I stand tall and proud.
Yellow petals round my face
mirror my namesake.
I sway in summer breezes,
turning always to the sun.
NAPOWRIMO, Day 9. Prompt is to write a poem in the voice of an animal or plant. Photo taken some years ago in Provincetown, on the very tip of Cape Cod.
Tanka: a Japanese poetic form with 5 lines in the following syllabic pattern: 5-7-5-7-7. Some say it’s a Haiku that has more to say!
Dew drops on petals.
Nature’s evidence of rain
or her sweet soft tears
singing Cry Me a River
for humanity’s deaf ear?
Written for NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Month) day 1’s prompt. We’re to write a Tanka: an ancient Japanese poetic form composed of five lines with the syllable content as follows: 5/7/5/7/7. “It’s like a haiku that decided to keep on going!”
Photo taken last month in San Diego. “Cry Me a River” is an American song first published in 1953 and made famous in 1955 when recorded and sung by Julie London. Justin Timberlake’s 2002 hit “Cry Me a River” is not at all musically similar. London’s version is known as a torch song….listen below!
Moonlight shimmers softly.
Snowfall recently ceased, shrouds trees,
covers small town’s street.
Traffic absent save one car’s tell-tale tracks.
Owner, probably settled in reading,
nods off by flickering fire.
Lone man savors silence walking slowly.
Two dogs on extended leash,
content with no distractions
pause only to sniff the cold.
Winter’s quiet stillness reverberates
in late hours of this night.
I’m hosting OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Open Link Night means writers can post any one poem of their choice: no required format, rhyme scheme, topic or length OR they can write to the optional prompt I’ve given. The optional prompt? To write a poem motivated by the painting above, entitled Hushed And Still by artist Simie Maryles. The scene is representative of Provincetown, MA on the very tip of Cape Cod.
To learn more about Simie Maryles and see more of her paintings go to https://simiemaryles.com/artist/simie-maryles NOTE: writers only have permission to use Hushed and Still for their poetry.
In the waning days of autumn
nature sheds its hilarity.
Crimson red, halloween orange,
and golden yellow leaves shrivel,
lose their vim and fall.
Farmers’ fields, stripped of crops
seem eeirly clold and barren.
I seek warmth, light and respite.
Candles lit, afghan wrapped,
mulled wine and book at hand,
I hibernate.
I am, afterall, a creature of nature.
Slowed by age
and sensitive to seasonal biorhythms.
Shared with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
nature’s cancan skirts
vivid orange, gold, crimson red
leaves delight the eyes
windows opened wide
fresh breezes ruffle curtains
pumpkins on display
witches roam the streets
moms and dads with little ones
door to door for treats
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Dora’s prompt is entitled Tripping the October Light Fantastic. She asks us to write a poem about October. Photo from last October in Boston’s Public Garden.
When I think of aging
visions of nature appear poetically,
ready to be written across the page.
But my hand tremor sets script askew,
not unlike a preschooler’s
first attempt at printing their name.
Nature’s brightly pink ruffled peony
once perkily perched, quite the showy thing,
gleamed amongst garden’s greenery.
Now droops beneath residue
of last night’s thunderstorm,
struggling to hold its bloom.
Newborn gangly foal tries to gain its footing.
Youthfully romps through riotously colored fields,
bluebells and golden columbine waving in the sun.
Years later, put to pasture,
stands swaying slightly, head down,
eyes clouded, wildflowers a dull blur.
And I myself, mark changes in my body.
Steps slowing down, sometimes falter.
Veins protruding on my hands.
I reflect more and more
on what was, and what is,
and what is to come.
Perennials dance in spring’s fresh air,
stand proudly through their season.
Then wilting, lie down to disintegrate.
But their stock is strong, their lilt not forever gone.
Perennials bloom again and again and again,
one generation gifting its beauty to the next.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Will be submitting for possible publication in the dVerse Anniversary Anthology.
You are my sunrise
as are friends, family,
birthdays, holiday celebrations,
graduation festivities
hot fragrant coffee
smiles from passersby
crescendos in concertos
hugs and kisses
toddlers stomping in puddles
charitable donations
springtime flowers
random acts of kindness.
Sunshine, a constant,
even behind the clouds.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m tending the pub and asking folks to include the word “sunrise” in their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
In all the chaos across our world, the sun still rises every day, even when it resides behind the darkest of clouds. For me, that is representative of hope – the idea that love and goodness are always present – even in the stormiest of times. Sunrise photo taken in Provincetown, MA – at the very tip of Cape Cod.
Sunrise absent
darkest damp instead.
Steady drizzle chills
steel-toe grey clouds above.
Burrowing owl stands alone
hoot-silent, alert.
Sharp eyes search
near barren treeless ground.
Hungry, ready to sprint should mole appear.
Return to earth-dug warren,
mimic rattler’s tail
should coyote rush to kill.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Quadrille Monday and De is tending the pub. She asks us to include the word “hoot” in the body our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
Photo of this burrowing owl was taken last week at the Living Coast Discovery Center in Chula Vista, CA. The burrowing owl is a small, primarily terrestrial owl. Generally about 9 inches tall, they have a short tail and long legs. They eat large insects and small rodents. They nest in burrows, often repurposing a burrow or tunnel abandoned by other animals. They are known to mimic the sounds of a rattlesnake to ward off predators such as coyotes and badgers.
Brightness fades.
Sooty clouds slowly shove aside
light-weight cumulus puffs.
Birds disappear. Eerie stillness descends.
Suddenly winds whip tall grasses.
Leaves whimper as trees bend.
Branches snap.
Forecasters definitely wrong.
Mother Nature no longer subtle.
Hints replaced by blatant bombastic warning.
Take shelter.
Now.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Quadrille Monday and Mish asks us to use the word “hint” (or a form of the word) in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image from Bing Create.
. . . powerful winter weather,
bone-chilling wind.
Don coats, hats and gloves.
Outdoors . . . sleet, freezing rain.
Polar vortex beginning, remaining.
Ensure anyone in need shelter.
Image created on Bing Create.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Today, Punam has us thinking about newspapers. “You can write a newspaper blackout poem. You can use the headline from your local newspaper as a springboard and write a poem on it, or you can simply write why you love or hate reading the newspaper. Your poem should have some link with the newspaper.”
I’ve done a “blackout poem” from an article about the weather in the San Diego Union Tribune, Sunday January 19th edition. See photo below …circled words are the ones I’ve used to create the poem….using them in the order in which they appeared in the article.
lillian the home poet 