This quatrain is for Fandango’s two prompts, FOWC: Precious and the Dog Days of August day 1: Trip. It’s silly but definitely describes my mood yesterday, and I would love to go on this vacation again.
Precious memories from a trip to Hawaii:
Beaches and food trucks, a spa day with pie,
An ocean away from daily life in the city —
Feed me some pie and tell me I’m pretty!
All the photos were taken by me last year. In addition to the quiche and pot pie, we also ate peanut-butter-and-chocolate-cream pie. That was a good day! 😀
I was the new girl in the town;
He approached when I wore a frown
And sat alone, his friendly face
Pushed loneliness out of that place.
Through years and every up and down,
Time allowed our friendship to grow.
I found him quite simpatico,
But something happened I still grieve:
Without a warning he did leave,
Where he is now I do not know.
Life was a delightful potpourri:
The euphoria of even a penny on the sidewalk
Amazing, ten dollars in a birthday card.
Depth of exploration in our back yard
Rocks, bugs, dirt and the occasional lazy lizard.
Uncoordinated me loved to dance, felt free
As a ballerina in magical pink,
I floated since no one told me I should sink.
At DVerse Poetics, we are talking about revolution! . I wrote this poem when the lockdown was still new, around April or early May, but I haven’t shared it before, so I hope it’s okay to share with DVerse. Also, I was inspired by a line from T.S. Eliot, here, so I apologize to him. 🙂
I do not measure my forenoons,
Nor life, with coffee spoons,
But this month in counting
Used to eat out often
Now we need to bring it in,
Whether it be BJ’s pizza
Or Craftsman, or anything
Else the cravings have wanted —
My cravings really ask for
Coffee, sitting at the café,
But that doesn’t need a spoon.
It needs a revolution.
A favorite shirt outgrown:
Pretty pastel purple and blue,
With a rosette on the left shoulder,
She is unhappy but it is true:
She is getting older.
She thinks it looks so beautiful,
To let it go seems awful,
But the 9-year-old child knows
It has become too small for her.
I’m not sure if I like how this turned out, but here is my (first) attempt.
Isn’t gratitude something mystical?
It turns key limes into a pie,
It creates a banana split
From one humble fruit —
Bloom into Grandma’s hydrangeas:
Not every flower is showy
Yet they make a beautiful whole,
Isn’t gratitude something mystical
Running in the family of hope?