good ole’ summertime

It’s haibun Monday at dVerse with Frank hosting the first solstice of the year…


The longest day of June is a Sunday; glorious day of rest extended. Sleep late in cozy camper, waking to bird song. Sip teeccino tea with a splash of creamer. Outdoor picnic table serves as best breakfast seating. Husband flips pancakes and bacon; I fry eggs, top with shredded cheese.

Wash dishes leisurely, then time for church! It’s casual today, join worship online with home congregation and guest pastor. Confession and assurance. Gospel preaching offers hope; we sing with joy. A blessing given and received. Follow with grilled steak dinner and refreshing nap.

We drive to historical house turned museum. Well-preserved Parker house built, 1916, in decorative arts and crafts style. Maureen shows us interesting features: square piano, French heirloom china, family portraits, narrow hall of old books, sun room upstairs, vintage porcelain doll, and quarter-sawn oak woodwork.

It’s raining when we cruise around town; over one lane Thunder Bridge, past cemetery, fairgrounds, and downtown businesses, closed today. Phone conversation with my dear brother. Weather clears in time for long walk around lake reflecting large rocks, lush trees, and leftover clouds, before sun finally sets on first solstice of the year.

on june twenty-one

we take father’s day escape

relax, it’s summer

refresh

sipping chai latte

on deck wet with summer’s dew

birds all a-twitter

improvisation

have you
ever seen real
unicorn in uniform
march in parade, wearing
best tailored vest
with tassels?

‘tis no hassle
for mythical creature
that’s known
how to play its
own brassy horn
since magical day
’twas born,

before the fairies
ever began telling tales.


De delights in mythical quadrilles at dVerse Poets pub tonight…improv on 44 words.

serenity

early morning walk

gravel crunches under foot

nature awakens

red-wing blackbird sings on post

whorl of corn plants reach for clouds

on a wing and a prayer

An ekphrastic poem inspired by Tweetspeak’s Creativity Cafe…

children, dreams, and
butterflies quickly flutter by
(bye bye!)
uniquely created,
bold flashes of color
with bright eyes,
soft bodies,
and alert antennae
stretching, reaching
as they fly higher
(how high?)
warming wings in sunshine,
growing stronger in moment
yet delicately designed
emotionally fragile
perfectly asymmetrical
(if you look closely)
and we wonder…
will they become
butterflies drinking nectar
or moths seeking the light?

Five Butterflies by Odilon Redon, 1912

parenthetically speaking

please do not
puncture my poetry
with unwanted or
wanton punctuation

commas i suppose
are required for prose
but totally unnecessary
for terse purple verse

better to be clean
in your cummings
and goings than to
leave a blot or dot

and if you cannot
decide where to pause
feel free to break laws
but be warned that

the punctuation police
are determined to deter
any pregnant poets
who miss a period


Melissa hosts poetics at dVerse and prompts us to write sans punctuation

whimsy on brick wall


Inspired by online poetry class with John Sibley Williams.

______________

Living flames of cypresses
leap upward as evergreen branches
swirl like burning driftwood.

Even Vincent’s baby blue
skies curl with playful energy
trying to escape lemon peel moon,
which already took a bite from cotton
candy cloud floating above wave
of distant mesa’s high water.

Saffron grasses dance freely in
summer breeze while polka dots of
wildflowers and juniper berries
sprinkle scene with a childlike joy.

Cypresses by Van Gogh, 1889

resting place

The Mulberry Tree by Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

______________

Bury me under the mulberry tree;
mark my grave with granite stone.
I will lie in tree’s long shadow as
it grows gnarly wild above me.

See leaves of heavenly glory gold
shimmer against bold azure skies
and know that I am finally home
where day or night will not matter.

Hear sound of snow-melt waterfall;
listen to memory of my laughter.
Be refreshed by hope of reunion
and do not fear coming darkness.

______________

Ekphrastic poetry inspired by online class with John Sibley Williams.

push “publish”

“I write on these spindrift pages.” — Dylan Thomas


I… personally speaking, myself and not another; singularly and uniquely me

write… to scribble with pencil, flow from ink, or tap on keyboard; to make meaning from letters into words into phrases into poetry

on… immediately active location; ready position; prepared for task; alert

these… things here, not there; close at hand and possessed; opportune

spindrift… mist of music and lyrics like salty spray from crest of wave or wild dusting of snowdrift in gale

[easily confused with spendthrift… who gives away freely, shares extravagantly; both prodigal and profligate]

pages… leaves of a book, spaces on a screen, blanks waiting to be filled in with words and sent into the world!


Take a Dylan Thomas quote, make an acrostic, define your lines! Laura Bloomsbury hosts MTB at dVerse Poets.

provision

large brown egg…still warm

from grass-fed, free-range chicken

work of happy hen!

ruminations

______________

Circle of life in world of death
as fruit of tree links food chain.
Survival served by stewardship,
sustainability, not envy or greed.
But blood be shed in streets if
village values turn upside-down.
Milked by politics, compromised,
church not shocked to repentance.

_______________

Melissa hosts dVerse poetics with ekphrastic poetry inspired by art of Marc Chagall. My poem based on his oil painting, “I and the Village”, 1911.

quadrillary

proper poet can understand rhyme
personal chef pan-handle thyme

thus, poet with pen sits by yon pond
whilst chef, he pulls wet waders on

hip boots for catching crawdad feast
silly verse to tame clawed beast

poet writes fresh doggerel
quick chef dodges froggerel

______________

It’s quadrille Monday at dVerse where De invites us to write 44-word poems including a form of the word “dog”.

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