Lingering

Beside the front porch, peonies
explode—vibrant, incarnadine
complex blooms. Petals cache
secret crevices, hold beauty close.

I want to linger.

Photo credit: scoutcapecod.blogspot.com

 

A train at a standstill across
the river gasps for breath, hisses
its need to move along toward
destiny. Slow start, a wheeze.
It inches forward, heading East.

But I, I want to linger.

Photo credit: tahoebest.com

Two doves cavort from tree-
to-tree. Amid cheat grass, columbine
grows wild. The river rolls, no rush,
and sacred bird-song trills, thrills.

Oh, how I want to linger.

Photo credit: fineartamerica

Back home my projects wait.
A newly crafted action plan—
dead-lines, set in bold typeface,
folders placed in toppling piles.

But still, I have to linger.

Photo credit: techstudentblog

Recently, for Meeting the Bar, Anna Graham inspired us to write about velleity and volition.  The a-fore-mentioned action plan kept me from getting this done in time for MTB, but here it is. One of the best things about OLN is being able to play catch-up. This came to me a few days ago when I took the dogs on a walk along the Truckee river.

We hope you’ll join us Tuesday at 3:00 PM EDT over at the Poetry Pub.

Quan Yin

Deutsch: Die Meisterin des Lebens. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Quan Yin

merciful goddess
such compassionate goodness
(womanly essence)

embodies your soul
melds eastern and western worlds
cherry blossoms rain

Today, over at dVerse Poetics, Kelvin invites us to write of things Asian. I chose Quan Yin, the goddess of compassion who, as I see it, mirrors the Virgin Mary in Western Culture. Both figures capture the essence of feminine beauty.

Shadows

Photo Credit: guardian.co.uk

She wraps her frail form in cashmere
loneliness, dreams dreams of days
spent wallowing in beauty, immersed
in worlds of aromatic cassia, luxuriating
in a hammock, strung, perhaps, between
two willows by the water.

These days she languishes within the
prison of her penthouse.

People she used have gone ahead, and
those who turned to her for gifts moved on,
forget. The room is cast in darkest quiet—
a tomb, expectant. I watch her finger
the fringe of loneliness, not seeing, there
before her, the rutilant sweetness of another
setting sun.

These days she languishes within the
prison of an angry mind.

I’m linking this to dVerse Poets Open Link Night. Please join us in the poetry pub where we gather to share our work and support one another. The doors swing open at 3:00 PM EDT.

Temptation

Adam and Eve (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Temptation
An Acrostic

(Eve)

Try not to think of how you’ll feel tomorrow,
Even God can’t know the wonder of this fruit.

(Adam)

My dear, don’t you remember words of warning?

(Eve)

Perhaps God’s trying to keep us from the truth.
Take this; come on. Just try a morsel.
A snake told me that we would be just fine.
The Tree of Life has nothing like this apple.
Indeed, it offers neither food nor wine.

(Adam)

Only a tiny bite, only this one time.
No one will ever know. HEY, this one’s mine!

An old one, linked now to dVerse Poetics where Mary tempts us to write about, what else, temptation. Crawl on over and see if you can resist!

Maybe If–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Photo: writingforrecovery.com

I’d noticed
how she
pushed that piece of Kung
Pao Shrimp around
the plate and left it
balancing
precariously
on the edge.

If I’d taken time
to hear to the words,
she didn’t speak.
Or if I’d
caught the way her
eyes avoided mine,
staring at some
distant intersection
on the horizon
of her world.

If I’d paid attention
to the curtains
drawn tight against
intrusion
or if I’d wondered why
she never called
me back.

Maybe then she
would not have chosen
to die so soon.

I’m hosting Thursday over at dVerse for Meeting the Bar and asking you to consider issues that inspire you most, and to write a poem using your distinct poetic voice. I hope you will meet us there. The doors open at 3:00 PM EDT.

Death and dying are frequent themes in my writing…in case you haven’t noticed. This is based on a true story. Although I’ve worked with persons who suffer from depression much of my nursing career, I didn’t pick up on it. When you’re close to someone it’s easy to miss the obvious, I’m sorry to say.

Book Review: How Was I Supposed to Know? by Lorna Lee

I’m only an occasional book-reviewer, but it is my joy to present to you the memoir recently published by fellow Blogger, Lorna Lee.

