Northern Ireland Impression #1

    Image: Coast of Northern Ireland by Mary Bach

You draw old words from a deep well

keening for the quick,

so hold my hand hollow man

and drown with me.

Fly Away

Today I sat down to reflect

and found my life in disarray,

I've drifted, things just don’t connect.

Today I sat down to reflect,

and I’m not sure what to expect -

I think it’s time to fly away.

Today I sat down to reflect

and found my life in disarray.

Here's a Triolet for NaPoWriMo Day 18.  

I really am going to be traveling until the end of the month.  I will continue to write a poem a day, but I don't know about the internet availability, so I may miss posting daily.  And, in spite of the tone of this poem I'm really excited about this trip to the UK where I will get to meet up with a few writing friends!  :o)

Dump-i-ty Dactyl

     Image from www.tumblr.com

Poor…

Hump-i-ty Dump –i-ty

Fell off his rump-ity!

He…

Crashed on the palisade.

All of the cavalcade

(even with Medicaid)

Failed the poor renegade.

Soooo…

Hump-i-ty Dump-i-ty

then very naturally

Starred as eggs scrambled for tea!

Aprille has us trying our hand at dactyls over at IGwRT.  A dactyl has three feet, [dah -de-de ] whereas the iamb [ de-dah] has only two.  Obviously, the double dactyl has two dactyls.  The verse form by that name usually consists of two stanzas often with the name of a person in it.  I played a bit fast and loose with the form, but here is Aprile's easy way to count the syllables, and indicate where the stress should be:

ONE two three ONE two three
ONE two three ONE two three
ONE two three ONE two three
ONE two three DONE

Minutiae

The details of this life pile up too fast,

and dealing with them takes up my whole day.

Can’t get ahead, instead I've just amassed

the details of this life.

Creative pastimes I have pushed away,

and frothy conversations  I rush past.

The tedium does not leave time for play.

 A solitary future I forecast

since tender tete–a-tetes have been delayed

because I am unendingly harassed

by details of this life.

Marian has a form prompt today at IGwRT.  It's a Roundel, which is an eleven-line, three stanza poem with a refrain and this rhyme scheme:  ABAR BAB ABAR   (R = refrain).  It has ten syllable per line, with the refrain consisting of six syllables. The refrain is intended to come from the beginning of the first line.  Also posted at NaPoWriMo.

Don't You Just Hate it When...

Nothing matches…

not my socks or my tenses.

And it can get very tense

when I realize all I’m wearing is

mismatched socks,

and I’m standing

at my locker

in school

and I forgot which class I’m supposed to go to,

but there’s a test..

and I didn’t study -

I didn’t know there was a test

didn’t know what the test is about

didn’t know I was still in school

didn’t know I was being tested

with nothing but a pair of mismatched socks. 

I hate it when that happens.  This is for Day 15 of NaPoWriMo.  This is also posted at IGwRT where for their Open Link.  We're halfway there!

Springing

Spring, 1935 by Kuzma Petrov-Vodin 

    Spring is no time to be prim.

    Brimming with life and light,

    tightly bound buds mature and swell

    spellbindingly fresh and truly

    new.  And miracles abound

    found in each leaf and blade

    made just now for you.

Valencian fiesta an orange grove by Joaquin Sorolla y Batisda

This is a combination of prompts, with the first image from Tess at The Mag and the second image and the fom from Joy at IGwRt and it is also linked to NaPoWriMo Day 14.  The form is calleds Interlocking Rhyme and is described by Lewis Turco in Book of Forms as:

"Linked rhyme (or chained rhyme) chimes the laSpst syllable or syllables of a line with the first syllable or syllables of the next line…"  

Playing Games

    Image by: roaringapps.com

Sitting in the kitchen 

playing Mahjong

she chooses tiles

with a satisfying click~

match: spring and winter

match: south winds

match: slash sevens

Every tile has a match,

but sometimes

the pairs never come together. 

This is for IGwRT and NaPoWriMo Day #13.

The Trouble with Love and Similes

    Image by aliexpress.com

Our love is as bright as the sun.

Well, maybe the moon.

