers distributed
and assigned.
Hero. Survivor. Privileged.

Before the Age of Corona
we lived unaware.
Blithely took much for granted.
We thought nothing of what we had
when so many others had nothing.

A home, savings, vacations
books and toys for our kids.
Safe neighborhoods
cupboards chockfull
and mobility.

In donning masks
our eyes began to see.
Privileged were we.
We watched numbers
numbly, then fearfully.

Even the privileged succumbed.

And then came the New Dawn.
BC took on a second meaning,
Before Corona.
And we understood,
after being assigned
our Privileged bracelet.
It was a jewelry of shame.
And yet,
now we actually were,
because we lived.

And we would shed that arrogant air,
and we would share
and we would care
and we would love.

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Day 7 of national poetry month where the challenge is to write a poem every day.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where Bjorn asks us to write a poem about the pandemic, for example, how it might look on the other side. At Toads, we are asked to somehow write about bracelets. Image from Pixabay.com

To all my readers, stay safe. Stay healthy.

A Seal’s Life

lillian70 Comments

I savor La Jolla’s coast.
Feeding delight near the cove
time to frolic in rushing waves,
flipper scoot on to sand.
I snort my derision
at gawking beings.

But the best, oh the best . . .
sun drenched rocks.
Lying close, just resting.
Crowds be damned.

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Written for day 6, national poetry month. Combines prompts from Toads to write in the voice of another (can be an animal) and the dVerse Monday quadrille word-prompt, “close”. A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Prompt word muse be used in body of the poem.

Photo taken last month at what is called the Children’s Pool in La Jolla, California. Originally designated as a sheltered sandy beach for children to swim, it has been taken over by seals. Many people walk the coast line to watch the seals there, and on nearby rocks.

Here versus There

lillian6 Comments

Outside my window
another space
another sense of time.

Here, I am nesting
cocooning
mundaning.

I walk slowly
share quiet space,
my spouse smiles at me.

There in that place,
life and death rush through
like katabatic winds.

Patients arrive
fever burned eyes,
gasping, fearful, alone.

Nurses, doctors, attend.
Frenetic patient care,
selfless dedication.

Here. There.
Identical clocks,
hands moving in sync.

But sense of time?
There versus here?
High gear to the extreme.

I live across the street from Massachusetts General Hospital, a major care giver for Covid-19 patients in Boston. Photos taken from our windows. God bless all who are working on the front lines in these challenging times. And may all my readers stay safe and healthy.

Written for day 5, national poetry month. Prompt is given from Imaginary Garden with Toads. We are to write about the intersection of time and space.

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:

The Nuts and Bolts of It

lillian7 Comments

She spoke to me
among all the junk art
hanging in that gallery.
She spoke to me.

Look at her!
Wine-opener for arms,
I do love Chardonnay.
Sieved-ladle-top face,
my emotions do flow.
Sunflower heart,
that’s Pollyanna me.
Beaded, feathered earring-skirt,
like miniature dream catchers
always at hand.
Glued on wire, forever smiles.
Whimsical socks with moving feet,
will gladly tap dance, to any beat.

Forget all the photos
down through the ages.
I knew it then, and I know it now.
She’s definitely me
and that’s why I bought her.

So I’m thinking this morning
sitting staring at her,
what are we made of
and who really are we?

Haphazardly or carefully,
crazily cobbled together?
Maybe that’s it then . . .
and she smiles down at me.
We’re all cobbled together.
We’re all just junk,
junk art at heart.

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Day 3 of NaPoWriMo, national poetry month, where the challenge is to write a poem every day in April!  Today’s prompt from Imaginary Garden with Toads deals with existentialism, as in anything to do with “what is the meaning of life?” What are we really all about? 
Photo of  junk art bought in Bermuda a number of years ago. She hangs in my study where I see her every day – and she makes me smile.