A Bit of Healing

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I’ve been feeling stressed for months—deadlines, caring for my mom, trying to fit everything in, waiting for the next disaster. I take a morning walk in the riverside park before the predicted downpour arrives. There I find a bit of magic, a bit of healing. Life goes on.

 

russet-gold shower

leaves fall on a silent world—

time pauses, deer leaps

 

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I’m linking this Haibun to dVerse’s Open Link Night. Lillian asked for some treats. Seeing deer is a treat for me (as long as they’re not in the road).

 

The Night Passes

 

 

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William Heritage Winery

 

Workday chores set down,

the sun sinks low, birds take wing,

stars soon appear to glimmer and sing

 

songs drifting over gleaming river

and sleepy town

 

to me and you, the sound

of nature, moon hums a chorus–

and so, night passes before us.

 

I’m hosting dVerse today. We’re writing quadrilles, using the word, “set.” Come join us!

 

Something Happened Here

 

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Red Bank Battlefield,  National Park, NJ

He watches from this place. Where—he’s not certain, and he drifts and wanders, but never far from this spot. Something happened here, he thinks.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, or what was before. He notices others like him here. They nod to each other, sharing a bond. . .of some sort.

What is that sound? Oh yes, that’s called music. He thinks it’s something he used to like. I rememberyes, I used to. . . sing.

He watches as people gather. A woman dressed in black wipes her face. A small boy stands next to her holding a flag.

Something happened here, he thinks again.

And as the leaves blow and whisper in the breeze, he remembers—these memories were left here with the trees. The woman’s eyes open wide as he gently kisses her, and then disappears forever.

 

This is my prosery piece for my dVerse prompt, using the line “These memories were left here with the trees” from the poem “How to Write a Poem in a Time of War” by Jo Harjo.  When I walk in the park, sometimes I think memories whisper from the trees.

 

 

 

 

Blue Horse Dreams

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Horses by Beverly Dyer

 

In my dream world, the blue horses graze

unfettered, untethered from human concerns

to gallop and whinny, to live unfazed

while munching sweet grasses in delicate turns

 

unfettered, untethered from human concerns,

they prance and gallop and meander

while munching sweet grasses. In delicate turns,

they wander–and speak with great candor

 

as they prance and gallop and meander

over fields so flowered and lush.

They wander, and speak with great candor

with never a blush, though they rush

 

sometimes, because life’s a delight—

to gallop and whinny, to live unfazed

by human drama. They live in golden light

in my dream world. . . here, the blue horses graze.

 

Mish has asked us to use the work of artist Beverly Dyer for our poem dVerse Poetics. How could I resist blue horses? This is a pantoum. . .because I haven’t written one in a while, so why not?

 

Mare Tranquillitatis

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“Earthrise” Taken by Apollo 8 crewmember Bill Anders on December 24, 1968

 

A sea

but no water,

a desert place,

a silvered space–

could it ever feel tranquil?

 

In solitude, we kick

 

no dust

no cloud forming

no sunrise warming

but the blue planet

dawning

over a curved horizon–

 

surprising, stirring,

yet insignificant—

 

except to us.

 

Lillian has asked us to write a quadrille (a poem of 44 words) using the word tranquility or some form of the word for dVerse. I love the word, though I haven’t felt too much tranquility lately. Yesterday afternoon, the Oracle whispered “Sea of Tranquility” to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her Voice

 

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My mother’s voice is soft now. Her words slur and drift off in a breeze. But today she laughs, and the sparrows twitter and chirp, carrying that laugh up to the sky.

Dawn rises giggling

rose-tipped clouds streak summer sky—

shadows dance on ground

 

For dVerse, where De has asked us to write a quadrille (a poem of 44 words, any style) using the word voice.

 

 

 

 

 

Promises and Dreams

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In the dew-dappled dawn, promises fly,

rising up in murmurations, flowing

into space, tracing patterns in the sky

turning into misty clouds, then throwing

shadows back onto dreams. But then knowing

that the moon rises as the sun sets still

and the earth yet revolves–and will–and will

beyond our mortal lives. So, starlight gleams,

we watch it speckle bright the night—until

it seems, our dreams grow luminous streams.

 

I haven’t been around much lately at dVerse, and I’m sorry for being so behind in reading. I have a lot going on right now. This is my first attempt at a dizain, this month’s poetry form at dVerse.

 

 

 

 

 

Sun on the Bay–Haibun

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Cape May—a “girls’ weekend” on a summery-spring day. We delight in the warmth, and later watch the sun fire the bay. Overnight, the weather turns and rages, but we laugh and have brunch.

April nor’easter,

tom-catting deck chairs scatter–

inside, fond hearts glow

 

For dVerse, a haibun quadrille. Grace has asked us to use the word sun.

 

 

The Tree

High above me, golden streaming

through its leaves unfolded

growing, teeming

with creatures,

big and smaller–leaning

climbing, flying

living, dying

in its greenery gleaming

all the wishes—seeming

there, seeds of the past

rise in the air.

And later,

under lambent moon

dreaming, beaming,

the promise of the future, greening.

 

Poem for dVerse, where Mish is hosting Open Link night.  I took these photos a few days ago in Philadelphia when we were walking around on our wedding anniversary after a very late lunch or very early dinner.

 

 

Cinnamon and Snow: Haibun

 

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It snowed, and the earth was devoid of color. The wind howled and shook the house, knocking to get in. Robins, sparrows, tufted titmice, and cardinals huddled in their nests. Wise squirrels had gathered acorns from the old oak tree, but now they, too, sought shelter. The roads were unplowed, and the schools were closed for days. I baked an endless supply of cookies, bread, cakes, and donuts. My comfort for the storm. The house was scented with cinnamon and love.

 

frosted white-veiled world

sighs drifting from cloud-draped moon–

from home warmth beckons

 

It’s midsummer, so to be contrary I thought I’d write about a blizzard. When my children were young—perhaps in kindergarten and third grade—there was a blizzard that left two feet of snow, and more in the drifts. I know that some of you live in areas that have more snow, but I think it wasn’t only the amount, but the intensity of the storm and the drifting afterwards. It might have been this one.