Photo: istock
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A Visit
a Quadrille
I find him on the porch,
frame stooped, cobbled by years
of loss and melancholic memories.
Eyes dimmed, he turns within—
hears the music of birdsong,
inhales the scent of lavender,
tastes the sweetness of this moment
when friends stop by,
and hug him.
Linked to dVerse Quadrille Monday where De asks us for a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding title. The word of the week is COBBLE or any of its forms. Join us and have fun.
Photo: Victoria Slotto
Grandmother’s Collection
I gather feathers—memories
of color, flight, texture and joy,
she said
and flowers pressed within
the pages of a heavy tome.
Close to my breast—the loves
of countless years. Thus,
within these twisting rivers, blue,
upon my gnarly hands,
I gather hope.
A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding the title. This week Lillian at dVerse asks us to use the word GATHER in our offering. You are invited to join in, read and share a poem at dVerse Haibun Monday
Dusk
Photo: Victoria Slotto
Desert evenings have a beauty all their own. Most every day we enjoy a sunset that stuns us with its wonder. Hummingbirds vie for their place at our feeders, mama and daddy lead their ducklings for an evening swim as twilight colors dance on the water’s ripples. It is still warm, but cool enough to sit out on the patio and soak in beauty, sip a glass of wine and give thanks for the blessings of another day of life.
Photo: David Slotto
Have you noticed the beauty of an aged person’s evening hours? Fine lines, wrinkles tell stories of both joy and sorrow. Of life. Crevassed lips that have loved, whispered, cursed, blessed, sinned, asked forgiveness and forgiven turn up in smiles, down in sadness—likely both, at one time or another. But most often, it is in the eyes that you read the nuances of a life well-lived. There you will find clarity, serenity, wisdom and acceptance. Acceptance of loss, of failure, but especially of the realization that there has been love. May this be so for each of us.
hawk swoops in, alights
mama duck shelters her young
at dawn, three remain
This week I’m happy to host dVerse Monday Haibun. The Kigo is CHIJITSU, lingering day. Please join us with your Haibun of two or three terse paragraphs followed by a seasonal haiku.
Useless, Broken Things
In a forgotten cupboard,
behind an empty box,
I find stories, covered in dust
A child’s teddy bear,
ragged, torn,
forgotten years ago.
A toddler’s shoe,
wrinkled, scuffed.
Worn for her first steps?
Inside her lonely room,
an old lady turns frayed pages
of her memory.
She kisses photos’ tattered edges,
and wishes, once again,
to hear the sounds of laughter.
In a forgotten cupboard,
behind an empty box,
I find toys, cover them with tears.
Posted for dVerse OLN, hosted by Grace. Please join us.
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Depouillement*
A Haibun
Do falling leaves ache with the pain of letting go? Or do they revel in the freedom of floating and of the taste of earth? Did they boast of glorious colors that they wore in days before releasing their hold on life?
And the trees—do they grasp obsessively to their robes of glory, regret the day that finds them stripped, exposed and naked—vulnerable to cold and rain.
I am October now, buffeted by aging. I hurl my somethingness into the great unknown, one gift at a time. I face the imminence of winter, move beyond the sting of loss into the joy of unknown expectations. I am old but full of hope, in the springtime of new life. Beneath the soil life pulses.
Je suis depouilée
stripped bare like October trees
richness lies hidden
Photo: Victoria Slotto
*The French word depouillement means stripping. The verb depouiller is to strip. The first line of the haiku translates : I am stripped.
Happy to be able to jump in for OLN this week. I have tried to consider some of the wonderful prompts I have missed related to personal events–this one, especially, relates back to Kim’s prompt for Tuesday’s Poetics.
Photo: Victoria Slotto
Outside-Looking-In
Was it like this my entire life
or only since the years stole
in and swept away beauty and desire?
I stand here, watching shadows
of youthful joy and folly,
longing for a simple touch
or even the smile of a stranger
passing by me in Wal-Mart
as I walk slowly, using my cart as a cane.
They are so busy with their lives.
They have things to do and families
to raise and who love them. You are gone
now, leaving me to this darkness,
Gazing at life unfurling before me.
Sitting on my porch, watching
through the another’s window,
nursing memories and fears.
Waiting for death.
For Poetics at dVerse, Lillian would have us look outside or inside a window. The poem I’ve written isn’t about me, but it is something I have encountered so very often working as a nurse with, for the most part, elderly patients. Though I don’t feel old, I know age is sneaking up on me, so I begin to look at things more often from the perspective of the elderly. Please, don’t forget them!
Photo: Max Pixel Labeled for Non-commercial reuse.
simplicity
the echo of your words
the haunting emptiness
of promises not meant
the lies that steeped in
darkest night ring loudly
clashing with the sweet-
ness of your voice, your
smile, your tender touch
i cleave to gentle, simple
things in these last years
Today De invites us to share a quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words excluding title, with the poetry community at dVerse. Please join us for this fun prompt here. The word to include this week is ECHO, in any form you can conjure up.
Spring Eternal
She’d lost the spring in her step,
(it’s true.)
But the twinkle in her eye,
mischievous,
kept her young—
an icon of joy.
“It’s love,” she told me,
“only love,
that makes me who
who I am.
No winter in this heart
of mine.”
Photo: David Slotto
My mother at age 90-something.
Kim is hosting dVerse Quadrille today asking for a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding the title, using the word SPRING in any of its forms. I was a bit surprised where this one took me. We would love to see you join us for the prompt that is available to you all week.
Photo: Victoria Slotto
of a pristine october morn
blue glass sky, cloud-
less, diamond dew-studs,
shimmering hoar frost
leaves blush at branches bare
bold crickets cry frantically
singing last-chance choruses
a flagging rose scatters petals
before winter’s advent
and i watch life slip
from between my fingers
Written for Kim’s Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets’ Pub–asking for a poem of exactly 44 words, using the word cloud.
Seamstress
She sits in her window,
in the old white rocker,
sewing shadow-memories
into a cohesive whole.
She’s alone now—
no one with whom to share
beauty, the texture of her life,
peppered with pain and giving.
Sunshine seeps through
half-opened blinds.
Still she waits.
Photo: Wikipedia Commons–Labeled for Non-commercial reuse.
A second Quadrille for De’s prompt at dVerse Poets’ Pub…a poem of 44 words, using the given word SHADOW. Please join us.
My original response to this prompt is here.
Victoria C. Slotto, Author 