. . . the sound before a sigh
apathy
acquiescence in the face of wrong.
Relationships
Smile with me….
She lived her life
sunny side up,
choosing to ignore
everyday eggsasperations.
Revelation
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!
Tryst
Flambéed love letters
braised the heat,
slow burned me.
Tonight,
succulent strawberries
dipped in champagne,
our effervescent midnight feast.
Windows flung wide,
erotic shadows cast
by flirtatious moon
swoon ‘cross silken sheets.
Your form undulates
‘neath gossamer negligee,
my heart plunges deep.
D’amour delirium.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Victoria is our host, asking us to use the word “burn” or a form of the word, in a quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). For a second and more humorous take on the word, go to my second post, Summer Treat.
tanka – a study in brevity
childhood innocence
blushing cheeks and pudgy knees
jump-rope and hopscotch ~
photos keep her company
brittle memories thick with dust
Frank is our Thursday host at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. He asks us to consider brevity in our writing…and talks about the Japanese poetic forms of haiku and tanka as examples of brevity. Tanka is 5 lines with the syllabic content 5-7-5-7-7 and should contain a “pivot” at or after the third line. Here, there is a change of perspective: lines 1 – 3 describe childhood for the reader. There’s a sense of liveliness and action. Lines 4 and 5 shift the reader’s view to an elderly person looking at the photos of childhood and hopscotch. The liveliness is gone, replaced by that last line. The person seems alone….left to finger and think about these images, these brittle memories. Perhaps the photos and her memory are “thick with dust?”
Harlequin
Medieval court’s poetic jester
leaps cross marble floor,
bells on cap and toes.
Sings boldly eyeing men,
their indiscretions
bared aloud.
Sag-faced courtiers
murmur hoarsely, choking coarsely,
cannot silence tales.
Red-faced king sits in midst
as women waggle fingers,
his scepter turned to stone.
Quadrille (44 words, sans title) written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today De asks us to include the word “murmur”. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time — come on over and quaff some poems!
Gatherings
My first eighteen years ~
we enjoyed picnics
backyard fun,
family celebrations and holidays.
Cacophonies of raucous laughter and glee.
Hiatus years, different byways ~
address books with edit over edit.
Catch-up Christmas times
marked by postage-due,
aging faces afloat in photo cards.
Reunions of late, any time of year ~
increase in frequency.
Convene in funeral homes,
adjourn with casseroles
served over memories.
Still shadows walk beside me ~
aunts, uncles, cousins.
Will I be the last?
Sole survivor of happy clan,
left to sit with photo albums,
colors fading beyond the years.
Motivated by Misky’s Twiglet prompt, “still shadows.” A twiglet is a short phrase meant to motivate thoughts. Photos from many many years ago when we often gathered with aunts and uncles and cousins – we had so much fun together in those days when the entire family lived nearby. Now, sadly, all the aunts and uncles, my folks and brother, and some of my cousins, have passed on from this life. Others live far from me. Family is always dear — no matter how far and no matter if earthly or not.
Portrait
Dappler at heart,
pointillist by nature
she tinted words in pastels
sprinkling them one by one
among the needy.
For dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today, Victoria asks us to write a poem that employs symbolism.
Ode To My High School Gym
Home to . . .
blue onesied teenage girls
delicately batting badmintons,
and pimpled boys man-upping
in raucous dodge-ball games.
Crew cuts and ratted Aqua Net dos.
School assemblies.
Seats assigned by homeroom,
alphabetical misery.
Six-foot hoopsters.
Full-skirted
ball gown under-frames
and the tall gangly ball-shooting kind.
Hand-wringing game-ending cacophony,
and teenage clutching
Johnny-Mathis-crooning
sock-hop last chance
he-has-to-be-the-one dance.
Crepe paper.
Gathered in strips,
duct tape hand grips
bouncing in pompom cheers.
Stretched————————–
transformed to ceiling
with hanging mirrored ball
above parading bouffant heads.
Embarrassed girls
side-lined on folding chairs
watching nervous girls
lined up in pretended calm,
waiting to learn
if they would be the one
adorned in prom queen crown.
Fifty years later,
we stand on your creaking boards.
Is it possible? Is this the space?
Old age does not become you,
our once hallowed place.
Frank hosts dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets, asking us to write an ode (poem of praise). No required form, meter or content. Photo: from my 1965 senior year high school annual, Waukegan Township High School in Waukegan, Illinois. Prom court….I was on a folding chair 🙂 And yes, there’s a metal hoop skirt under that second gown. You had to be really careful when you sat down! In the actual photo, you can see the basketball court lines on the gym floor. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time.
me
mitochondrial DNA
genetic bits and pieces
human building blocks
lately I realize
I am most me
when I am with you
lillian the home poet 