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!
Photo from trip a number of years ago to Alaska.
She was a pluviophile,
born in the monsoon times.
Overcome by strikhedonia
she fled her village,
sought solace in the woods.
A sturmfrei soul 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.
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.
Claude Monet images in public domain.
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!
Here on this observation deck
wind whips around me.
I lean into it, one hand on rail
other on my woolen hat.
I stare at ship so far below.
Placed on Lysefjorden’s glassy sea
like a miniature game board piece,
by someone’s winning hand.
Snow topped mountains
climb into cloudless sapphire sky.
Their massive girth surrounds me,
the sentinels of time
Humbled, I begin to understand,
I am the Lilliputian in their land.
Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 11, where today, we’re asked to write about something large.
Photo from our cruise through the Norwegian Fjords in 2017.
lillian the home poet 