seasons

Seasonal Ditty

lillian58 Comments

Winter kisses.
Snowflakes on lashes
tip of nose
caught on tongue.

Winter fury.
White-out curtain
howling winds
sleet and ice.

Winter warmth.
Wooly mittens
snuggle downs
‘neath gramma’s quilt.

Winter leaving.
Snowman drooping
puddles form
days grow long.

Winter gone.
Crocus pop-ups
daffodils shine.

5378634594_1149da7a53_b (1)De is hosting dVerse Quadrille Monday. She asks us to include the word (or a form of the word) “kiss” in our exactly-44-word-poem (sans title). Thought I’d go lighthearted today. Seems to me we can always use some smiles. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time….come on over for some smooching! Image from Bikes And Books on Flickr.

Ruby at her window . . .

lillian31 Comments

Frost-shimmer blurs window glass, like her lucidity,
as winter bundles trudge in faceless frigidity.
Memories sync with candle flicker, seem to come and go,
vague blizzard of anonymous insipidity.

She sits quietly peering through pane at what’s below.
Her mind, once clear as bright sun filled days, now lies fallow,
unaware of winter’s certain approaching demise.
The promise of warmth, rebirthing wild blue indigo.

Frank hosts Thursday’s MTB at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, and asks us to write a Rubaiyat:
* a Persian form of poetry, written in quatrain stanzas (4 lines to a stanza).
* Originally, 13 syllables to a line with variation on the pattern of accents.
Rhyme scheme is AABA, BBCB.
Quite the challenge!
Wild blue indigo is a flowering plant native to much of central and eastern North America and is particularly common in the Midwest. 

Music Returns

lillian55 Comments

Earth warms herself
sun gazes more deeply.
Snow crystals liquify,
trickle downward
through softening hillside,
quicken to rushing rivulets.
Winter stillness disappears.
Stream babbles, meanders,
gains strength through shifting pebbles
as plant life regenerates.
Grasses wave to river’s symphony.
Nature steeped in spring song.

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Mish is hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. “Steep” or a form of the word must be used within our quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Photo in pixabay.com

Fall’s Egress

lillian4 Comments

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.

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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.

Window on Her World

lillian41 Comments

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.

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Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, on Open Link Night. 
Photo from Pixabay.com

 

Her Leaving Time

lillian45 Comments

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

Photo by Jena Backus on Pexels.com

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).

Eye on Spring

lillian2 Comments

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!

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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.