To Be a Honeybee

“The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.” -Matsuo Basho


And lo, the honeybees heed
the call of ringing temple bells
echoing in the fragrant flowers
enticing them to feast
on corn moon golden pollen.
As they venture into
each blossom’s beautiful shrine
they do so with sacredness
ensuring they never bruise
delicate paper-thin petals.
They work in utter silence
the only sound their hum
breathing in the memories,
living in this precious moment
being busy bees, loving being free
It must be so incredible to be a honeybee.

©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg

Imaginary Garden With real Toads: Bits of Inspiration: Bell

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When in Moonlit Dreams You Come

“We are all living in an illusion and mistaking it for reality.” 
― Mateo Tabatabai, The Mind-Made Prison: Overcoming Limiting Beliefs and Manifesting Personal Transformation

“The mind is its own beautiful prisoner,”
An imagined cage with bars of our past lives and indiscretions
And yet, our life together so many lifetimes ago etched on my soul,
when you were mine and I, fervently yours
how young pink flesh sang with the touch of cool fingers
on the hot drumming pulse racing under translucent skin.

Flowing river moments spent in the clutches
of vibrant trembling within
dancing to lover’s music thrumming in our veins
feeding on one another, consumed
by the hungry rage of passion’s pain
embracing the tiny death with each thrust.

I remember what your lush full lips tasted of,
golden honey of a thousand bees creating magic
I was drunk on your sweet elixir, your musky essence
your slick sweating flesh, the salt of a tempestuous sapphire sea
And now, when in moonlit dreams you come, I am again undone.

©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg

Author’s Note: Sanaa is hosting today and has asked us to use the title of a poem by E.E. Cummings- The Mind is Its Own Beautiful Prisoner as a frame of reference for our poem.

Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: Poems In April

Searching for the Dead

Wikimedia Commons

Heaven-circling vultures searching for the dead
kettling high in the gall-grayed evening sky
grave-groping carrions
with a keen sense of smell.
They care not for the bell-voiced wood thrush
crooning in the arms of an ancient oak;
rather they hear the moon-blown wailing
of the grey wolf in mourning
near the remains of its pregnant mate.

©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg

Author’s Note: I took a dark turn with this prompt. Laura is our guest host and has asked us to write a poem with at least 4 of the word compounds she has chosen from Dylan Thomas’ work. They are:

BELL-VOICED      CRADLE-PETALS       DARK-VOWELLED      DUST-TONGUED
FIRE-DWARFED   GRAVE-GROPING      HARE-HEELED           HEAVEN-CIRCLING
LARK-HIGH         MAP-BACKED           MOON-BLOWN          MUFFLE-TOED

OWL-LIGHT         RINGED-SEA            SCYTHE-EYED           SHE-BIRD
TEAR-CULLED      TIDE-LOOPED           WATER-SPOKEN       WHALE-WEED

dVerse Poets Pub: Tuesday Poetics Love the words

Poetry as the Mockingbird Sings

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“My heart is like a Mockingbird, it sings of your enthralling soul every now and then. And, even when I yearn to evade the lyric. I can’t. Because, as it turns out, it’s a sin to kill a Mockingbird.” 
― Mohit Kaushik |Yenugwar|

Poetry as the mockingbird sings
though fraught with a bent and broken wing
a voice of faith and belief all will be well
once the torment has swelled and eased
praying gentle rain will soothe, bring relief
for though this fragile body is failing
and now forever earthbound
someday this soul will soar ever higher
into the arms of the billowy clouds
then I– the poet will be the poetry
as the delicate wind carries me
so listen for my song’s whisper
floating on the evening breeze.

©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads: Tuesday Platform: You are a Poet

#Haibun: Mesquite Tree

Mesquite Tree, Mesa AZ.

The mesquite tree outside my window is flourishing. In a matter of weeks, it has gone from skeletal gnarled limbs to a lush spring green haven for the hordes of birds.
I gaze at it for hours and sometimes, in the luminous sunlit haze, I imagine it growing before my eyes.

woodpecker tapping
quivering delicate leaves-
harmonic birdsong

©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg

Author’s Note: Today is the halfway point in this year’s NaPoWriMo. Toni is hosting at the garden and has asked us to write a haibun of 44 – to 150 words of some event in your life – a love gone wrong, birth of a child, a daily walk, a day out of a vacation…anything will work! Remember: haibun are based on a true experience in your life; it is NOT flash fiction. I chose to write about a tree in my front yard that has come to mean so much to me since I have been writing full time. It is a glimpse into the world of nature with all its spectacular wonders.

Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: The Touch of Snow

©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg

Promote Yourself Monday, April 15, 2019

Good Morning everyone- It’s Promote Yourself Monday at the Go Dog Go Cafe! Pop over to the site, and share your latest and read some of the great contributions of others. Have a fabulous week.

Go Dog Go Café

Promote yourself Mon

Welcome to Promote Yourself Monday.  All Go Dog Go Cafe readers, guest writers, and baristas are invited to post one link to one specific post (600 words or less please!) from your blog into the comments section below.

If you post a link, be sure to read some of the other great writing people have linked to.

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Nola’s Essence

“In the spring of 1988, I returned to New Orleans, and as soon as I smelled the air, I knew I was home. 
It was rich, almost sweet, like the scent of jasmine and roses around our old courtyard. I walked the streets, savoring that long lost perfume.” 
― Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

Cool mist spring morning on the streets of New Orleans
where mournful blues and hot jazz are always playing
Here, fragrant sugared beignets and pungent café au lait
wafts through the wet streets in the thick damp air.

In this ethereal light the city rests, feeling sacred and holy
The spires of St Louis Cathedral float in the slate gray sky
while nearby artists ply their wares without any cares
as hordes of gaudy dressed tourists go strolling by.

In the early hours this raucous city is peaceful
but for the lone ancient trumpet player
sitting on a brown metal folding chair
tattered horn case opened at his feet
a few shiny coins scattered within
enough for a cup or two or a brew
tough way to make a meager living.

We stop for awhile listening to his haunting song
letting it fill our souls with an essence of longing
for those sweet simpler times, so carefree and young
when we danced till dawn and cheap red wine was always flowing.

©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg

Author’s Note: Over at the garden, Margaret is asking us to write about our favorite town to take a stroll in. I chose to write about one of my favorites- New Orleans.

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads: The Streets of (Brooklyn)

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