Escape from blaring horns, nights filled with tossing, project expectations and stress. Been on two lane roads for quite a while.
Wayside diner beckons me. Apple tree shaded walk, bees buzz round fallen overripe fruit. I don’t even lock the car doors.
Inside, vases with brightly colored zinnias, oilcloth covered tables and comfy booths. Sheila sashays over with a pleasant smile. Nametag printed in thick magic marker.
She sets down a chipped porcelain mug, pours in dark rich coffee right to the brim. “What’ll ya have? Got fresh melon off the vine. Pies are apple and blueberry today.”
“Just the coffee for now.” She saunters back to the kitchen. I just sit. Between sips I run my finger slowly round the coffee mug’s lip.
I stare out the window. No deadlines hurtling at me. No internet connection. I may just sit here forever.
Coffee drips create brown splotches on my paper placemat menu. Chalkboard over the counter lists supper specials.
Pot roast with Betty’s gravy. Sounds good to me.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Tonight is Open Link Night and we are LIVE for the first hour, from 3 to 4 PM Boston time. That means you can link in, see friendly faces, listen to folks read their poems and, if the spirit so moves you, join in with a poem of your own. No prompt; no required form. Come join us! Image from Pixabay.com
Before this brick, concrete, two hospitals, Old West’s church steeple. My Boston’s high-rise views.
Before this seventh floor balcony, city walks. My outside.
Here, the ocean lives outside my door. Sun rises in pastel silence. Serenity lingers on the breeze. I can just be.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for global poets. Today the word to use in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title, is linger. Photos taken from our deck this morning in Provincetown, at the very tip of Cape Cod.
Compass magnetized to truth, lead me to serenity. Through brazen brambles toward path with verdant ferns, emerald grass and sentinel trees. Close to streams unseen but heard. Soft swishes, trickles too, psalms in salient tranquility. Guide me through morass into a land of grace.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the world. Today De is hosting and asks us to include the word “magnet” or a form of the word in our poem that is exactly 44 words, sans title. Photo taken a number of years ago on trip to see our niece in Ohio.
Serenity is all I need, a verb I can make be. Serenity is bliss.
Serenity is what color? Not raging red nor egregious green. Pastel me serene.
Serenity is far away, not freedom from the storm. Serenity is a firefly flitting out of reach,
on and off, off and on, reminding me. Serenity is a verb I can make be.
Today Bjorn is hosting MTB (Meet the Bar) at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. He prompts us to “use the google autocomplete functionality as a trigger to create lists to trigger poems . . . for instance what happens when I try to google ‘love is.’” In this case, I googled Serenity is… The lines italicized in the poem are some that came up with my query. Photo is from last year’s visit to our beloved Provincetown: no photoshopping…the sky looked like this! Color me serene.
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