Relationships

Midnight Lovers

lillian31 Comments

Lips pressed to lips
hips to hips divinely so,
curtains flung wide.

Clouds pressed to moon,
beams flicker upon their bed.
Passion illuminated,
bodies melding move
like strobe light scene.

Muddled love,
pressed thru paroxysm
finally splays itself.
Breathing deeply,
hands clasped,
they sleep.

illustration-1948905_1920

It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. De is hosting and asks us to include the word “muddle” in our quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). From the kitchen.com “Many warm weather cocktails us fresh ingredients such as herbs and fruit, and often muddling is reuired. To muddle means to press the ingredients agains the side of the glass. Muddling helps to release the flavors of the fresh ingredients so they bind with the alcohol.”

For George

lillian2 Comments

Travelers
in our speck of time.
Daily steps
in mnemonic state.
Treks by car
and plane
and train
to wander
in some different space.

The longest path
shadows behind us.
Still we seek the sun
match our steps
slower stride
hand clasping hand.

Lessons learned
span cities large
cities small.
One constant
across them all.
You have always been
my home.

 

Generations Shall Pass

lillian19 Comments

Raw winds blow. Rusted lock bars entrance to dark, dank family crypt. Souls long forgotten. Generations ceased their lineage, lost in the dust of time. Undisturbed cobwebs ensnare no prey. Nothing lives here.

Steps away, a young mother’s tears salt the ground below open-toed shoes. Her gaze locks on the small white coffin. Follows it lower, lower, and lower still, until its sides are nestled by mother earth. Stunned mourners file by, gently releasing miniature white roses into fresh dug grave. Wind shifts. Breeze rifles through nearby trees. Magnolia blossoms, rift from spring green leaves, rain quietly on forlorn scene.

Rest little one, love shall follow you. Mother, father, sisters too. All will come in time. And more. And more. Until the dust of time consumes them all.

1911AF33-AF0E-428A-90B0-5A688E16A9EE

Used for Napowrimo day 28 where the prompt was to write prose poetry. Photo taken several months ago at the cemetery in Valparaiso, Chile. Shared with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, on Thursday, May 3rds OLN. 

 

Tempest

lillian40 Comments

In anger walked I by the roiling sea
the taste of salt, like she, embittered me.
Rough waves didst crash against volcanic rock
and spewed their shards of foam, thus dousing me.

Her words of yesterday, I thought were talk
and thus I waited by her door to stalk.
Bereft was I, like sharpened rocks so bruised,
the knife now purged of blood and hurled to sea in shock.

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Written for dVerse, where today, Frank hosts, asking us to write a rubaiyat: a poem consisting of quatrains (stanzas of four lines) and, if using more than one stanza, employs a “nesting” rhyme pattern: AABA, BBCB — and each line is written in iambic pentameter.  It’s a poetry sudoku!  Also posted for Napowrimo, day 26 where the challenge is to write, appealing to the senses. Hopefully, without lookin at the photos, you can see, hear, taste and feel this poem! Photos are from our recent trip to Bermuda.

With Apologies to Pablo Neruda

lillian36 Comments

Tus Manos (Part I)                          Your Image (Part I)

Cuando tus manos salen,               Your image curls within my being,
armor, hacia las mias,                    love, unyielding tenant,
que me traen volando?                   will you test my volition?
Por que se detuvieron                     Why is there denial
en mi boca, de pronto,                    as if my time is unhurried,
por que las reconozco                    why is this revealing
como si entonces, antes,                how essential you are to me,
las hubriero tocado,                       like a harbor to the sails,
como si antes de ser                       how is this so hard
hubieran recorrido                        harboring releasing
mi frente mi centura?                    my feelings, my confession?

Pablo-Picasso-Sleeping-woman-Meditation-

This was the most difficult prompt I’ve ever responded to! Day 4 of NaPoWriMo: choose a poem in another language; do not look at the translation. Also choose a photograph (this is a photo of Pablo Picasso’s Meditation). Now, “translate” the foreign language poem into a poem applicable to your photo. Use the “look and the feel” of the words in the original poem but do not look up a translation of the words. I have no idea what Neruda’s original poem says…….so as the title of my post says, “With Apologies to Pablo Neruda”. His words are on the left; mine are on the right. Also posting for dVerse Open Link Night.

Faith Haibun

lillian21 Comments

At times of crisis, injury; imminent danger for a child, loved one or close friend, many of us slip into “bargaining” or pleading mode. Please God, if you let her avoid this, I will . . . ; or Please God, let him make it through this and I will never . . .

This moment was different as I listened to the doctor. He may or may not wake up. If he does, he most likely will not be the same.
I looked at the doctor and demanded, What do you mean, he won’t be the same?
His heart stopped for six minutes so his brain . . .
I loudly interrupted, NO!
I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t hear the beeping machines or see the tubes. I just stared intently at his face, past the intubation tube. Held his cold limp hand and firmly said, He is here. He will return to us. I know it.
It was a statement of fact for me. A moment of faith.

snow covered cold ground
challenging spring to surface
crocus pushed to bloom

spring-awakening-3132154_1920

It’s haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Mish asks us to write about faith. A haibun is two or three succinct paragraphs of prose that must be true, followed by a seasonal haiku. This post also works for Day 2’s prompt for  NaPoWriMo where we’re asked to use “voice” in our post. Prose is in the first/personal voice. Haiku is from the third voice, looking on rather than being in.
I’ve written about this topic before…it’s been five years and those days are indelibly imprinted on my psyche.  We continue to be thankful for every day. 

Quadrille Passion

lillian34 Comments

Murmur me
sweet poetic words.
Play softly
fingertip arpeggios.

Mirror my passion.
Bounce you to me to you,
rhythmic cadence
tonal harmony.

Blood moon
burns ebony sky.
Come lie with me
in lunar lust.

Staccato.
Allegro.
Crescendo.
Nighttime symphonic love.

blood-moon-521892_1920

Created for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where it’s Quadrille Monday (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Kim hosts, asking us to include the word “egg.” I’ve included “egg” within a word: arpeggios. Past prompts for this quadrille series have included burn, murmur, poet, and bounce: all are included here. We may always use a form of the word . Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! Postscript:  I think this may not include all the words afterall….as in I think there may be others in this Quadrille series and I may even have listed some wrong ones. I claim Bermudaful scenery outside my window as an excuse….but the poem stands as is 🙂

Revelation

lillian28 Comments

Bermuda mesmerizes.
Breeze ruffles tall grass,
erases footsteps.

Timeworn calcarenites protrude,
seaside sentinels
revealed in low tide glory.

I stand gazing.
And somehow
in this raw natural place,

understanding dawns.
You are with me,
my forever love.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today it’s OLN….Open Link Night. Post any one poem of your choice. Yes, we are in Bermuda, until April 6th. Photos from Tobacco Bay, one of our favorite places here, about a 10 minute walk from our rental in St. George. Bermuda never disappoints!