posting poetic prose
19 Jun 2015 5 Comments
like a
deer in
headlights,
i’m dazed,
amazed,
rendered
immobile
by sensory
overload
at writers’
conference.
a bit wary,
needing
time to
pause at
this cabin
in the trees
to ponder,
chewing cud
of green ideas;
feeling content,
as lone firefly
blinks and
soft darkness
settles in.
17 Jun 2015 7 Comments
in Uncategorized Tags: coffee, ice cream, insomnia
i
i was
i was not
i was not going
i was not going to
i was not going to write
i was not going to write a
i was not going to write a poem
i was not going to write a poem about
i was not going to write a poem about food
BUT i ate caribou coffee ice cream so now i’m awake
i ate caribou coffee ice cream so now i’m awake
i ate caribou coffee ice cream so now i’m
i ate caribou coffee ice cream so now
i ate caribou coffee ice cream so
i ate caribou coffee ice cream
i ate caribou coffee ice
i ate caribou coffee
i ate caribou
i ate
i
12 Jun 2015 Leave a comment
Linking to Chevrefeuille’s prompt at CDHK…
eagle swoops from sky
skims to splash lake’s face
trout squirms in talon
09 Jun 2015 31 Comments
in Uncategorized Tags: black, blind, color, shadow, white
black & white
piano keys strike
dissonance / harmony
depending on whose
muse-ic we choose,
both hands best
fingers caress.
moo-ve the blinds
watch the light with
shadows dance / JOY
sway rhythm in room
june bride & groom,
swirl of cream in
a coffee dream.
flavor-ful families
diverse by design
see adoption’s option
mix & matchin’ all
shades /// hues
rainbow of one
human race.
photo by lynn
02 Jun 2015 3 Comments
notice how
the latest
illuminati-esque
arrival of a
handsome pair
of goldfinches
perching perkily
on the garden
pea fence
has sparked
snits of domestic
dissatisfaction
among the
common-esque
(but not drab)
sparrows !
02 Jun 2015 25 Comments
Sharing today with d’Verse poetics prompt on nature’s micro worlds…
young owlet
fell from tree
when trimmed
fluttering low
unable to fly
high as his
worried parent
yet doesn’t try
to fight my
son’s firm grip
of gloved hand
around his
warm body
heartbeats…
grey fuzziness
luminous eyes
already wise
clicks to scold
the camera
turns neck far
to stare in all
directions:
where’s mama?
carry him oh
so gently back
to nearby spruce
for a few more
flying lessons.
photo by lynn
01 Jun 2015 13 Comments
entered in Carpe Diem Haiku Kai’s first “kukai” contest…
wisteria weeps
dissolves in lavender tears
yen for soft spring rains
(wisteria photo borrowed from CDHK)
25 May 2015 7 Comments
where is freedom of speech?
will bullies of anti-bullying take freedoms away?
who would cut out the tongues of those who disagree?
may atheists even question the existence of allah?
can cartoonists still print thought-provoking comics?
are heterosexuals permitted to promote their lifestyle?
can school children post comments online after school?
are businessmen allowed to say no to any customer?
may valedictorians speak publicly about their faith?
can citizens send emails the government won’t read?
are people free to protest brutal police tactics?
are wives permitted different opinion than husband?
are bloggers free to post personal worldview?
who speaks for the voiceless?
will we defend freedom?
is all speech free?
answer me!
Amendment I: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.
21 May 2015 9 Comments
I share a beautiful haiku from an earlier time:
the childless woman,
how tender she is
to the dolls!
© Hattori Ransetsu (1654-1707)
…and my 21st century interpretation:
post-abortion grief
a mother’s searching heart-aches
collects life-like dolls
link to Carpe Diem Haiku Kai and “childless woman”…
14 May 2015 20 Comments
antithesis |anˈtiTHəsis| noun (pl. antitheses |-ˌsēz| )
a person or thing that is the direct opposite of someone or something else: love is the antithesis of selfishness.
blond boy born of summer
winter’s brown-haired girl
both blue-eyed
raised like corn from rural soil
born and bred in city lights
single sibling each
staring out school windows
curling up in library chair
home-school sons
cold, plugs in a heater
hot, flips on the fan
warm embrace
shuts off the radio
cranks up the music
concerts together
loves bright sunshine
adores soft moonlight
playful shadows
he will order a beer
she prefers glass of wine
sharing a sip
straight meat and potatoes
mix veggies with pasta
time for dessert
irreconcilable differences
might be reconciled
by love’s heartbeat
(Linking to D’Verse where Bjorn is hosting MTB: “antithesis”)
13 May 2015 22 Comments
in Uncategorized Tags: anchor, bubbles, culture, drowning, esperanza, sailboat
Re-sting poolside, this filigree of laced memory
is a white albatross painted on far anchor; these
sailboat silhouettes woven into plusSHh beach towel
spread over warm concrete hold recurring dream of
air bubbles floating up, sun-dappled, to break surface.
Fading in silence, she calmly watches her lung-full of
oxygen de-liber-ately escape; falling through life’s briefly
inflated ring while the knotted rope unravels swiftly from its
bitt over slippery polished deck. Aware of drowning yet able
to finger-trace scrollwork on bow christened, “esperanza”.
What if everything really is a meaningless vanity?
white rails appear sturdy but it’s only recycled plastic fence of
culture’s kiddie pool your wet and shivering identity leans on?
Going down, sinking into refracted clouds; slip thru tatted
tangle of seaweed, past intertwined corpses of coral, to lay
quiet, prone on smooth stones (fearing rusty drain at bottom).
Watery depths cannot claim billow of main sail forever and a
gleaming gull wings star-board, past lifeguard’s empty chair.
My response to Claudia’s challenge at D’Verse Poets Pub to write “layered poem”…
03 May 2015 1 Comment
photo by lynn__
An “american sentence” (17 syllables) from my orchard…
a poem in my pocket 
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