I face the sun trying not to see
The shadows I know follow me
They hunger for possession
That plays with my depression
For my mirror darkly
Shows the pains starkly
Always on the cusp of despair
Past the façade of jokes I share
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Today at dVerse De, aka WhimsyGizmo, invites us to take a look at our shadow in form of a Quadrille this week.
One of my several knuckle-headed, irreverent Facebook buddies posted the following…
If God sneezes, what do you day to Him?
Me, being equally knuckle-headed and irreverent, responded in kind of course …
Salud! Careful Big Dude, I heard the last time that happened You accidentally took out the dinosaurs.
The older I get the more certain I am that Mr. Alighieri is going to need a whole new circle built for me and my shenanigans. At least I’m guaranteed excellent company.
like water in desert
the beauty of you quenches
my lips part – breath gasps
for the feel of your strong arms
that have yet to hold me close
><——><
a bloom of scarlet
stark against a white canvas
then sheets – now snow drifts
both give note to the battles
of my birth and of my death
><——><
where there is no sound
one hears how your voice trembles
its timbre thrills – pains
gripped in memory’s cruel grasp
yesterday haunts tomorrow
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Today at dVerse Toni has us exploring the Tanka in its more traditional use. Having written non-traditional and super tanka before, I challenged my self to string a few together for something of a little narrative. The first tanka above are lovers at first sight, the middle – a soldier’s poem on his birth at his death and the last tanka – the lover left behind who remembers.
Tanka have a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count, per line. The first two lines of the tanka are known as the kami-no-ku – upper poem, the last two lines are the shimo-no-ku – lower poem. The third line. middle line, is the kireji or, cutting line or pivot denoting the difference between the two parts. This is important to remember when writing tanka. There are also no uppercase letters, no punctuation (except for the short dash, like an aspirated breath) or title. Tanka are subjective and can be emotional, opinionated, sensual, and lyrical. They move back and forth through time and use elegant phrases or euphamisms, simile and metaphor.
you – as errant thought
once bane to my existence
found the hollow space
buried deep within my soul
already knowing its home
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Today at dVerse Toni has us exploring the Tanka in its traditional use.
Looking for you to love
Laughing delightedly with empty leash in hand
Yawning widely
Your soft body in my lap
We all knew you chose me
Not the other way around
Tail wagging furiously
Already happy
On your first day
Yapping noisily
Gnawing my extended finger
That served just as well
As your favored chew toy
In your puppy days
Barking jubilantly
I quickly learned to measure
What was tail safe height
When you greeted me at the door
In your doggie teens
Growling menacingly
Strangers were quickly warned
Enter either with permission
Or at their own risk
In your adult days
Whimpering piteously
Though we could not see
Anything without
It was our first clue
Something was wrong within
In your senior days
Sighing contentedly
Looking up at me
Your soft head in my lap
Tail thumping the floor
I knew you were
Still happy
On your last day
Crying uncontrollably with empty leash in hand
Looking for you to love
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So Walt is tending bar at dVerse and we’re asked… what does love sound like? I was totally stumped not having truly thought of love from an aural perspective, other than love-making – and I did not want to go there. Honestly, I was going to give Poetics a pass this week when a good friend of mine posted that his beloved Sherlock had crossed the Rainbow Bridge with the words:
“My best friend died today with his head in my lap.”
I immediately recalled a video he had posted a while back of a happy Sherlock making trilling noises and I thought he’ll never hear that again. That’s when I realized the sounds of love are not relegated solely to humans, and thus with a little poetic license – this poem for Drew and Sherlock.
I was minded of Foreigner’s power ballad “I Want To Know What Love Is” when I read this post and while the bastion of nonsense that is the world of Tumblr every now and again someone gets a clue. This is not an end all-be all answer, for every love is different, but it is one that gets the core of all long lasting loves it right.
(Click each one to enlarge it)
1
2
3
4
5
6
This is what lasting love is.
This is not to say that sparks won’t happen anymore, they do, but lovers tend to forget a spark is designed to be a temporary thing.
A spark is what gets the fire started, not the fire itself. And it’s that fire you want to build.
Now and again a new spark causes a flare-up to help keep those fires burning, but again it is not the fire itself. It’s not the spark, but the fire of the heart/h that gets you past the first year, the first decade, the fifth decade and beyond.
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“Oh, bee barf…?
“Stop calling me that!”
“Why?” I smile knowingly.
“Because it’s an insult!”
“Not to me.” my standard response.
A decade plus later…
“All this damned time you’ve been calling me honey?” His mouth ajar.
“Yes, bee barf.”
Stupid Internet ruined everything…
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A memory of the day my late-husband learned something of a sticky situation…
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #13
Today’s Quadrille (a poem of 44 words: no more, no less – not including the title) has to include the word jar. A word that can find many uses, as a noun or, as I’ve chosen to do, a verb (with or without an object).
