I live at the edge of your atmosphere a sunset strip colorific and clear in a life despite God I cheer raindrops on a sunny April afternoon as tears
Ineffable lamentations surge sweetly to my ears
I bang the drum called your heart with sass for life in a bottle is a house made of glass it was a fruitloop daydream to think me a mere lass the tiny box of lies – the molehill now a mountain of morass
Is the wafting requiem heard through the crevasse
I wake laughing when you knock me out weeping I am my father’s daughter, my lure your curse vastly sweeping your eyes wide shut, don’t touch me while I am sleeping the hate with which I slumber – the secret lover I’m keeping
In the melodic dirge of your tears slowly seeping
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Let Music Speak
Yesterday at dVerse, poet-tender for the evening, paeansunplugged, invited us to let the music speak and challenges us to write a poem based on prompt phrases from the music of Linda Perry:
Edge Of Your Atmosphere
Life Despite God
Sunny April Afternoon
Bang The Drum
Life in a Bottle
Tiny Box Of Lies
Knock Me Out
I Am My Father’s Daughter
Don’t Touch Me While I Am Sleeping
We were only required to to incorporate two of the above choices in our poems about music. As usual Muse chose not understand the message. All twelve prompts are there in the order as given.
The memory of it still lingers Like sticky nectar on our fingers Made the more so in summer’s heat From the vain attempts to sluice Our chins of honeyed peaches juice But in a moment replete Under the fading eye of Sol We heed the thrill to shun control The stolen kiss even more sweet
Today at dVerse the challenge from Kim (Kim881), is to write a poem about kissing, a special kiss that still haunts you, a peck, a snog, a kiss hello or a kiss goodbye. Whatever it is, try to capture the wordless intimacy of the act.
This is my confession it is my obsession I have a natural predilection to its addiction
Memories of my father and his ochre cup Attached to his side, breakfast, lunch and sup’
My oath to drink only one all my friends joke about I would offer my first-born rather than do without
An olden concoction for which we modernists still toil
To smell its aroma fills me with such frustration To see its liquid flow as I pour fills me with anticipation To taste its liquid heat is such a sensation To feel its burn down my throat fills me with elation To hear that last swallow fills me with such trepidation
For some it is more precious than diamonds, gold or oil
An obsession shared by many on this orb As sip after sip it is so greedily absorbed
I oscillate between the need the makes my heart burst And the joy of feeling the elixir oust my deep thirst
I’m like a kid with chewiest of toffee Nothing beats that first oomph of coffee
Today at dVerse Poetics our host and pub-tender paeansunplugged invites us to raise a glass and sip on some verbiage to that all quenches our thirsts. I chose the libation that gets many of us up, running and ready to face the world with less of a snarl in the mornings – well at least me.
The fresh scent of lawn anywhere Can sometimes take me there Magnolia wafting on morningbreeze Even if I cannot see the trees Yes, sometimes a hint of sweat Remembrances of you beget The mourning in memory spurred When into earth you were interred
Laura Bloomsbury tends the bar and invites us to write a “deathbed,” poem with the inclusion of a quote from a selection provided. Typical of Muse – using just “a” quote wasn’t an option.
The following are in my take on the prompt where Fate/Moira may control my body but my voice will live on.
“All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain” -Roy Batty, Blade Runner “A certain butterfly is already on the wing.” -Vladimir Nabokov “I must go in for the fog is rising” -Emily Dickinson “Last words are for fools who haven’t said enough.” -Karl Marx
Though it’s not technically summer (yet), here in the northern hemisphere, we’ve already had a few scorching days. Merrill who is tending the pub tonight, entices us to pick from a selection of paintings evoking a variety styles and summer themes to write a summer ekphrastic poem inspired by what you see or feel.
I chose: “Tar Beach 2” Quilt 1990 by Faith Ringgold, American, born 1930. Produced at The Fabric Workshop and Museum, Philadelphia, founded 1977 Philadelphia Museum of Art. I can’t upload it, but you can see it here.
