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. 

 

 

 

 

“Content with My Delusions,” I Wait

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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.

 

 

 

 

Odysseus Under the Moon: To Wanderers, A Ghazal

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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.

 

 

Dreams of Dragon Clouds

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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

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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.

 

Meanders

 

 

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.