Lorna Lee, Author

A first take on this memoir may give the impression that it could be anyone’s story…or at least that of those of us who grew up in the 2nd half of the 20th Century. It is indeed an adventure (do you know anyone else who was struck twice by lightning?) and it evaluates the angst of coming-of-age with clarity and humor. Humor it is that makes Lorna Lee’s telling such a compelling read.

The author, who has a doctoral degree in sociology, sheds insight that enables readers of diverse backgrounds to identify and learn from the larger themes that she skillfully embeds in her telling of struggling with weight issues, alcoholism in her family of origins which poured into her own life at an early age, of allowing herself to become involved in relationships that kept her in a subservient role, of significant health challenges and eventually in her amazing rebirth as a woman of strength and self-nurture. Oh, and did I mention humor?

I wholeheartedly recommend “How Was I Supposed to Know?” both for its insights and the shear delight of a story well told.

 

Sentinel–a Sijo

A Sijo

Two mockingbirds keep watch atop the tree outside our door.
One faces North, the other South. Are we protected?
Who knows? Though comfort comes in songs of cautious wonder.

Stop by dVerse and learn about this (new to many of us) Korean poetry form! This is a rough draft. I focused on syllable count rather than the wonderful nuances the form calls for. Thanks to Sam Peralta for the prompt.

 

Fickle Spring

Sun invades water droplets on the sago palm,
transforms them into kaleidoscopic riots of color.

Desert springtime tears apart expectations, time travels
us to summer before our neighbors to the North think thaw.

Last Thursday the finches abandoned our feeder, silenced
their morning prayers, turned Northward toward home, fledglings in tow.

Soon shall we follow—encountering yet again the flourish of rebirth
or, perhaps, another freeze before nature makes up her mind.

Written in Response to Claudia’s prompt for Poetics, but linked to OLN. Looking forward to visiting in a few hours.

Transcience–A Sestina

How nature’s wonders haunt my daytime dreams,
ensnare my thoughts in utter timelessness.
They weave a web that captivates my soul,
a harsh reminder of life’s transience.
Our days are few, earth’s beauty delicate.
Creation holds the promise of demise.

A hawk swoops in, ensuring swift demise,
awakens morning from her sultry dreams.
soon feathers fly, then cries so delicate,
the world stands still, enwrapped in timelessness.
A fledgling dies—once more its transience,
a piecing wound emerging in my soul.

I look to nature to caress my soul,
to find an answer in the bird’s demise,
to understand this brutal transience,
her need to shatter hopes born of my dreams.
A full moon whispers silent timelessness,
breezes sifting sand-thoughts, delicate.

A meadow boasting colors, delicate;
her flowers wave their greetings to my soul.
Year after year they speak of timelessness,
return to face, once more, a quick demise.
Within earth’s womb, do seedlings dare to dream,
accept their fate, their fragile transience?

All life is brief, a cruel transience,
the thread that holds me here, so delicate
almost as though I am, myself, a dream,
a mere illusion that contains a soul.
I can’t ignore my soon-to-be demise,
would I could float in blissful timelessness.

The truth imparts ecstatic timelessness,
enduring words that trump mere transience
and thus outweigh the harshness of demise,
imparting strength to spirits delicate.
Though understanding little of the soul,
I dare to touch eternity, to dream.

My nighttime dreams give way to timelessness,
delivering my soul from transience.
This beauty, delicate, knows no demise.

Photo credit: Wikipedia Commons

Linking to dVerse Open Link Night. I encourage you to stop by and bring a poem of your own, and take some time to read and comment on your fellow poets.

Don’t! dVerse Poets’ Pub–Palindrome

Photo: Source Unknown

glaring, blaring, sirens, horns

death–sudden, metal crashing

crashing metal—sudden death

horns, sirens, blaring, glaring

texting, drinking—tragic choices

choices, tragic–drinking, texting

end lives—lives end

stop to think

think to STOP!

This challenging form, the PALINDROME is thoroughly explained by poetess Gayle Walters Rose who is our hostess tonight over at dVerse Poets’ Pub. Stop by, if you will and sip some poetry–and hopefully bring one of your own.