Pastry chef by trade,
she specialized in delicate souffles
risen to perfection.
Until he stormed out that night,
slammed the door hard –
and everything collapsed.
Relationships
Immigrants
Our ancestors. Our families.
They sailed through rough seas.
They worked hard, dreamed big.
We are us because of them.
Their identities may fade but
Their determination remains apparent.
Pictured and posed in family albums,
They live on in sepia tones.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. It’s Meet The Bar Thursday (MTB) and Frank hosts, asking us to write a Reverse Poem. Read it top to bottom. Read it bottom to top. Line by line. It makes sense both ways. Quite challenging!
Photos:
Left: Hjalmer Siegfried Hallberg, born in Sweden, 1884. Arrived Ellis Island, NY at age 22, in 1906. My husband’s grandfather.
Right: Adam Gruenwald, born 1857 in Germany. Arrived in U.S. in 1880. Grandfather to my father.
And here it is in reverse, including the same punctuation at the end of each line.
Immigrants
They live on in sepia tones.
Pictured and posed in family albums,
Their determination remains apparent.
Their identities may fade but
We are us because of them.
They worked hard, dreamed big.
They sailed through rough seas.
Our ancestors. Our families.
What is that? And where has it gone?
Mr. Rogers . . .
putting on his sweater.
Not Angry Birds.
Pen Pals . . .
Waiting . . .
for book three,
Harry Potter
and the
Prisoner of Azkaban.
Not a Netflix binge.
Family vacation . . .
road trip
with I Spy
and
the license plate game.
So . . .
tell me.
How are you,
really?
To listen . . .
leave space . . .
to wait . . .
slow down . . .
to appreciate time.
To think . . .
before we blurt.
A skill.
A common sense attribute,
I fear is becoming a lost art.
Patience.
It’s Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Jill asks us to consider unseen things, reminding us that only about 5% of the universe is visible matter. Patience is something you cannot hold in your hand.
Related to Wee Willie Winkie . . .
Tiny Tina Twinkle
flit about the pumpkin patch.
Her little voice like merry bells
she readied for the snatch.
Magic dust in her wee hand
she sought out Peter’s wife.
Took her from that horrid shell
to share her fairy’s life.
In response to Misky’s Twiglet # 85, “voice like merry bells.” A Twiglet is a short phrase or a word. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. In a whimsical mood today 🙂 And posted, although rather late, to dVerse OLN with Kim hosting.
After Many Anniversaries
I have no need for mirrors
or overly affective words.
Aging is reality.
I need not be reminded
of it stealing time
elasticity and
dew-fresh skin.
But you, my love,
wrap me as if in gold,
caress my heart.
You hold my hand
and walk with me,
as if we are young love
now as then.
Wrapping up our dVerse 7th anniversary week, Frank asks us to write a septet. It can be a single 7-line stanza or a poem with two or more 7-line stanzas. Image is one of my favorite Gustav Klimt works, The Kiss (from Wikipedia Commons).
Mount St. Helen’s Of Another Kind
Mood swings
like a funicular,
she caught you in the ride.
Racing high on her glory-buzz
till you she blamed and screeched to stop.
Spittle flew as vicious words she flung.
Careening down tracks so worn
you knew the path to come.
And when in final years
rolling rosary beads
unable to ascend,
she waited still
oh so silently
to exit her
living
hell.
BFF
Like caulking
that sticking stuff,
hugs seal.
Cement friendships
for the passage of time.
Hovering In Absentia
i. Hovering
That night . . .
my body turned against me
you praying, willing me to live.
My last breath
words unheard by you.
I am still here.
I hover
in rays of sun
in soft mist beneath grey clouds
in star lit and blackened nights.
My essence ever walks with you.
Savor life, my dearest.
I am content, waiting patiently.
ii. In Absentia
That night . . .
your breath rattled
eyes closed,
never to open again.
Days later
we celebrated your life
even as emptiness suffocated me.
I redecorated yesterday
all mirrors removed.
My reflection without you
too painful, too alone,
reminder of you
in absentia.
I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets, asking folks to write a poem that somehow deals with opposites or uses the literary device of antithesis. One can include simple words in opposition happy/sad, inside/outside; or describe one event from two opposite viewpoints. The opposition can happen in one poem; different stanzas; or even two short poems. Folks are free to be creative….as long as they deal with opposites! For a different take on the prompt, a satirical one, go to my second post, Mishmash Succotash. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time….come join us and write in opposites or just read along!
daze
somedays
I want to skip
through burnt orange
crimson red
fresh fallen leaves
not trudge
with aching limbs
somedays
I want to dance
through cumulous clouds
float in dandelion puffs
not grounded
by flattened soles
empty souled
somedays
never always
absolutes press
somedays
never always
I simply
pass through
Thursday is OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. That means – no prompt. daze was originally written for June 7th’s dVerse MTB prompt, provided by Bjorn. He asked us to write a poem using “negativa”. A poem whose meaning is derived from what is not, as well as what is. I missed that deadline….so posting daze now. Photo from pixabay.com.
. . . and ye shall stumble
Mountain mist shroud
clings wet and opaque.
Paths disappear.
Dampened earth waits
as sun inevitably shifts.
Atmosphere and temperature warm.
Suffocating clamminess transforms.
Life-giving moisture droplets
kiss ever-greening leaves.
Benchmarks reappear.
Written for dVerse where Michelle asks us to write words of advice, in poetic form. Photos from trip to Alaska, several years ago.
