Golden Moment

rippling meadow breeze
golden grasses’ graceful bows
peaceful is the lea

©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

Carpe Diem:

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Under the Plum Tree—by Linda Lee Lyberg: A Deconstruction

I am deeply touched by J.A. Carter- Winward’s interpretation of my poem so I am sharing with my readers. Thank you.

Writing in Blood

church flowerChurch Flower, JACW Photography©

This poem was originally published in Vita Brevis, and was chosen by the editor as a favorite, so I re-read it again today, and it still tugged at me the way it did when I first read it. It begged me to take it apart.

Dismantling/deconstructing a poem is not as horrific or callous as one might think. I find intention and value in almost all creative endeavors, and to presume to know whether a poet made a mistake or didn’t execute something that is free-verse is, to my mind, arrogant. Of course, if it was a particular form, that might be up for critique for some people who feel they must stay true to the “correct” form. But to my mind, even that is absurd.

The point of poetry, to me, is to take what cannot be conveyed with simply a word or…

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Promote Yourself Monday – December 10, 2018

Hi Everyone, It’s Promote Yourself Monday over at the Go Dog Go Cafe. Go to the site, share your best, read and comment on other’s work. Enjoy!

Go Dog Go Café


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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Only Us

Can we pretend it didn’t happen
this slow erosion of our cherished love?
Can we suspend the chilling moment
when two hearts no longer beat in tune?

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Silvered Vapor

Morning mist in Mesa,AZ

Gloomy dawn
Misty fog creeping

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Gypsy Wild

How magical their world must be
Viewed through the eyes of an opal child
To be innocent and with vivid color, see
How magical their world must be
letting thoughts run loose, soaring free
dancing through life like a gypsy, wild
How magical their world must be
Viewed through the eyes of an opal child

©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

Willow Poetry:

Angels on a Misty Shore


She walks with angels on a misty shore.
The morning is damp and cold, but she does not feel it.
As the frost smoke rises over the glassy lake, she stops, reflecting.
At that moment, a magnificent large mouth bass escapes the water,
breaking the silence.
Its powerful leap sends echoing waves to the lake’s sandy edge.
As they lap, lap, lap and caress her bare feet, she looks at the angels,
her eyes aglow with a far off memory.
“I caught the biggest fish of my life right here. “

They laugh, “We know. Your joy soared all the way to heaven.
God walked around with the biggest smile on his face all day long.”

Mother dear, now gone
you were my port,
my shelter in life’s storm.
At times, I stumble and fall
and there you are
cradling me again in your sweet arms.

Linda Lee Lyberg

Author’s Note: Reposting this in honor of my Mother. Today would have been her 90th birthday.
Happy birthday Mom. I hope there are fishing poles and lakes
in heaven and you are teaching the angels how to set a hook!

The End of Innocence

He was a musician; I was naive
Caught in his Rock ‘n Roll web
I the butterfly; enchanted and intrigued
Hungry for affection; ignoring mis-steps

Caught in his Rock ‘n Roll web
He feasted on my wide-eyed innocence
Hungry for affection; ignoring mis-steps
Playing my heart like his stringed instrument

He feasted on my wide-eyed innocence
Devouring my love; a deprived soul
Playing my heart like his stringed instrument
In my heaving chest lies; a gaping hole

Devouring my love; a deprived soul
I the butterfly; enchanted and intrigued
In my heaving chest lies; a gaping hole
He was a musician; I was naive

©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

I opted for a Pantoum for dVerse Poets Pub:

And I Fell

He captivated me with his voice singing clear and strong,

While his fingers strummed a melody on the beat up guitar

One look into the crystal calm of bluest ocean eyes,

And I fell… And I fell…And I fell…

Although the time we loved exploded like a brilliant shooting star

Leaving jagged scars…Leaving jagged scars…

The only memories left are the remnants of a broken heart,
And the dulled remembrance of his dazzling smile.

©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

Real Toads:

Photo via Good Free Photos

Grand Design

Miracles occur every day if only we choose to see
God gives us heaping dollops of  beauty and majesty

It takes a sprinkling of imagination, with spoonfuls of hope and love
to understand his grand design, when he mixes from above

People of every shape and color with beliefs in their God,
whether it be Jehovah, Buddha, Brahman, or Allah
And in the rising hours, we should see we are all one

The common element in our beliefs, the one secret ingredient
that should bring us all together, is the wish for world peace

©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

dVerse Poetics:

Living My Dream


Joy these days comes from watching the woodpeckers flit about
as they try their best to drink from the hummingbird spout

And the flock of playful lovebirds, with brilliant feathers green
gathering ’round the bird bath, cheering, and chittering
while I live my dream

©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

dVerse Poets Pub:

The Beauty of Aging

young caterpillar
earthbound, feeding youth’s hunger
creates a cocoon
shaping wings, gaining wisdom
old butterfly soul soaring

©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation:

Carpe Diem Dives Into The Classical Literature and asks “is it possible to create haiku, tanka or other form of Japanese poetry from it?”

For this first episode, we have an excerpt of Plato’s “The Republic”:

[…] “I will tell you, Socrates, he said, what my own feeling is. Men of my age flock together; we are birds of a feather, as the old proverb says; and at our meetings the tale of my acquaintance commonly is–I cannot eat, I cannot drink; the pleasures of youth and love are fled away: there was a good time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longer life. Some complain of the slights which are put upon them by relations, and they will tell you sadly of how many evils their old age is the cause. But to me, Socrates, these complainers seem to blame that which is not really in fault. For if old age were the cause, I too being old, and every other old man, would have felt as they do. But this is not my own experience, nor that of others whom I have known. How well I remember the aged poet Sophocles, when in answer to the question, How does love suit with age, Sophocles,–are you still the man you were? Peace, he replied; most gladly have I escaped the thing of which you speak; I feel as if I had escaped from a mad and furious master. His words have often occurred to my mind since, and they seem as good to me now as at the time when he uttered them. For certainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom; when the passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, we are freed from the grasp not of one mad master only, but of many. The truth is, Socrates, that these regrets, and also the complaints about relations, are to be attributed to the same cause, which is not old age, but men’s characters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally a burden.
I listened in admiration, and wanting to draw him out, that he might go on–Yes, Cephalus, I said: but I rather suspect that people in general are not convinced by you when you speak thus; they think that old age sits lightly upon you, not because of your happy disposition, but because you are rich, and wealth is well known to be a great comforter.”[…] (Plato’s The Republic)

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