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!
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!
They leave the body. Bloody pile of corpuscles dragged to Lake Manyara’s shore. Young zebra, quiet since teeth first gouged neck. Decimated.
Jowls dripping, appetite sated, his eyes bid her follow. Series of slow guttural growls signal acquiescence. Lioness follows beside. Slowly they retreat into maze of acacia trees. Unseen by approaching safari truck.
High power rifles catch glaring sun. Two men peer quietly into distance. Cheetah carcass, day’s first kill, hangs over vehicle’s hood. Not enough, they seek more.
Serenity, I walk in bliss. Trees breeze-whisper, nothing amiss. Soft ferns hushed, shimmer velvetly. Moist, fresh forest scent, nature’s kiss. Your lips come to mind. Ecstasy. I walk in bliss. Serenity.
Shinrin-Yoku is Japanese for forest bathing: bathing in the forest atmosphere, taking in the forest through our senses.
Grace is hosting Meet-The-Bar Thursday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She’s asked us to write a Sparrowlet, a poetry form invented by Kathrine Sparrow. Here’s the elements of a Sparrowlet: 1. stanzaic, written in any number of sixtains (6 line stanzas) I wrote 1 sixtain. 2. syllabic: each line must be 8 syllables each (Often written in iambic tetrameter – I didn’t!) 3. Line 1 and Line 6 of the stanza is written in 2 himistichs (I had to look this word up) 4. Rhymed, rhyme scheme is BbabaA. 5. The 2 halves of Line 1 are inverted and repeated as a refrain in Line 6. The lst line MUST be the EXACT SAME as line 1, just switched around. You cannot change any of the words. (Punctuation may be changed to accommodate the meaning.) RRA, RRB xxxxxxxxb xxxxxxxxa xxxxxxxxb xxxxxxxxa RRB, RRA
Luckily Grace included an example of a poem written in this form within her prompt. The example for me, was much easier to follow than the definition itself! Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us to try this form — or just to see how others wrote with it!
Photo from a trip to see my niece in Ohio a number of years ago.