Hmmm…

maybe not quite a full moon;

er… a half moon?

Two stars?

Naw, that’s not right.

But for sure, our love is bright as

a really bright street light;

a halogen streetlight,

not the yellowy sodium ones.

And that’s pretty darn bright.

This slightly sill post is for NaPoWriMo which almost fits their prompt, but not quite.  And it's also for G-man who lights up my life with his FF55.

Rock-a-bye

    Wikipaintings.org

I dream of babies:

Content, rocking back and forth

I hum soft and low.

Then tenderly looking down

I find my arms are empty.

My daughter's birthday is the 14 of this month, and she graduates the 18th of next month.  I suppose this has something to do with my dream...

The form is a Tanka, which is a poem based on syllables, with the pattern being 5-7-5-7-7. They work best when those final two 7-syllable lines contain a sort of turn or surprise that the first three lines might not wholly anticipate.  This prompt is from NaPoWriMo Day 11.  

Springtime Voodoo

     Image: Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh from vangoghgallery.com

Intimate winds tickle my ear,

whispering of brave, dark nights

to curl around me like a spooning lover.

Dulcet shadows caress my face,

and promise me the moon.

Lush skies press close

so pregnant with stars 

that they drip down to earth

and pool at my feet.

Springtime voodoo calls to me…

I fall for it every time.

This is for NaPoWriMo #10.  Someday perhaps with some time and rewriting it might be an ok poem.  As is I realize it's rushed.  

A Grey Triolet

    Image by freefoto.com

When layers of grey define the day

and all around the clouds press down

I find myself in disarray.

When layers of grey define the day

My scattered thoughts float faraway

Upon a ship of thistledown.

Then layers of grey define the day

and all around the clouds press down.

Another Triolet (A-B-a-A-a-b-A-B) for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night and Day #9 of  NaPoWriMo.  At the eleventh hour.  Again.  

What If...

    Image by www.dougsmithcfo.com

Sometimes I think obsessively

of all the things that could go wrong.

My sense of doom is healthy, strong

it grows and thrives impressively.

Unrestricted, self-convicted,

worrying expressively,

my agonies I just prolong.

Sometimes I think obsessively.

This is a form called an Octain, created by Luke Prater which has a rhyme pattern of A-b-b-a-c/c-a-b-A with each line in iambic tetrameter.  It's linked to IGwRT Open Link Monday and NaPoWriMo Day #8.  

Invitation

    Image: Woman with Towel by Degas

“Be mild, and cleave to gentle things,
thy glory and thy happiness be there.”  ~William Wordsworth

I see you in the mirror

watching me

watching you

as the yellow sunshine

and blue shadows

fall across my skin.

You know the arch at the small of my back,

the hollows beneath my shoulder blades,

the curve of neck and breasts and belly.

They wait for your kiss.

Written for The Mag where Tess Kinkaid presides over the weekly creative writing group, IGwRT, and for NaPoWriMo Day #7.  

Outsider

I tried my best not to be pouty

or bitter or whiney or shouty

when the cool girls wore minis

that showed off their innies,

while my lame belly button’s an outie.

Here is a loosely configured (and thought out) Limerick for day 6 of NaPoWriMo using the prompt of 'outside' (almost) given by Peggy at IGwRT.  :o)  Disclaimer: this is a piece of creative writing, and any resemblance to real belly buttons is purely coincidental. :o)

I Think of You

Sitting in the driveway

with the engine still running,

singing with Rodriguez.

Our breath condenses

on the windshield;

we hold hands

so fine.

Remember the first time

we heard that song

floating through the alley

so fine?

I’m so glad that I’m with you

here under the stars,

my hand fits in yours

so fine.

This is for G-man's FF55 at the eleventh hour!  And I learned about the muscian/activist/visionary Rodrigues from the Real Toads.  (And I changed the title after listening to a song that Kerry suggested - so the title now is also a title of a song by Rodriguez that can be found here I Think of You. Thanks to Kerry at Skylover!

Special Relativity

    Image by morghannah.wordpress.com

Matter

is relative.

Annihilate my dreams.

Leave me at the speed of light; no                                                                                                 

matter.

