lillian-hallberg - Hello Poetry

Savoring the sea salt on my lips, I remember how it tasted on your nose, the nape of your neck and so much more, those delectable three months when you were my summer man.

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May 27, 2015

May 27, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC

Sea Salt

Savoring the sea salt on my lips, I remember how it tasted on your nose, the nape of your neck and so much more, those delectable three months when you were my summer man.

5

Gateways to the heart change through the seasons. Youthful romanticism, tempted by pastels sweet scented carnations valentines in pink envelopes a rosebud mouth. Passionate eroticism, eyes seek carnal depths lips' open invitation rose petal paths and pulsing tempos. Love divine, a decoupage, years layered on years passion and comfort within familiar folds, your skin next to mine.

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May 21, 2015

May 21, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC

Love Becoming

Gateways to the heart change through the seasons. Youthful romanticism, tempted by pastels sweet scented carnations valentines in pink envelopes a rosebud mouth. Passionate eroticism, eyes seek carnal depths lips' open invitation rose petal paths and pulsing tempos. Love divine, a decoupage, years layered on years passion and comfort within familiar folds, your skin next to mine.

17

She lives on a merry-go-round senses dulled by blurred vision maniacal calliope music rides nowhere every day mired in circle sameness. She chose the blue horse its golden mane rich in gilt matched her lust then shocked her as its cold cylindrical pole ignored her calls to stop. He rides two steeds behind her eyes wild, hair disheveled desperately out of synch up down to her down up laps the field again and again. Hot desire fuels his mad useless pursuit anchored by metal plates bolted to the forever wildly spinning floor.

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May 14, 2015

May 14, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC

Blur

She lives on a merry-go-round senses dulled by blurred vision maniacal calliope music rides nowhere every day mired in circle sameness. She chose the blue horse its golden mane rich in gilt matched her lust then shocked her as its cold cylindrical pole ignored her calls to stop. He rides two steeds behind her eyes wild, hair disheveled desperately out of synch up down to her down up laps the field again and again. Hot desire fuels his mad useless pursuit anchored by metal plates bolted to the forever wildly spinning floor.

20

She was called a pollyanna. Positive exclamation addicted she high-stepped and varied her pace through life's shifting textures. Retrieving sea glass and a scallop-cut piece of shell from the day's foam ruffled waves at the edge of iridescent aquamarine. She lived as a greeter. Always expectant, rounding each corner to meet until-now unfound friends or catch a coin's shiny glint from the sidewalk's crevasse. A collector too, she gathered smiles as she walked past and sometimes toward faces moving to their meeting places for the day. She said regrets lead backward. Ruminations rehash long ago or too current memories looking for what-ifs and what-thens not in her mind the stuff of collectibles. She chose to live today and dream tomorrow always loving forward.

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May 14, 2015

May 14, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC

Pollyanna

She was called a pollyanna. Positive exclamation addicted she high-stepped and varied her pace through life's shifting textures. Retrieving sea glass and a scallop-cut piece of shell from the day's foam ruffled waves at the edge of iridescent aquamarine. She lived as a greeter. Always expectant, rounding each corner to meet until-now unfound friends or catch a coin's shiny glint from the sidewalk's crevasse. A collector too, she gathered smiles as she walked past and sometimes toward faces moving to their meeting places for the day. She said regrets lead backward. Ruminations rehash long ago or too current memories looking for what-ifs and what-thens not in her mind the stuff of collectibles. She chose to live today and dream tomorrow always loving forward.

21

I stand mesmerized. Dawn brings serenity’s beauty rippled patterns glisten on black sea gulls hover over softly churning wake. Moving patterns of white wings against dark greens and grey rock edges the occasional light house turns its eye wood frame homes nestle in their woods. The ship slowly glides in dark waters silent through Sweden’s archipelago guardian isles to myriad lines of ancestry protector, barrier from encroaching cities. A lone welcome call from among the gulls pierces the still air with its starkness primitive in nature and surely also heard by our grandfather and his and his.

