seasons

At the Gate

lillian39 Comments

The mare, so far away,
a sense of movement in the fields.

I stood watching,
belly nine months large.
Motion rippled through the grass
matched by rushing winds.

Mane flowing, she galloped toward me,
legs in synch with some internal pace
ears pinned against the breeze.
I stared, mesmerized.

She sauntered close,  approached the gate
then slowly turned and bent to graze,
beads of sweat upon her flanks
breathing deeply at her task.

I stood watching quietly
until arms jerked reflexively,
hands to back as waves within me
grew to jabs, a quickening pace.

And so I left the mare that day,
neighing softly in the winds.
She watched me as I’d watched her,
when I placed the latch upon the gate
and crosed the creek toward home.

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Posting today for OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Gayle opens the bar at 3 PM – drop in and imbibe some words!

i am…a frog?

lillian9 Comments

like a pollywog
but continual
constant metamorphosis
life’s playpen journey
never habitual
every step negates that

sister, wife, mother,
teacher, painter, dancer,
sometime-poet

daughter
daughter is missing
from the list

pollywog always
pollyanna mostly
metamorphopolly
named wrong
should be polly
could be…

because
i am…
we are…
you are…
a becomer

frog-shadow-1360285

photo credit: Hyunhee Park

Reunion

lillian2 Comments

Friendly foursome of youth
we lived near Mississippi shores
dancing with fire flies,
oblivious to time.

Fifty years of days gone by
we meet again,
laughter etched in faces lined,
steps slowed by trials of time.

Remember-when stories shared
told and retold louder now.
Sitting young in wizened frames,
we laugh and love in cherished time.

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Old friends. Young hearts. Augustana College is located in Rock Island, Illinois — along the shores of the mighty Mississippi – our alma mater. 

Let Go, My Love

lillian42 Comments

Talk to me not of death and fear
as time stands by and waits for me.
For I must leave you now my dear
these last few steps for me alone.

So as I lie with sleep so near,
harken my dear and you shall hear
celestial song and angels’ wings,
their comfort meant for you they sing.

Let go your hand, let go your tears
and tell me please that I may pass.
Take comfort in our childrens’ care
our love lives on, embodied there.

gceojLKoi

Written for dVerse, Victoria minding the bar, asking us to write in meter, creating a particular mood. Very new to me — meter = stressed syllables. Trying to achieve meter without sacrificing the sense and flow of the words. I’ll be honest. I find this very taxing and difficult. But — I’m happy with how this turned out, and I think it’s in trochaic tetrameter: 4 stressed syllables in an 8 syllable line. Always learning with dVerse!

After the rains

lillian10 Comments

Spring storm dissipates
leaves slow misting veil.
Ants scurry back to work
beneath uncurled ferns.

Trillium carpets damp earth.
White three-petal clusters
speckled by raindrops,
sit atop shiny green leaves.

Whitening clouds skirt the sky,
grey gives way to light.
Star-shaped pink laurels
turn faces to the dappled sun.

 

Ode to Dandelions written in american sentences

lillian15 Comments

Nature loves the despised, unwanted dandelions, blessing them yellow.

Come dance in refreshing rain, make mudpies and weave wreaths of dandelions.

Summer’s birthday candles: dandelion seed wisps float across wish strewn air.

dandelions-1341698    dandelion-38-1387988

The American Sentence as a poetic form was created by Allen Ginsberg. It was his attempt to make an American haiku. As the Japanese haiku is 17 syllables going down in Japanese text, the American Sentence is 17 syllables going across, linear, like just about everything else in America.

 In a 1991 interview with Thomas Gladysz, Allen Ginsberg was asked about the sacramental nature of life as an aesthetic for his photography. Allen replied: “I think the notion is a Native American art aesthetic and life aesthetic, but my formulation of it is reinforced by a lot of Buddhist training. The notion is basically that the first noble truth most all of us acknowledge, especially senior citizens, is that existence is transitory – life is transitory. We are born and we die. And so this is it! It gives life both a melancholy and a sweet and joyful flavor…Any gesture we make consciously, be it artwork, a love affair, any food we cook, can be done with a kind of awareness of eternity, truthfulness…In portraiture, you have the fleeting moment to capture the image as it passes and before it dissolves…It captures the shadow of the moment.” Italicized is quoted from Paul E. Nelson: About Form: What Are American Sentences.

 

April Cruelty

lillian38 Comments

Crocus seduce, daffodils beam,
we walk lighter, brighter.
Young women shed coats,
bellies concealed in down
bloom pregnant joy.

Temptress Spring,
hips swaying in soft breezes,
sashays to bed budding green.
Wakes at dawn,
cold white kisses shimmer,
laughs flurry at our foolish trust.

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Photo Credits: That’s me, this morning, April 4. On the porch in my bathrobe appalled at this cruel April snow! Crocus  photo by Swirls 71.
Written as a quadrille (44 words) for dVerse using the word “shimmer” and for NaPoWriMo Day 4‘s prompt to write about the cruelest month.