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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Content With My Delusions, Jacqueline Hurlbert,
Only I could see him,
my dark friend, slim
with rabbit ears
and glowing eyes—
so kind, so wise.
He comforted me
I spoke to him alone–see
no one else believed in him,
but friends we were and are–
and from me he never strayed far.
I gave him a gift, a striped shirt,
and he said, sorry, don’t be hurt–
but I’ve got to go away for now.
somehow, remember us, don’t fuss–
this is only a phase, it’s ever thus.
(Count the days. Discuss.)
Today is my ninetieth birthday,
and I think I feel his glowing gaze
from somewhere in the night.
He’s come for me, my old dark friend—
Hello, good-bye, this is my end.
(We begin again.)
Today on dVerse, Linda has asked us to write poems based on the work of artist Jackie Hurlbert. Her Web site can be found here.
Winslow Homer, “Eastern Point Light”
Over star-glimmered waves, we journeyed and sailed under the moon.
There we bemoaned our fate, still sailing—railed under the moon.
We see the fork-tongued serpent, slither-scaled–
no siren, silver-voiced with hair unveiled under the moon.
From the towering giant, one-eyed, we quailed,
but when blinded he was curtailed under the moon.
On blood-wine seas, the winds caught and prevailed–
yet what of the gods, we flattered, yet failed, under the moon?
What lands should we conquer? If heroes, we’re hailed.
What tales of those places to you we’d regale under the moon?
Do we return to love, or to marriages failed?
My own wife, what of her travails under the moon?
Too far, too soon, the poet sleeps unassailed
to the gentle rhythm of the waves, inhales, exhales, under the moon
A re-worked ghazal for dVerse.
Once a child in wonder
saw a dragon flying by
breathing clouds of dragon-mist
in swirling twists
of white across the bluest sky.
And there he lay on grassy slope
pondering, wondering why–
only he saw a dragon there,
high up in the sky.
A little wisp of a poem, a quadrille for dVerse. De has asked us to use the prompt, “dragon.”
For some reason, I was hearing the song “Circle Game” in my head. I was thinking the song doesn’t mention dragons, but then I realized it does mention a dragonfly. Weird how the mind works! Here’s Tom Rush’s version of the Joni Mitchell song. I heard him sing this song in concert recently. He sounds so young here.
Mockingbird sings,
brings sunshine
in his song,
all his longing
brightly calling
swinging my heart along,
and through his trills,
he fills the night
with vibrant light–
stilling the storm–
to wing it
softly out of sight.
This is for dVerse Open Link Night, where Mish is hosting. For the last two days, we’ve had severe thunderstorm alerts and tornado warnings. Fortunately, we did not get anything too awful here, but it makes me anxious. Last night, after the storms had cleared-out, I opened the bedroom window a bit and heard a mockingbird singing. It made me happy–then I heard it again today. There are things on my mind, and we’re under a severe thunderstorm warning again, but right now, the birds are singing.
The sky is sunny, the sky is grey
thoughts fall like rain within my brain
but fan into a rainbow bright
and dance in dreams later at night.
I walk past statues, I see stories,
in shadows and art, love and hearts
rise, fall with martyrs. I hold books,
(sacred) as nymphs slide into brooks
rippling pools and startling robins
that rise in song, and before long
my thoughts come ‘round, circle in flight
from darkness swayed to soar in light.
Anmol’s prompt on dVerse asks us to walk and observe. Those who follow my blog know that I do this often. There has been a lot on my mind lately–and there has also been a lot of rain– and this poem combines a few walks in Philadelphia and in S. Jersey.
WP seems to be possessed again. I hope the photos show up.
