Category Archives: Poetry

Meter Down

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Oh, I’m lousy at meter
Unless it’s Demeter
Of she I can speak night and day
Iambic pentameter
Just doesn’t matterer
To my muse any way

Saw what I did there, eh?

And “da-DUM da-DUM”
Just makes me feel dumb
Strike that mouse in the clock I begs
For I will give the boot
To all who mention “foot”
When lyrics ain’t got any legs,

But will run for some green ham and eggs. Dregs!

Whether di-, pent- or Hexes
Oh how meter vexes
The voice when unnaturally dropped
On meter spanned then
With lines enjambed when
Ow! I think my poor brain has popped!

And now my watch is end-stopped

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In a play against how cell phones now seem to take up so much of our time, Izy at Real Toads takes us “Out of Standard” and challenges us to pick up our cell phones for some “inspiredo”  by taking the last text received and use it in a poem. Luckily, my last text had no emojis.

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Real Toads | Out of Standard – From the Black Mirror 

Meanwhile at dVerse, Victoria challenges us to pick a subject and write in meter to set its mood. Can you say ‘Ugh!”? I have never been one for formal meter.  If a word or phrasing comes naturally to my write, an errant “foot”, sticking out like a sore thumb, will happen. The message is more important. Thus,  I could not resist delightfully mocking it here as my subject, throwing in some poetic terminology,  Hickory Dickory, Dr. Seuss and a touch of Game of Thrones to boot.

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meter-Made Mood–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Every Way The Wind Blows

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They marvel at your skill
How lifelike I appear
As though I could fly
Every way the wind blows

They know not your dark secret 

A twirl in Sol’s gold
Coiling in Luna’s silver
Diaphanous and solid
Every way the wind blows

How your majik sealed me within

Lighter than dandelion fluff
Joyful wings ever airborne
Yet never take flight
Every way the wind blows

A statue admired as so alive

The ethereal made corporeal
To this post ever bound
In eternal dervish motion
Every way the wind blows

I scream unheard in living death

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Today at dVerse Lillian invites  us to pick a piece of art and tell a story from the view of the artist or the art itself.  I recently saw this wonderful piece of kinetic art and have been completely enchanted by it.

I promise this started out on a much happier note, wondering about the unknown artist who could create such a delightful thing. But as I watched the video again, I thought what if this isn’t the magnificent work of a very talented artist, but of magic, dark magic that trapped a faerie playing with a dandelion.

Perhaps the statue looks so alive because she is….

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics : Chisel Me A Conversation

Pulse

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Midnight dawning
Pulse spills
Their beats and grooves
That dance from night
Into the morning

But where one man assaults 103 rights so dear
To live freely, openly and party without fear

When without warning
Pulses spill
Their blood and cries
That screams from night
Into the mourning
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#LOVEisLOVEisLOVEisLOVE

At dVerse De (aka WhimsyGizmo) wants us to “spill”.  All my muse could think of was yesterday morning’s mass murder in Orlando. Pulse is the name of the dance club where the killings happened.  103 being the confirmed number of deaths and wounded.

The hashtag above is my take on “Hamilton” creator and star Lin-Manuel Miranda’s heartfelt, original sonnet used as acceptance speech at last night’s 70th annual Tony Awards.

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille 11

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Real Toads | The Tuesday Platform

Dandelion Wishes

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Blown soft against the gentle bloom
Bloom of the most, tender of white
White fluff to fly, upon the winds
Winds soft under, warm summer nights
Nights just like this, where clouds are naught
Naught like true love, thought ne’er to find
Find just for her, but now she feels
Feels of that chance, once deemed declined

Declined to ones, money denied
Denied like her, of lower class
Class of poor – she, he – class of clout
Clout that declares love of the lass
Lass who now dares, to dream of life
Life like only, the rich have known
Known not by her, she felt ‘till now
Now with the prayer, she’s gently blown

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Today’s form? Chain Verse

Chain verse has two known forms: one repeats the last word or syllable of a line with the first word or syllable of the next line, while the other repeats the last line of each stanza with the first line of the following stanza.

While not required, I created a complete chain where the last word of the poem is also the first word.

dVerse ~Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight #174

And It Has Come To This

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We once thought this was heaven, why are we going through such hell?

For now I find I’m opening myself like wound on skin
And on the cusp of everything at our beck and call
Feeling how deep the well that’s held within
I’m giving everything I’ve got , but is this your all?

And it has come to this, we’ve reach this bittersweet impasse
Too far gone to start over, not far enough to see a path clear
This could be all we’ve wanted, but now it’s so close to being trash
And from that I’m not sure we can recover, I fear
And it has come to this

One night we disturb the neighbors with the sounds of our passion
The next night it’s with the anguish of our fights
We nod like mimes faking life in our own fashion
Seems like we can never find a balance that’s just right

And it has come to this; can we keep our eyes on
The prize of happiness a magical love to bewitch?
We sit here hoping for a sign on this horizon
When the horizon looks as bleak as the execution’s switch
And it has come to this

Sometimes we look upon each other and we both know we can still feel it
But we’ve dealt each other mighty blows – is there enough left to heal it?

