Melancholy autumn rain.
Nature weeps as color takes its leave,
once golden amber, streaked through brown.
Droplets cling momentarily,
cleave to hawthorne crimson berries.
Lover’s farewell kiss.
Photo taken outside our Boston high-rise yesterday. Coincidentally, our building is called Hawthorne Place and yes, this is a hawthorne tree after the morning’s rain.
Inside, she looks out.
Seasons change
confined within her pane.
Stripped by cruel winds,
branches clatter
nodes exposed.
Charles River, ribbon slight,
below low slung sky,
scene through barren trees.
Relieved, she slowly smiles,
espies her Charles again.
Silent vow worms her mind.
Before spring reblooms in pane
I shall join you, sweet Charles,
an afterworld away.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, on Open Link Night.
Photo from Pixabay.com
She’d been left behind by her son and husband many years before. Left to grow old without them. Legally blind. Too much effort to live. Too many pills to remember each morning. Each night.
Now, this cold autumn afternoon, lying in a hospital bed, she simply said Lillian, I’m tired. And I knew. I bent down, leaned close to her ear and whispered. I told her it was all right. Find the light, mom. They’re waiting for you. And she suddenly sat up and smiled. Eyes bright. A broad big smile. And then she flopped back and lay still. The kind male nurse who’d been at her side looked across the bedside at me. He simply nodded. And I nodded back.
golden amber leaves
blow off trees, hit closed windows
nature’s death displayed
Haibun written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Merril is our guest pub tender and asks us to write about a transition. A haibun is two or three short succinct paragraphs of prose (must be true) followed by a haiku that, in the traditional sense, contains a kigo (reference to a season).
rosebud on a shelf
plucked in youth’s naivety
saved to remember
time galloped, life danced, skipped beats –
blue-veined hands dust around it
Tanka form: syllables of 5, 7, 5, 7, 7. Photo from pixabay.com
petal-pink spring rain
cherry blossoms gently fall
washington dc
Arrived in Washington DC yesterday; staying until the end of May. Photos taken in backyard of our rental. Sitting outside, every breeze brought a gentle rain of pink blossoms from the large cherry tree that towers over one portion of the yard. Magical! Washington DC is beautiful this time of year.
Ole Man Winter retreats.
Cinder-smudged snow pile,
shrinks in April’s pushiness.
Skinny tree branches
open arms to warming sun,
anxious to leaf out and bloom.
Knees planted in moist soil
I gather and bag rotted leaves,
uncover sprouts of green.
Gleefully I smile,
tips of crocus tops peeking at me.
Eye spy spring!
Post is motivated by this painting recently seen in New York City’s MOMA: James Rosenquist’s Lady Dog Lizard, 1985. Off prompt, but still appropriated for day 27, Napowrimo.
narcissus sissies
yellow ruffles hide in leaves
waiting warmth of spring
Haiku written for Napowrimo Day 21: prompt is to write a poem related to narcissus: the myth, the flower, or anything related to the word. Photo taken yesterday of a daffodil/narcissus bed….too chilly to bloom!
Elusive spring
buried beneath snow.
Monotone whitened rural scene
minus crocus, lilacs,
and red breasted robins.
Brightened only by weathered barn
and newly painted crimson birdhouse,
daredevil cheerful bracelet
on snow laden tree limb.
Old man winter,
still balking at retirement.
Photo by Sari Hacker, my former Iowa Valley High School student. Fond memories of our days in Marengo, Iowa.
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.
I sit silently this early morn,
scenes from yesterdays
flickering through my mind.
Their childhood. My childhood.
Her sliver-thin sugar cookies,
his wool overcoat and black galoshes.
Seasonal luminaries.
These scenes from Christmas past
remembered through the hush of time.
Light shafts begin to intrude,
cast shapes upon the floor.
Today encroaches as the rising dawn.
Reluctantly I stir,
take up requirements of the day
but a promise I do make.
On Christmas Day, in early morn
I shall return to these shadows,
to this quiet place of calm.
I shall recall again the way it was,
the ones who were, those many times.
And I shall whisper to my memories,
Merry Christmas to all.
