Hazy my day.
Soften sun behind billowing clouds,
flirting lazily in muted blue skies.
Hush talking heads, muffle traffic,
muzzle nearby barking dogs.
Doze me ‘neath birch tree leaves,
rustled by honeysuckle breeze.
Calm my spirit,
“Hazy” is my May word prompt from my granddaughter, Stella.
My lineage lies in bleached bones,
ash commingled with soil and sea.
I am the living
wed forty-seven years
Mother of two
grandmother of five.
in raucous revelry.
This crowded world
my species’ millions
and millions more,
multiplied by the unknown.
In the midst of all,
I savor oneness.
Scraps of solitude
Sips of silence
to be and to know
who and what is me.
Posted from Bermuda. We are in midst of TransAtlantic crossing and will not have access to Internet for five days. I shall post again from Lisbon.
Endings pivot to less beginnings
emptiness beside waking self.
someone’s last dawn
awakens another’s grief.
Photo taken in Provincetown, MA, on Cape Cod.
Stripped naked of hope
she sat hugging knees to chest
done with dreams.
Photo in public domain. Misky’s Tuesday Twiglet prompt #6 : “done with dreams.” A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Maybe two. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought.
rare glimpse of winter anger
snow angels disappear in gales.
Softly swirling snow
heaven’s hushed lullaby
midst city streets and sounds.
She stands by her window
wrapped in color splashed comforter.
Forehead on cool pane, eyes closed,
her thoughts begin to drift
like falling snow on once green mounds.
Photo: From our window…looking out on Boston as snow piles up on ground, trees and window sill.
Glazed apricot sun slowly dips,
smudging cloud slips in her graceful retreat.
Tall lithe trees fade into shadow forms,
hushed in awe as once glistening lake
darkens to ebony glass.
Forest spirits lulled by night fall
to a solitary loon’s evensong.
And we sit,
grateful for serenity.
splayed on Adirondack chair,
porched on rustic cabin,
built on rustic site.
Vista before me,
cropped not by gilded frame
nor dimmed by darkened glass
or visor’s cap.
Sentinel woods stand tall,
surround calm rippled waters,
beckon bare feet to rough hewn dock
and yet I sit.
Adirondack sky stretches above me,
bluing clouds to their brightest white.
And I breathe, deeply,
deep green forest scent.
I sit quietly content,
as notes within the loons’ song.
Eyes closed, I drift within this space
and imagine myself to stay.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse where De asks us to write a poem that has to do with “blue.”
Photo taken this past week at Green Lake in the Adirondacks. I was indeed sitting on the porch of a rustic cabin at this beautiful remote site when I took this photo.
In the poem “blue” is used in the sense of “bluing.” According to Mrs. Stewart’s Bluing site, there are 300 shades of white; the most intense includes a slight hue of blue. Mrs. Stewart’s Bluing is a laundry aid used to “brighten whites.” Hence the idea of the blue sky making the clouds appear even more white!
She walked away
many years ago.
Chose overgrown trails
sun tipped wild roses
and unflinching stars
on the backroad of life.
Photo taken in Mt Rainier National Park.
Natural beauty, serene
sits in aura of pine tree wisps.
shades of ebony and white.
Round face pivots not.
Stoic eyes stare
as voyeur camera
takes its shot.
Amazing photo taken by my niece, Charli Michele Gruenwald, in her back yard. She lives on Lopez Island in the state of Washington.
nights etched in mind
black water glistens
harbor lights beam on sea
shadow figures lean toward wind
far away music starts and stalls
tree frogs serenade the stars
stars peek from black sky
Bermuda’s scrim of night
Photo from our deck in Bermuda, just before the stars came out in force….in February. We were right on the harbor….so many beautiful evenings! Prompt is from my recent June class — write a poem of nostalgia.