Before I even clicked on the link to view it, the title alone took me back to the days of rooftop barbeques, nighttime parties and things that happened in the late-late-late nights that only the moon sees.
First Sarah (sarahsouthwest) invited us to write a sleepy little quadrille. A quadrille, is simply a poem of 44 words, excluding the title. It can be in any form, rhymed or unrhymed, metered, or unmetered. You MUST use the word “sleep” or some form of the word in your poem.
They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather Goblin Market – Christina Rosetti
Why swaddled in the rolling fog his ragged chemise color of bog The goblin worm had filled me with fright Dare I show upon first light, Somehow, I knew it wasn’t right So ear against the wall I shove To hear the trumpet of new voices In offer of different choices Not the nightmares feared of They sounded kind and full of loves
Thus, I the ignored the fiend’s masquerade Not a moment more to be waylaid I am a monarch, I was ready And chrysalis pieces flow and eddy On the breeze like confetti Among the violet hued heather As I emerge from my hidey-hole In ochre gown mirrored in trim of coal With only the sky as tether In the pleasant weather
Tonight at the pub, Sarah tends bar for this session of Poetics.
Inspired by the intriguing names of paint samples, we are prompted to choose one of the below paint names and use it as the inspiration for a poem:
Trumpet, Tea with Florence, Chemise, Confetti, Goblin, Mirror, Rolling fog, First light, Hidey hole, Masquerade
We are further challenged to incorporate as many of the words as we can and to have fun.
Oh, that was said to the wrong person. It is my natural wont when see a list of options with a prompt to select one to try to use them all. And because I am that gal, I do so in one of my favorite poetry forms, a glosa. Using two lines of Goblin Market by Christina Rosetti to tell this 1st person tale of a butterfly’s beginnings.
All day and night I want of you – I Want so deeply that “want” Is too trite a word – this To me, my very breath – is to Be in this love – to be Yours and yours only Forever and a day
What you ask of me, I ignore it all Yes, I submit easily, but I Don’t want what you want This moment is all there is This is all I want – to Have you now – to be Yours and only yours But only for tonight
Lillian is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub where she shares her love of how one word leads to another in crossword puzzles and their cousins in style: Acrostic Poetry.
In Word Acrostic poetry the first word or the last word of each line in a single stanza poem spells out a message.
Lillian has created an Acrostic Plus where the first letter of each line in the first stanza spells out one or more words, while the last letter of each line in the next stanza spells out something different, and so on, but together there is one message.
We’re challenged to either write a poem that in some way relates to a puzzle, includes the word “puzzle”; or try our hand at an Acrostic poem. I combine a Word Acrostic with Lillian’s Acrostic Plus to tell a familiar tale of Mars and Venus,
Take me now; I have need Lexis to which I must heed
Ethereal whisper in my ear Diaphanous sight before my eyes Gossamer touch against my skin
The first preface to our prologue Vellum void of phrase and prose
Let me bathe you in ballad Let me shower you in sestina Let my sweet imagery of nothing Become your metaphor of everything
Let your periphrasis wrap me in symbolisms Let your euphemisms surround me in similes Let our soul be one for the discourse of rhythm for the dialogue of reason, for the diction of rhyme
Let us fall down in the shadow of the valley of meter Let us rise up on the rock of ages and iambs Let us bask in the most of incremental repetition Until only the onomatopoeia of our couplet is left
Diamante drops on parchment and papyrus The final edict to our epilogue
Gossamer touch against my skin Diaphanous sight before my eyes Ethereal whisper in my ear
Lexis to which I must heed Take me now; I have need
dVerse Poets Pub | Poetics: Who’s your Muse?
Today Ingrid tends bar and invites us to choose our muse. I choose Erato, muse of love poetry and lyric poetry to let her sweet whispers scream everything. For when she has need to speak I take heed to listen, and write…