I lie on cool moist earth waking dreams in outdoor’s chill. Stars gleam through obsidian scrim, slivered moon slices ebony sky. Night’s breeze whispers, lullabies me. Thoughts float to loved ones from generations past. Do they live now, somewhere out there in the universe?
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De asks us to write a quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words sans title, that includes the word “star” or a form of the word. Image from Pixabay.com
‘Tis early dawn and all around no bird song floated down the hill O Nature! All thy seasons please the eye ring out wild bells to the wild sky. Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright between dark and daylight a fragment of a rainbow bright.
Fair daffodils we weep to see the violet loves a sunny bank they grow in beauty side by side into the sunshine. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods there through the long, long summer hours the melancholy days are come.
Where, where are all the birds that sang? The warm sun is failing. Freshly the cool breath of the coming eve in the west the weary day electric essence permeates the air. Yet one smile more departing distant sun How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank. There are moments in life that we never forget.
Written by Lindsey Ein and read aloud at OLN LIVE on Thursday, Sept. 19.
Every line of this poem is from a line in a poem by a poet. Here, line by line, are the poems and author:
Line 1: Flowers: Thomas Moses Line 2: The River Path: Whittier Line 3: The Seasons: Grahame Line 4: Ring Out Wild Bells: Tennyson Line 5: Vertue: George Herbert Line 6: The Children’s Hour: Longfellow Line 7: The Rainbow: J. Keble Line 8: Daffodils: R. Herrick Line 9: Proposal: Bayard Taylor Line 10: The Graves of a Household: Mrs. Hemans Line 11: The Rountain: James Russell Lowell Line 12: Solitude: Byron Line 13: June: Bryant Line 14: The Death of Flowers: Brya Line 15: A Hundred Years Ago: Anonymous Line 16: Autumn: Shelley Line 17: Healing of the Daughter of Jairus: Willis Line 18: In Reverie: Harriet McEwen Kimball Line 19: An Acrostic: F.A. Line 20: November: Bryant Line 21: From The Merchant of Venice: Shakespeare Line 22: Remembrance: Percival
All of the above poems are from “Favorite Poems Illustrated”: 1880’s, given to my Aunt Josephine Brown in 1881. Image from Pixabay.com
Born in May these many years ago, amongst lily of the valley and gaiety of tulips bright.
I am like the crocus enjoying first rays of spring sun in the midst of winter’s final stance.
Assertive, I push forward first to appear, even when slicked with chilling frost.
During coldest of times I burrow in found comfort. Your arms, ready to enfold me.
Like Mother Earth, you are my home in every season of the year.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa asks us to “become the embodiment of winter. Tell us what you feel during this season.” Crocus Me is where my muse took me!
NOTE: HOPE you will join us this Thursday, Jan 19, from 3 to 4 PM EST for OLN LIVE . . . OR . . . for the first time, on Saturday, Jan 21, from 10 to 11 AM EST.
You’ll find two links on Thursday’s dVerse: one for Thursday and one for Saturday. Clicking on the link will bring you to a live session with audio and video! Come meet your fellow dVersers and either read one of your poems aloud or just come to listen! The more the merrier! We’re a very friendly bunch!
Boldly may we walk, yet resolutely, carefully. Minding the soul of Mother Earth, respecting her fragility. Oceans rise in anger. Assault shorelines, swallow homes built too near. Heat past simmering patience. Melt polar ice, bleach coral reefs, threaten aquatic life. Can we appease her?
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, we’re to asked include the word BOLD, or a form of the word (not a synonym) within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image from Pixabay.com
NOTE: OLN LIVE will be on Thursday, January 19th from 3 to 4 PM EST . . . AND . . . on Saturday, January 21st from 10 to 11 AM EST. Come to the dVerse home page on Thursday and/or Saturday and click on the appropriate link that will take you to the live session. All are welcome across all time zones! Come to simply listen and meet poets from around the globe OR come and read a poem of your choice. We’re a very friendly bunch so we hope you’ll join us at one or both sessions. Mark you calendars now!