Here is my offering for NaPoWriMo Day #5.  This form is a Cinquain, which consistes 5 lines with the following syllables per line: 2-4-6-8-2.  Check out the link for a more complete explanation, and lots of great examples of the form.

Irregular Apocalypse

In the End Times

there was a den

filled with pinball machines

and short-skirted, Plasticine women,

and the multitudes were

playing and tilting and getting extra balls

and breaking all 12 of The Commandments.

And it came to pass in those days,

that there went out a decree

from Elton John

that coming to the land
was another Wal-Mart
and it would mark the beginning 

of an Irregular Apocalypse.

And the people were sore afraid.

And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth

and taking of Xanax,

and also some hallucinogens.

And the people had Visions.

In the Visions the people saw a man

seated on the throne with a Book

with seven seals.

And the seals did balance balls on their noses, and

throw the balls to one another

and to the Plasticine women.

Then out of their mouths issued fire and smoke and brimstone,

because they had eaten Mexican food for dinner.

Then the people did behold seven horn players

who did wail on their instruments and

play a mighty dirge.

And Elton John did play his piano and sing.

And he sang unto all the peoples of the Earth:

With all these things that I've done

While everyone's lost, the battle is won.

This is for NaPoWriMo Day #4, from the apocalyse  Southland Tales prompt from IGwRT  and the Ian Banks prompt at NaPoWriMo.  And it's with apologies to The Killers and King James, Elton John and anyone else I may have offended along the way.

Low Tide

    Image from maleksadeghi.com

Monochrome sunset staining the sky

is bad news for sailors and lovers and others

who turn a blind eye to the east.

Driftwood and feathers and tumbled stones

that nobody else will see

wait for the sun, and for you my love

as you wait, as you wait

for me.

So go to the shore

and gather my petticoats

frothy and studded with salt.

Walk into the waves and

feel their embrace

as you wait, as you wait

for me.

This is for NaPoWritMo, and is driving me crazy.  I think the cadence drifted a bit, but I'm running out of day #3!  And I guess I'm linking it to nowhere - so please look for it on Facebook and Google+

Lullaby in a Minor Key

Sing a song of lamentation,

disillusioned lullaby,

sowing seeds of hesitation.  

Sing a song of lamentation,

for a lonely generation

whose dreams are merely single-ply.

Sing a song of lamentation,

disillusioned lullaby.


This form is called a Triolet which is eight lines with a rhyme scheme of ABaAabAB.  The meter is generally iambic tetrameter or pentameter, but I've played a bit fast and loose with this.  This is for day #2 of NaPoWriMo and is linked to dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night.

God's Kitchen

    Image by Jacek Yerka, Between Heaven and Hell

I have always imagined God as a woman;

and though She is timeless, 

She looks to be

(to me) 

in her middle-sixties.

I picture Her with

wavy salt and pepper hair

 and sparkling eyes -

not unlike my undergraduate adviser

Margaret Odegard,

who would throw back her head

and laugh a magnificent laugh if she knew.

(And so would God, because

I’m quite sure She has

 an outstanding sense of humor.)

God does not, however, wear tweed like Dr. O.

In my mind She dresses in sunbeams, starlight,

clouds, hemp and linen. 

And sensible shoes. 

God did NOT create high heels.

And most assuredly God would have a cat in Her kitchen.

And rows and rows of pots and crocks and jars

 filled with darkness and light and creeping things,

and baskets of stars,

and bushels of peaches,

and a huge stoppered bottle

full of annoying people,

and another with mosquitoes

and large bin of dinosaurs and sea monsters

all mixed up together. 

Then She created the Earth and saw that it was good.

But She knew She could do better…

particularly if She went easier on

 the obnoxious people and the mosquitoes;

so She keeps trying.

And in spite of Genesis,

I think God spends

every Sunday afternoon

cooking up new worlds.

So that's where She can be found,

in Her wonderfully cluttered kitchen.

And by the way, you’re always welcome in

for a chat and a cuppa.’

For the Writing prompt offered by The Mag.  Also posted at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Open Link Night.  They are doing a prompt a day for April, National Poetry Month.