Ivory and Coloured Glass

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In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Are memories of then now gathering dust
Just one touch and in memories I’m thrust

Swift as the stirrings that came to amass
A moment’s surrender, I do remember
Those fleeting firsts uncovered in the grass

Wandering the world with equal lust
Fill vials of ivory and coloured glass

But vials of ivory and coloured glass
Needed a home with some stillness to trust
That our nomadic lives could not adjust

Allowing one last half-formed thought to pass
How it descended, bitterly ended
I pull myself from memory’s morass

Oh but for one more tryst in wanderlust
For vials of ivory and coloured glass

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For today’s prompt Angie challenges us to utilize T.S. Eliot’s complex and very long poem “Wasteland” in either a Fibonacci or free style poem. The only caveat being the write can not be about death, numbers, money or taxes – as it is Tax Day here in the U.S. A few lines random lines caught my eye, and my muse took over from there.

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Real Toads – Tax Day

 

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National Poetry Month – Day 15

Not knowing this was coming I already did a couple of Fibonacci Spiral poems just last week and did not want to do another one so soon. Free style is easy, so I’ll stay in keeping with my alphabetic run through poetic forms challenged myself to an Octain.

Year of Loving Dangerously

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You warned of this sun solstice start
In you, I should not place my heart
Fault mine, to cry piteously
For soft like autumn leaves I fell
A spark winter kindled to swell
I did not heed seriously
My heart grew sore, as spring returned,
With summer’s kiss, I now stand spurned
Year of loving dangerously

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Today the idea of this challenge is to substitute words of our own into the well-known titles of novels or movies and write a poem from there. I played with The Year of Living Dangerously by Peter Weir.

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With Real Toads | In Other Words

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National Poetry Month Day 14

Today I write dangerously with a Nove Otto.

The Nove Otto poetry form  is a nine-lined poem with 8 syllables per line. The rhyme scheme is as follows: aabccbddb

The Sacred Dead

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A pointed gaze, a look askew
A hex, a curse, an ancient brew
A casting old, known by scant few
A spell anew, a spell anew

My wont to horde secrets and lies
My will now met in cold disguise
My turns do rise and hide the skies
My laugh derides, my laugh derides

Treasures to me your rise, your fall
Treasures – your cries to me are small
Treasures – your deaths culled in these halls
Treasures them all, treasures them all

Upon this room that’s now gravestone
Upon here where my power’s honed
Upon mandibles now made throne
Upon your bones, upon your bones

The site that thrives on horrors spread
The pause that gives from things once dread
The faith that rose here in its stead
The sacred dead, the sacred dead

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Having a bone to pick indeed. Mama Zens prompts us to let the walls speak for themselves.
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With Real Toads –  If These Walls Could Talk

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National Poetry Month 2016 – Day 13

Today’s faithful morbidness is brought to you via the Monotetra.

The monotetra is a poetic form developed by Michael Walker.  The form must be written in tetrameter, either iambic or trochaic, approximately 8 syllables per line.  Each stanza is a quatrain (four lines), that is monorhymed. The fourth line of each stanza must be a dimeter, or 4-syllable phrase, that is repeat twice.

The stanza structure:

Line 1: 8 syllables; A1
Line 2: 8 syllables; A2
Line 3: 8 syllables; A3
Line 4: 4 syllables, repeated; A4, A4

Pages Left To Turn

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Waiting for the day when I was too old to scold
Not knowing such a time would never come my way
My younger years once spent being reckless and bold
Those pages burned away in such furious blaze
In fantasia that thirty is considered old
Oh how the numbers changed as I added on days
Now I’m the one telling, instead of being told
Back then are not the words I’d thought so soon to say

Now I wonder if I will reach a point of sage
To look back upon the times of my days before
Some tales I have told in this pen and pixeled stage
Some tales are only known in memory to store
Should older me still have plenty of time to gauge
This life I’ll live from babe to days of hoar
I’ll fill these lines with joy before I turn the page
‘Till the pages left for me to turn are no more

My dossier holds Raivenne-lations nevermore

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Today I have something of a trifecta:

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1. At dVerse Lillian challenges us to create a poem that includes the word fantasia, phantasia, or fantasy. The word can be used in the title or the body of the poem itself.

dVerse Poets Pub | Poetics – Fantasia

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2. At Real Toads Kerry provides us the side inspiration of writing about living through the years.

Real Toads | Open Platform Tuesday

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3. National Poetry Writing Month – Day 12

It is still NaPoWriMo and today’s form is: The  Lucubration

The Lucubration is a form by Amanda J. Norton. It has two octave (eight line) stanzas, followed by a single line for 17 lines all together.

It has a rhyme scheme of abababab cdcdcdcd d.

The poem’s title must be a 5 syllable title. The two octave stanzas have 12 syllables per line. The final line must be 12 syllables in only 5 words and in italics.

This Is What It Sounds Like

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I woke early this morning to birdsong. But not the trills that come with morning light. This was a lone note deep in the darkest before. I waited as the call went out. Then I waited some more.

Avian fantasia surrounded me as the bird voiced itself again. For somehow I knew it was the same lone bird and same lone note, perhaps calling out a name. Or was it a call awaiting response? I wondered if it was a mating call. Was there was a partner to answer?