Some days I’d like to be in the midst of fog. Where mountains, yesterday tall and imposing, disappear today. Where ethereal moist clouds descend to earth, enveloping her in softness. Bring me serenity, as mist hovers over land, hides imposing granite walls too difficult to climb. Soften my being with the lightest of rain that pours not, rather drifts in swirls round my head, my eyes, my limbs. Take me to that weathered landscape where nature cajoles hatred into oblivion, and we simply marvel at beauty we did not recognize before. Take me there, if not in reality, then in dense dreams of solace, just for a little while. I crave escape.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, from 3 to 4 PM Boston time, we shall gather face-to-face via GoogleMeet at OLN LIVE! Link to join can be found here at 3 PM or shortly thereafter. Just click and come join us! You’re invited to read a poem of your own…or simply sit in and listen…we’re a friendly bunch and it’s quite fun!
She was a pluviophile, born in the monsoon times. Overcome by strikhedonia she fled her village, sought solace in the woods.
A sturmfreisoul was she, content to burrow away on bright clear days. Her cottage well hidden from prying eyes.
She lived for the darkest of storms. Aroused by lightning strikes, thunder her love-struck mate. They danced together in downpours, her hair drenched, clothes clinging.
Townspeople burbled about her, bumfuzzled by her ways. Over time she became the Other. Easier to will her out of existence, they stayed inside during heavy rains.
Mish is hosting Poetics today at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She asks us to consider memes in a unique way, providing us with a number of unusual words and their definitions. She asks us to use at least three of them within our poem. I’ve chosen the following from her list: pluviophile (noun): a lover of rain strikhedonia (noun): the joy of being able to say the hell with it sturmfrei (adjective): the freedom of being alone; the ability to do what you want burble (verb): to speak in an excited manner bumfuzzle (verb): to confuse or fluster
*In ancient Roman religion, Tempestas is a goddess of storms or sudden weather. Image from Pixabay.com
Claude Monet tiptoed through last night’s deep slumber. Wrapped my dream in glorious blooms, hushed pinks fading into hazy purple iris. Calmed my senses with myriad brushed greens. Dewed my eyes as undulating water lilies nudged me into wakefulness. I sit remembering and smile.
Quadrille written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish asks us to include the word “wrap” or a form of the word, within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
Black earth cracks open begging through jagged, arid lips water, please, drown me with drops of life restoring rain. Tendrils of roots seek my riches to nourish them, to bloom with promises threatened now in dark, dry soil without a drop to drink.
Butterflies and bees will be robbed of the balm they seek. Blossoms will not open, colors will fade to yellow and brown. Lavender will lose its scent, the fragrance of summer begs for life restoring rain. Clouds blow in providing shade but no rain falls from decorator clouds that quickly puff away. We watch the radar but it is like the pot that never boils.
Thunderstorms are possible they say. Rumbles of thunder are heard in the distance, winds pick up, branches fall in dry frustration. Black earth cries out water, please, drown me with drops of life restoring, blessed rain.
Written by Lindsey Ein for OLN LIVE at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Image from Pixabay.com
There’s a quiet to this place in that transition between winter and when-will-it-get-here spring.
Ocean ombrés from greys to taupes bereft of sails and buoys, lonely tides missing congregant gulls.
Lulling seeping fog muffles sound. Low-lying dulled clouds meld into one sky misting all that lies beneath.
And if perchance the sun should shine clearing skies to blue, cold damp air chills the bones still.
Lean-into gusts of wind accompany the lone walker, a speck of time on these vast sands in the quiet of this place.
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets.
Today Sanaa is hosting and from 3 to 4 PM, Boston time, we will be LIVE.Poets from around the globe will meet via Google Meet and read aloud one poem of their choosing. It’s amazing to see the faces of folks and hear their voices….come join us either to read a poem of your choosing, or just to sit in and listen. HOW TO JOIN US?
Go to https://dversepoets.com at 3 PM or just a few minutes after, and the links to join us will be there…just click and come!
Photo taken this morning from our deck in Provincetown.
We’ve spent two weeks in Provincetown, at the Watermark Inn for the past twenty-two years. We’ve been here in January, July, May, and September. For some beautiful photos over the years, click here!