The Box of Wishes: Quadrille

I put my wishes in a box of sparkling air

send them off so you can share–

send them—there!–

to fly through star-filled skies,

scatter, fall, like meteor showers

land, bloom as luminescent flowers

of hope and joy,

on worlds restored, not destroyed.

 

I just put up a post about my new books, so now for something completely different–a quadrille for dVerse. De Jackson, aka Whimsy Gizmo, has asked us to use the word “box.”  This is my anti-darkness quadrille.  🙂

 

 

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Birthday Wishes: Haibun

I think of my dad today and how he admired Tony Hillerman’s novels, mysteries involving the Navajo Tribal Police. Once he wrote Mr. Hillerman a letter and received a gracious reply. It’s been twenty years now since my father died. He’d be ninety-nine today—perhaps he’d have new favorite books and authors. He was a man filled with passion—for food, women, art, history–and for his children and grandchildren. He thought we were the best and brightest, no question. Though he expected all to wait upon him–courtiers of the court of Lee–yet—he was generous with love, presents, and hundreds of restaurant meals. He was always proud of me and assigned my first book to his history classes. (Sorry). I wish my dad was still here to read my words. I love you, Dad. I miss you.

 

yellow-green stems grow

vivid blooms in summer’s heat—

then red-gold leaves fall

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is for open link night at dVerse, where Lillian is hosting. I’ve given a nod to National Book Lovers Day in my Haibun.

 

 

Blue Pony Dreams

Enchanting dawn slips

silently past the night,

and with her rosy lips

scatters her light

as she kisses the world awake.

Then—I ache

remembering my dreams

of blue ponies by incandescent streams.

I’ve seen them as I danced among the stars,

but in the light of day,

their world seems much too far away–

and yet–

I know, if never truly seen, still the ponies are there. . .

prancing, shining with blueish sheen, somewhere.

 

Franz Marc, “Blue Horses,”(Public Domain) Wikipedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is for dVerse, where Jilly asked us to write about “unseen.” Last week, Jane Dougherty reminded me about the blue horses. She knows they’re real, too.

 

 

 

 

Breath of Dawn

Silence—as the curtain falls

weighted with emotion just before applause.

Silence—just before the thunder booms,

as though the sky must first absorb the sound

before it’s released. . .breathe in, breathe out. . .

Silence—seconds before the sun awakens,

the cat stretches and yawns,

you turn over as twitters and chirps begin to fill the air,

where traces of dreams still linger—whispered sighs—

they float away, up into the rose-swept sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Silence poem for Dwight’s Sounds of Silence dVerse prompt, and it’s punctuation -filled for Björn’s dVerse prompt. 

Silence Comes on Morning Fog

Silence comes on morning fog

shrouding life in grey and white

drifting in, an epilogue

to what has come before, at night,

the starry skies and canorous moon

hidden behind the shadowy clouds–

but listen–silence sings a tune

sometimes soft, sometimes loud,

in the susurration of wind and rain,

in the scurrying from dusk till dawn,

in hearts that beat again and again

there’s never silence till we’re gone.

Caspar David Friedrich, “Sea Beach in the Fog, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dwight, guesting hosting the dVerse poet’s bar, has asked us to write about silence.

 

 

Dream Puzzles: Haibun Quadrille

I dream of huge white blossoms flaming and shooting off petals into the sky, turning it dark with flowery ash. Wondrous and a bit terrifying, this puzzle of my mind.

 

Moon silvers the trees,

green leaves pale in midnight glow—

dreams waiting to bloom

 

Anonymous, Südländische Ideallandschaft bei Mondschein, [Public Domain] via Wikipedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Haibun quadrille for dVerse. Mish has asked us to use the word “puzzle,” or some form of it, in a quadrille, a poem of 44 words.

 

 

 

 

 

Seeking the Words

I seek the words

to have them drop,

tumble, and

from a jumble

on the page,

rearrange, engage

the reader

with their wit,

flit and sway

to lay

and fall in time

(perfect metered rhyme?).

But. . .I don’t know,

the words come,

and then they go,

in a trickle or a flow,

like geese taking off in flight

no hesitation, wings spread, sail

toward the light,

one and then the next

absent of any pretext

(subtext?).

I seek the words–

and sometimes they come—not flying, but

slithering and sliding from a dream,

onto a scrap of paper or my computer screen.

 

This is for the dVerse Open Link night–or in my case, open link morning after. I woke with a poem in my head, but I couldn’t quite recapture it. I did manage to get in a line with geese. 🙂

Cooper River Park, NJ

 

 

That House on Oxford: Haibun

Not a ghost, but the emanation of some past emotion. That’s what I feel in that house in Havertown—the one my mother rented after my parents divorced. Have you noticed that some houses have their own emotional atmosphere? Well, that’s my theory, and if you’ve never felt a house reeking of love, terror, or despair, then it must sound weird to you. But this whole house makes me feel welcomed; my bedroom in particular—it’s as if someone has felt joy there in the past, and the feeling now lingers. . .forever. This room, painted a golden yellow, seems to glow all the time. Every molecule in its walls, floors—even the air—releases joy and serenity—at least for me. Here I also experience first love. I wonder if my feelings will join the room’s aura, biding there for future inhabitants.

thrush sings amid buds,

trees flower, and then leaves fall—

echoes hang in air

Dock Street Creek once flowed here.

 

 

This Haibun is for dVerse, where Lillian has asked us to write a traditional Haibun—that is, a tight paragraph or two, which is a true account, not fiction, followed by a traditional haiku. The haiku should be nature-based but allude to the prose. It should have a seasonal word, and “a haiku must have two parts including a shift, an added insight. Japanese poets include a KIREJI (cutting word). BUT there’s no linguistic equivalent in the English language therefore punctuation creates the cut: a dash, comma, an ellipsis, an exclamation point. Sometimes it’s simply felt in the pacing or reading.”

Lillian has asked us to write about one of the first houses we lived in. This was not the first, but it was the first one we lived in after we moved from Dallas to Havertown, PA, when I was in 7th Grade.

 

This is also for Colleen’s Tuesday Tanka, using synonyms for the words beliefs and strange. I’ve used theory and weird in my prose. Colleen notes that a Haibun should be written as though it is happening now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beckoning Breezes: Quadrille

Spring breeze bewitches,

twitches–

fills you with an itch

to stretch and grow,

to flow

with rivers

you quiver,

undulating in delight.

 

Fall breeze calls–

unhitch–

enthralling you,

you switch

your sights–

to fly with geese

in victory’s V,

fleeing

through gloaming’s violet light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is for dVerse, now celebrating its seventh anniversary. Happy Anniversary! Grace has asked us to write a quadrille (a poem of 44 words) using the word itch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breaking Free

“We’ll know as children again all that we are
destined to know, that the water is cold
and deep, and the sun penetrates only so far”
~ Jim Harrison from Death Again

 

Torn from parents

hearts ripped apart–

how it starts–

the cycle of hate

spinning behind gates.

Business we’re told,

souls are sold

in heat or dank cold

children are taught

the rotational fear,

fraught frontiers–

till some break free

to lead us

from insanity.

 

This is a quadrille for dVerse, where Kim has asked us to use the word cycle, and a response to Day 18 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason, inspired by the poetry of Jim Harrison. Last night we saw Audra McDonald in concert. One of the songs she performed was a medley of “You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught” from South Pacific (Rodgers and Hammerstein) and “Children Will Listen” from Into the Woods (Sondheim).