Or was that the cry of the forlorn?

Try as I might, it sounded like crying; the gut wrenching sob of one trying to hide the pain. Is this what it sounds like when doves cry? I felt as though I was somehow intruding on something private, by just listening. As my alarm went off I rose knowing I was listening in vain. I did not hear the call again.

Just the memory of that note in the dark of night lingering on my psyche in the light of day.

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Let’s see how others are slicing it up today…

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Slice of Life Weekly Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

Deckard’s Lament

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She knows not when her time will end
Tomorrow or when all Earth rends?
Or just until Time’s hands align
But until then I’ll call her mine

She lives, she loves, in unknown span
I oft forget she’s not human
What makes her whole she redefines
But until then I’ll call her mine

Should she die first I’ll feel the pain
And I’ll be lost like tears in rain
She may go first by cruel design
But until then I’ll call her mine

She knows not when her time will end
But until then I’ll call her mine

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Written for today’s
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Real Toads Prompt for Today: Monday – Soviet Kitsch Where we’re invited to write a poem based on a sci-fi movie poster. We were given a choice of amazing posters from classic Sci-Fi movies in the soviet union as inspiration, or to choose a different poster found online. It’s not as classic as the Soviet kitsch posters, but my muse stopped searching the moment it saw:

Blade Runner Poster

Blade Runner Poster

And because this is

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National Poetry Writing Month 2016 – Day 11

Today’s poetic form: Kyrielle Sonnet

A Kyrielle Sonnet consists of 14 lines (three rhyming quatrain stanzas and a non-rhyming couplet). Just like the traditional Kyrielle poem, the Kyrielle Sonnet also has a repeating line or phrase as a refrain, usually but not always appearing as the last line of each stanza. Each line within the Kyrielle Sonnet consists of only eight syllables. French poetry forms have a tendency to link back to the beginning of the poem, so common practice is to use the first and last line of the first quatrain as the ending couplet. This would also re-enforce the refrain within the poem. Therefore, a good rhyming scheme for a Kyrielle Sonnet would be:

AabB, ccbB, ddbB, AB -or- AbaB, cbcB, dbdB, AB.

 

In Deep Repose

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Dressed in Luna’s glow
Fingers following her thoughts
Loving in deepest repose
Where Sol cannot see

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National Poetry Writing Month 2016 – Day 10

The Jue Ju

This Chinese style poetry is one of the oldest of the Chinese patterns and in the 3rd century AD the Jue Ju was very popular. Jue ju meaning curtailed or frustrated verse, does not aim to tell a story, but to create a mood. Often carrying “suggestively erotic themes” it does in the most frugal way imaginable, and with a high tone.

A jue ju is only four lines of five or seven syllables each where lines should be same length and is
often erotic.

Too Early

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With vernal equinox comes joy
I smile at the new buds it brings
Beauty to see walking the park
Belies the chill in sharp employ
I’m not ready to feel such sting
Much too early for autumn’s bark

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Walking in Central Park felt more like October than April.

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National Poetry Writing Month 2016 – Day 9

Today I bring an Italian Sestet

The original version of the Italian Sestet had no set meter, but after Spenser introduced it into England, eventually the poets there began to use iambic tetrameter or pentameter.
The rhyme pattern example is as follows (Using iambic tetrameter)

Sedusa Medusa

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Be silent with me, seek
The passion in my stare
For what you will find there
Is not meant for the weak
And surely not the meek
But only if you dare

Aye, come closer a pace
Spy the twists of my curls
How they move how thy swirl
Reveals the smile on my face
Knowing you’re trapped in place
Stone cold within my lair

Too late to make a fuss
Oh et tu Perseus?

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National Poetry Writing Month 2016 – Day 8

Today I have with Medusa’s vexing hex in the form of  a Hex Sonnetta.

The Hex Sonnetta, created by Andrea Dietrich, consists of two six-line stanzas and a finishing rhyming couplet with the following set of rules:

Meter: Iambic Trimeter
Rhyme Scheme: a/bb/aa/b c/dd/cc/d ee

 

A Solo Sail

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She’s lived her life in a fish bowl
Always under another’s gaze
Done as was told year after year
And lost her self in small degrees

She looks back on her once young days
From this view now like tales of yore
When she once had a ‘joie de vie”
Now social mores fill her with fears

She grew up from a girl dirt poor
”Oh good girls don’t” was all she learned
Self taught to yield to make her way
Through ranks of yacht society

But decades passed by all she yearned
Daughter, lover, wife and mother
She dutifully played her role
Her wants pushed to another day

She stifles one, then another
Of yawns that had become the rote
Until she saw yards of bright sails
Unfurl and it just grabbed her soul

Decided she will sail a boat
All have their time and hers was now
“She’ll turn yellow once hands hit helm”
They laughed, for ywis she would fail

But she laughs last standing on bow
As salty winds blow through her hair
She sails on terms all of her own
The thrill of it near overwhelms

Sees horizon and thinks “to there”
For destination’s not the goal
Flying solo upon the seas
This moment hers and hers alone

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Written for today’s
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Real Toads Prompt for Today: In the Footsteps of the Suffragettes

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National Poetry Writing Month 2016 – Day 8