Knowing me all too well you exploit all that makes me weak
Knowing you even better, with a precision I play your game
Have we the courage to love the love of which the old folks speak?
The ring is in my hand, but I’m not sure if you still want my name

And it has come to this, you’re facing my white light
Am I here to let you in – or to get you out?
Am I warm, comforting? Or a sudden fright?
I could be your sinner or your savior; what is this about?
And it has come to this

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At dVerse  Mish wants the random song in us to come out.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics – The Music in You

 

The First Step

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Calf and tendon and shin

What used to be remembers
The road left behind
With an ease born and
Taken for granted

Muscle and sinew and bone

What cannot be learns
The path is the same
Only how I travel from
Here to there has changed

Plastic and wires and metal

What will be anticipates
the trail untraveled
the way ahead
I’ve yet to roam

Two wood beams

What is now knows
the first step is
the shortest I’ll have to take
the furthest I’ll have to go

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My muse takes the view of a person in physiotherapy, looking up at the balance beam, embarking on the very first step using artificial legs, learning to walk again.

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Today at Real Toads Kerry is encouraging us to pay a visit to to a Word Family. Using family synonyms or antonyms for that which is walked upon, parts of the appendages used to walk and the distance walking.

Real Toads | Kerry Says ~ Let’s Visit the Family 

senseless

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Nine and seven years
You abandon us here
In this world
Mad with anguish

Skipped to the words
Take them
Spoken in hate
Go away and die
Because of him

The need to spite
Mattering more
Than to live for us
Your own daughters

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A week before Mother’s Day. Trying to make sense of the senseless. She had been saying for months that if he kept pushing her she’d leave him permanently. We were all praying she would. None of us thought it would be like this. Leaving a note and two daughters.

From some of the comments below I see I need to clarify something. The above poem is from my muse, taking the view point of the two daughters. The pain feels real to you, because it is real to me. This past Monday night/Tuesday morning,  I lost a friend, the girls lost a mother to suicide.

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille 8: Skip

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The Daily Post | Abandoned

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Real Toads : The Tuesday Platform

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge : Two Writing Teachers

In The Back Woods

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I’m raised deep down in the country dues
I’m all chicken and gravy and liquor and blues
Don’t trust no man who know nothing ‘bout muddy shoes
It’s all good, in the back woods

We still a got general store back here the sticks
With saw dust on the floor ‘bout a half inch thick
‘Cause if it’s broke ’round here, it’s ‘round here we fix
For it’s all good, in the back woods

Some of us work the farm, some work at the factory
‘Till sundown comes or the ol’ mill whistle set us free

Seems like from the first cries announcing my arrival
It’s been one hand on my work and one on hand my bible
Dusk to dawn working on the land and my soul’s survival
But it’s all good, in the back woods

Oh, I work somethin’ hard and hard’s how I play
Takin’ a roll in the hay, spinning wheels in the clay
Lord knows I wouldn’t have it no other way
Naw, it’s all good, in the back woods

With its skyscrapers, and noise, and streets all gritty
I tried the living, but I ain’t cut out for no city

So it’s tailgate down, under the stars, when my day is through
Or swinging on the front porch with the fam for a spell or two
I’m gonna drink me some cold ones, yup that’s what I’ll do
Yeah, it’s all good, in the back woods

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At dVerse guest pub-tender Stacy Lynn Mar invites us to write our own folk poem.

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dVerse ~Poets Pub | Poetics : Folk Talk 

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National Poetry Month – Day 21

A Lil’l Dab A Doo Ya

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Ya needs you sumting fo’ dems chills
Yous lookin’ likes ya needs sum care
I’s jus’ da ting ta cures ya ills
Lemme put summa dis dere

Dis’ll warm ya likes a sweatta
Feelin’ real good to you, yah?
Imma makes it all betta
Jus’ open wide and say ah

When yous sick ain’t nuttin like Mama’s luv
Wid sum chikin soup and Vick’s vapa rub

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So today on Real Toads, we are asked to feel free to write a poem containing some kind of local vernacular, slang, or pronunciation. My poor, poor spell check!

Real Toads | Open Platform

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National Poetry Month – Day 19

We  we cure what ails you with the Ravenfly.

The Ravenfly is a nonce form that consists of two quatrains and a couplet
with syllable count of of 8/7/8/7/10/10. The rhyming scheme is abab cdcd ee

There are no metric requirements.

Twisted

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This is how you want me?

Twisting myself
Inside out?
Just for you.

Dropped into the vortex
All these parts of me
Churning,
Tearing apart!
For you!

My death
Custom made
Sustenance

For your desire
Of the sweetest kind

I hope you get
Brainfreeze!

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My milkshake brings all the boys and girls to the shoppe, I guess.

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Today, Brendan at Real Toads challenges to write a poem with poetic surprise. I suspect something a little more highbrow was on the plate, but the ol’ muse ain’t biting any of it.

Real Toads | Turns of the Tale: Poetic Surprise

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Meanwhile, in a serendipitous turn, Grace at dVerse inspires us to write a Quadrille with a Twist. Twist being the word for the day, to be included in the write, in any of its usages.

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #7

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National Poetry Writing Month – Day 18

In lovely coincidence I happen to be up to the letter Q as I tiptoe through my alphabetical tulips of poetic forms – so today I do a dance of a Quadrille. A short poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title – no more, no less.