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Apr 11, 2015

Apr 11, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC

Sunrise Return to Sweden

I stand mesmerized. Dawn brings serenity’s beauty rippled patterns glisten on black sea gulls hover over softly churning wake. Moving patterns of white wings against dark greens and grey rock edges the occasional light house turns its eye wood frame homes nestle in their woods. The ship slowly glides in dark waters silent through Sweden’s archipelago guardian isles to myriad lines of ancestry protector, barrier from encroaching cities. A lone welcome call from among the gulls pierces the still air with its starkness primitive in nature and surely also heard by our grandfather and his and his.

16

She holds the watering can in hand too late for dried wispy dandelions swaying in the slight breeze seed pods gnawed by nature. Loosened tendrils float slowly through thick humid air memories and dreams of spring long beyond her clutching grasp.

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Apr 11, 2015

Apr 11, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC

Scattered Dreams

She holds the watering can in hand too late for dried wispy dandelions swaying in the slight breeze seed pods gnawed by nature. Loosened tendrils float slowly through thick humid air memories and dreams of spring long beyond her clutching grasp.

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leaf misshapen shriveled once green donned vibrant red disguise to ward off lurking decay fallen tendon of skeletal oak hardened veins stand out from brittle flesh dull brown age spots on blackened stem curled like death’s beckoning finger elasticity gone your smallest pieces granular near dust hearkened back unto your mother soil tomorrow’s wind will hurl you to another place or unthinking footsteps will grind you into no- thing- ness '

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Apr 11, 2015

Apr 11, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC

Ode to a Dying Leaf

leaf misshapen shriveled once green donned vibrant red disguise to ward off lurking decay fallen tendon of skeletal oak hardened veins stand out from brittle flesh dull brown age spots on blackened stem curled like death’s beckoning finger elasticity gone your smallest pieces granular near dust hearkened back unto your mother soil tomorrow’s wind will hurl you to another place or unthinking footsteps will grind you into no- thing- ness '

20

NaPoWriMo Day 7: write about something you value. This poem is from my Cherished series http://lillianthehomepoet.wordpress.com The Table She found the table at Marshall Fields in nineteen forty-nine, and pictured her family at exactly half-past six each night four plates, four forks, knives and spoons. White oak, the Illinois state tree with tight growth rings durable, resilient, and carved with artisan's care. Emotions buffed artfully into lustrous patina over years marred by scratches, chips and burns tuna-noodle-pea casseroles set forgetfully upon the wood and forks slammed down in anger. Keeping up with Rita, Gwen, and Claire teflon pans and a formica table-topper emotions erupt with modernity as leftovers disappear in a single swipe of the hand.

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Apr 7, 2015

Apr 7, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC

The Table

NaPoWriMo Day 7: write about something you value. This poem is from my Cherished series http://lillianthehomepoet.wordpress.com The Table She found the table at Marshall Fields in nineteen forty-nine, and pictured her family at exactly half-past six each night four plates, four forks, knives and spoons. White oak, the Illinois state tree with tight growth rings durable, resilient, and carved with artisan's care. Emotions buffed artfully into lustrous patina over years marred by scratches, chips and burns tuna-noodle-pea casseroles set forgetfully upon the wood and forks slammed down in anger. Keeping up with Rita, Gwen, and Claire teflon pans and a formica table-topper emotions erupt with modernity as leftovers disappear in a single swipe of the hand.

18

Standing close, head tilted back with eyes pressed shut, small curvey hollow of neck exposed by an open top button on her uniform, she waits to taste her very first kiss.

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Apr 7, 2015

Apr 7, 2015 at 8:17 AM UTC

Tantalizing

Standing close, head tilted back with eyes pressed shut, small curvey hollow of neck exposed by an open top button on her uniform, she waits to taste her very first kiss.

5

Last night’s shooting star carried my wish streaking across the sky someone listening outside our universe promised me tranquility and love in yesterday’s tomorrow.

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Apr 7, 2015

Apr 7, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC

Monday's Promise

Last night’s shooting star carried my wish streaking across the sky someone listening outside our universe promised me tranquility and love in yesterday’s tomorrow.

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