Sunday, April 12, 2015

Four Seasons of Inspiration

More Poem-a-day poems to share.  These are from the prompt to write a seasonal poem.  Haiku is perfect for this prompt.  

 

verdant sprouts push 
up through the thawing tundra 
messengers of hope











 ___ 
 



beside lapping waves 
children play long into day 
late to bed the sun








 ___
 
on the forest floor 
two red leaves cling together 
too soon for goodbye









___ 

poor little sparrow 
huddling at my window 
blizzard winds roaring 

LMRN © 2015

Monday, April 6, 2015

Early Morning Writings


The April Poem-a-day Challenge is upon us. While some writers find it a challenge to get up each morning and write a poem, I find it to be a perfect meditation to get the life-blood flowing.

Here are some of what I have created in the wee hours...

Prompt: things are not as they appear poem.
 

Vista
 
Mountains backlit in the peachy-pink
of a stormy morning’s sun –
a valley ripe with harvest
wrapped around a quaint village
of red-roofed stucco houses
that encircle an ancient church
built by Crusaders in years forgotten.
 
He had promised that she would never
forget this view, this landscape they loved.
Good to his word, he built their home
high on a hill and facing east, a window,
on which the master painted the coup l’oeil
from the memories of her heart.
 
LMRN © 2015


Prompt: a mystery poem
  

The Case of the Perplexing Postcards
 
They found the box as they cleared
the treasures of a lifetime.
Inside, postcards from around the world -
and back again -
On them, messages -
one-line love notes -
"You are my everything,"
"The moon wore your face, tonight,"
"Always, you are in my heart,"
all written in a strange hand -
all signed exactly the same -
"Yours, forever times infinity, X"
 
They read each one -
secrets of the past never seen before -
like the burial treasure of a pharaoh's tomb,
the postcards held a mystery.
This was not their father's signature!
Who was X?
Who knew their mother so intimately?
Why had she never told them?
 
The postmark dates varied,
beginning when the mother was
just a wisp of a woman -
young and fragile -
to just a few months ago.
That postcard, presenting
a wild beach somewhere tropical,
declared, "I will meet you behind the veil."
 
Did mother die of a broken heart?
Was X dead, too?
 
The labyrinth of love
loses those not meant
to know what the heart holds...

LMRN © 2015