Country Respite

Rolling hills, 
myriad shades of green.  
Drive slowly, windows open . . .  
Fresh crisp air,  
cloudless blue sky.  
Drumlins shaped patiently by glacial ice,  
Mother Earth’s gentle curves.  
Vibrant wildflowers here . . .  
flowering brush there.  
Stop. Rest.  
Inhale the quiet calm. 

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. We are to use the word “drum” or a form of the word, within our exactly 44 word poem. Image from Pixabay.com

Birch Tree Lane

This place spoke to her
and she said yes.
Her party would be waiting
her bridegroom, her love.
All standing patiently
in windswept open field.

Her dress of white ethereal silk
flowed as she walked alone
oh so slowly down the path.
She held a small bouquet,
delicate white freesia
hyacinth and sweet peas.

Birch trees lined the trail,
leaning in as sentinels would
protective and quietly calm
seeming to guide her steps.
Lush greenery everywhere
leading to her new life.

This stretch of spackled white bark
delicate in its strength.
This birch tree lane
seemed an extended bridal veil
approving her decision,
her love for him.

Their lush branches
whisper-rustled encouragement.
Trees on either side,
embracing her in calm serenity
as she took step after step forward,
until at last, they were all at her back.

She turned and looked once more
these birch trees, their beauty,
leaning in to line this walkway.
They seemed now to be
her wedding gown’s bridal train
bidding her adieu . . .

and she smiled . . .
turned . . .
and stepped into the open field

IMG_1031_Original

April 21: day 21 of National Poetry Writing Month. Today Kim at Toads asks us to write about trees. Photo taken some years ago when we visited our niece in Ohio. 

Scene fades to . . .

. . . sun peeking round cotton-puff clouds.
I wander meadows flush with buttercups
trees rustling in breeze.
Leaves gleam myriad shades of green.
Sitting cross-legged, eyes closed
hands prayer-folded to chest
soothed by buttercups,
undulating tall grasses.
Serenity . . .

RRRRiiiinnnnnggggg!
RRRRiiiinnnnnggggg!

Scene shifts
I grudgingly answer call.

buttercup-352443_1920
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where it’s Quadrille Monday and the word to be used within the body of our exactly 44 word poem (sans title) is flush

In this Covid-19 era, I find myself doing yoga and meditating every day. This morning the telephone rudely interrupted me – motivating this post. Stay safe everyone! 

Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Photo from Pixabay.com

Campfire Scene

There is beauty in ash
as embers glow brightly.
Once sapling, resilient to touch,
life juices now almost gone.

Last moist quiet hiss
escapes crumbling sinews
as ashes join earth.

Glowing flecks break free
catch wind, flicker and float.
Momentary sanctuary
in darkening sky.

Posting to dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today I’m hosting the final Quadrille Monday of 2019. Quadrille: poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.  I’ve chosen the word “glow” as the Quadrille prompt. Folks must use the word “glow” or a form of the word within the body of their poem. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop on by!

Greening

Shhh . . .
follow me.
Walk quietly
thru stately trees
dew-kissed leaves
green glistening fronds.
Inhale. Breathe in deeply.
Fresh woods’ scent fills lungs.
Eyes shut, listen to forest sounds.
Birds sing, scamper, dart overhead.
Shrubs swish softly as critters scamper.
Forest tranquility.

IMG_1024

I’m hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the vitual pub for poets. The challenge is to write a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. The poem must include the word “tranquility” (or a form of the word) within the body of the poem. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Did you know, according to a British Council’s survey of 40,000+ people from 102 nonEnglish speaking countries, “tranquility” is the tenth most beautiful word in the English language?  

Photo taken on our visit a number of years ago to the Crosley Estate in Cincinatti, Ohio. 

Respite

Rocking my soul,
surrounded by lush forest
as lazy loons float upon the lake.
Leaves rustle occasionally
while wooden slats creak
back and forth,
back and forth.
My soul dozes carefree,
enveloped in Adirondack calm.

IMG_4961

Posted for dVerse, Open Link Night Thursday. Photo from our recent family reunion in the Adirondacks.

Solace

Like a peregrine
caught in a tailspin,
hard pressed
to find calm within.
To escape the din,
to rest,
seeks his lover’s inn.
Ah sweet nest of skin,
sweet breast.

Form of poem is a Lai: nine-line stanza with syllabic and rhyme requirements as follows:

line 1: 5 syllables, rhyme word a
line 2: 5 syllables, rhymes with a
line 3: 2 syllables, rhyme word b
line 4: 5 syllables, rhymes with a
line 5: 5 syllables, rhymes with a
line 6: 2 syllables, rhymes with b
line 7: 5 syllabkes, rhymes with a
line 8: 5 syllables, rhymes with a
line 9: 2 syllablesm rhymes with b

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets.
Photo from pixabay.com

The She of Serenity

Nature’s nymph.
Child of the moon, wed to earth.
Mossy slippers quiet her step.
Willow frond skirt swishes in breeze,
natural scent blends with trees.
Seek her healing balm
amongst urban parks, forest glens.
Or retreat within your mind,
savor soothing rivulets of calm.

img_4663

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where it’s Quadrille Monday. Kim is our able and creative pub tender. She asks us to use the word “earth” in our exactly-44-word poem. Photo taken on our trip to Ireland. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Not Her

Inherited from her,
the quick-to-explode gene.
Eyes down, fists clenched,
we stood silently passive
until the flame was spent.

Her sudden verbal lashings,
see-what-you-made-me-dos,
fury flung horiffic words.
Perhaps, in those moments,
I learned to control anger.

But she can fester within me.
Like termites gnawing
eroding the core of sanity.
Pause. Breathe.
Seek a good. A beautiful.

Take up pen and feel the script.
The flow. The ebbing.
I am not her.
Not that way.
I will it to be so.

Provincetown Morning

Quiet resounds here.
Time reined in, schedules disappear.
Low tide reveals sand swirls,
lazy etchings from past eddies.
Once afloat in deep water
languid sailboats rest askew,
moorings draped in dripping sea grass.
Plover chatter creates far-off natural hum
occasionally interrupted by a raucous gull.
Sipping coffee in a slight ocean breeze
my mind wanders,
savoring the serenity of this place.

 

 

I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. Prompt word/s: rain, rein, and/or reign. Folks are invited to use one, two, or all three of these words. The one caveat is the poem must have a positive bent. Come join poets from across the globe — we’re a friendly bunch so would love to have you participate! Pub opens at 3PM Boston time. And yes, I’m in our beloved Provincetown, at the very tip of Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Two glorious weeks in this beautiful place. Photos from our deck. Feet are from a few years back…but others are from yesterday and today. It’s a special place in the off-season.