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.
This love thing Wasn’t my calling Sentiment Not a thing I could stand Yet you right zoomed in So enthralling Put a wrench To my solo life planned And though I haven’t finished falling, It’s good to know It’s with you where I’ll land
on Quadrille Monday De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) had us zooming around the history of a humble four letter word that, in the beginning, literally sounded like something fast and exciting – like race cars. Thanks to Covid, the word has also become somewhat synonymous with a slow dreadful thing to be avoided – like online office meetings.
As such we’re being asked to Zoom our way around a quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words not including the title, but must include some form of the word “Zoom”.
Here my mind zooms in completely different direction than my previous quadrille.
Yesterday on Quadrille Monday De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) had us zooming around the history of a humble four letter word that, in the beginning, literally sounded like something fast and exciting – like race cars. Thanks to Covid, the word has also become somewhat synonymous with a slow dreadful thing to be avoided – like online office meetings.
As such we’re being asked to Zoom our way around a quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words not including the title, but must include some form of the word “Zoom”
Yesterday on Quadrille Monday, Mish, got her sugar rush on at the bar and invited us to put a sweet spin to quadrille.
I also cheat a little in that my quadrille is also what I’ll call an Extended Arun. A nonce poem created by blogger GirlGriot, an Arun is a fifteen-line poem in three sets of five lines. Each set of five lines follows the same syllable structure: starting with one syllable and increasing by one syllable with each line. 1/2/3/4/5 — 3x. There are no other rhyme or structural requirements. Here I added an extra stanza to meet the 44 word Quadrille requirement.
Le petite mort, for those who may be unfamiliar with the term, literally translates to “the little death”. It is an expression in modern usage refers specifically to the sensation of post orgasmic afterglow that is as often likened to death.
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.
Yesterday on Quadrille Monday, De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, got a little punch drunk at the bar and invited us to punch out quadrille. Yesterday was my birthday. My bestfiend, not a misspell – who had the good sense to be born exactly a year later, and I were joking about the childhood silliness of delivering birthday wishes via punches on the arm. One punch-wish for each year, sometimes the token punches are delivered gently, sometimes not. Because I am blessed to age like fine wine, I do not look my years. Unless a boxer, I imagine most would begin to tire before reaching my current vintage and thus today’s silly quadrille.
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
The alarm goes off and I reach for you When I hold you close, just like I used to do My heart listens for your sounds in the air then Before my head catches up, that they won’t be there again Some habits are just harder to kill And my heart breaks against my will
Every morn I wake that you’re not here It’s a struggle to not shed that first tear Another day without you It’s time for me to fly – I have not wings A nightingale with no desire to sing Another day without you
All these feelings I hide from folks each day. Falling in line with the games people play I just go through the motions of daily living, Hoping no one sees through the performance I’m giving When it’s the wind that mocks your gentle touch Or the storm of your kiss that I’m missing so much
Every mourn I wake, and I do mean mourn I try to anchor my thoughts, but I’m still too worn Another day without you It’s time for me to fly – and someday I might But right now this heart’s too heavy for flight Another day without you
In the morning I wake and sob in the lonely air Too many times I cry how it’s unfair It’s so unfair
Knew when we took the vows of man and wife That it would truly be for the rest of our life The calendar still holds the dates of the things planned From one winter to the next of activities spanned Because I thought there’d be more of life with you I’m alive, but this is not living without you
Every morn I wake and face the dawn A part of me is surprise how I breathe on Another day without you It’s time for me to fly – But I stay prone The sky’s a lonely place here on my own Another day without you