Tag Archives: dVerse ~ Poets Pub

A Moment

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Can we just chill for a moment please?

Let go of our burdens big, our troubles tall
Close our eyes for a moment
Before the moment’s gone.

Just chill for a moment please.

Take the load off our shoulders
Take a deep breath to breathe
Feel the good air slide in
And your worries exhale out

Chill for a moment please.

To put our worries down
And our feet up

For a moment please.

And remember that
Life is less about what we have to lift
And more about what we find uplifting

A moment.

Please.

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It’ was one interesting day that started nor ended as expected. A moment was needed.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight : Week 146

 

Talk Dirty To Me

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Labium
superius and inferius oris
in tumescence
release a barely discernible decibel
of languorous aural emissions

All immediately negated
with the onset of cataglottism
to labia majora and minora

The effect
a highly desirous result
in the slow cessation
of osculation

The means of reduction
to the initiating stimuli
of narratophlia
via the buccal cavity
of a pleasing nature

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Today at dVese we’re challenged to Systematically Derange the Language by trying one of 3 approaches Reduction, Oulipa or Surprising Conceit to create a new poem. Via a combination of Reduction and Surprising Conceit I create a piece by using dry technical phrases in a place where most writers are very fluid and verbose on the subject.

dVerse ~ Poet’s Pub | Meeting The Bar 

This Morning I Woke Up

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This morning, I woke up…
To invisible hands
Covering my ears, eyes, mouth
At news of conflicts,
Sights of damage,
Speaking of war
My mother trying to protect
What’s left of the innocence within me
From the evil around me
…and picked up my pen.

This morning, I woke up…
To grit in my clothes
That no amount of shaking out
Can ever seem to set free
The fine silt of cracked walls
That permeate  the very air itself
It becomes a part of the ink
That is my bloodstream
…and picked up my pen.

This morning, I woke up…
To shattered windows,
The latest of blasts bursting the last of panes
In the former still of the night
Too much to bother cleaning then
Now a glaring hazard in the early light of dawn
Still it’s almost a relief,
No longer having to worry
About breaking what’s already gone
…and picked up my pen.

This morning, I woke up…
To wishing those invisible hands
Were still there to provide the bliss
Of the ignorance of youth
For now they know I know
And there is no going back
To the unseen, unheard, unspoken
…and picked up my pen.

This morning, I woke up…
To one hand holding a pen
The other a rifle
Pondering
Which holds more power
The one for fighting what’s without
The other to keep it from becoming
What’s within
…and picked up my pen.

This morning, I woke up…
To remember my only choice
…and picked up my pen.

This morning I woke up…
…and picked up my pen.

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At dVerse  we’re invited to write poetry against the world today when the outspoken are being killed. It has been a subject at the back of my mind for a while now, brought a little closer since the death of Charlie Hebdo, but with the recent deaths of Avijit Roy and Boris Nemtsov it’s moved to the front.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: Make our voices heard

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Also, see how others are slicing it up this month:

8th-annualc2a0slice-of-life-story-challenge-invite

So Cold

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Oh so cold | my soul breaks

Your sweet warming touch | slick shards that shatter though my heart

Now fills with trepidation | the shrapnel of all your lies

Where it was once welcomed most fondly | leaves me with harsh truths

Breaks my soul | oh so cold

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The “Tonequain” is a poetic form created invented by Tony Meade. It is based on the classic cinquain form, then breaks it by adding an extra syllable to each line, giving a five-line poem with lines of 3, 5, 7, 9 and 3 syllables in that order. In addition where the classic has strict use of iambs, because of the odd number of syllables you cannot write an iambic poem in this form (you could try writing in dactyls, amphibrachs and/or anapaests if you want). You are free from of the iambic tyranny!

You can reverse the order of the lines, write a two stanza poem where the form of the stanzas mirror each other, or you could write a garland or even a coronet.

I had a little fun here where I wrote two Tonequains side by side. The first in 3, 5, 7, 9, 3 syllable order, the second in reverse with a 3, 9, 7, 5, 3 order. Each a Tonequin on its own, together creating a Super Tone if you will.

Enjoy

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meeting The Bar : The Cinquain … Expanded

Unspoken

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.
.

Hello darkness, my old friend
In twisted linen wound
My sweated girth

I’ve come to talk with you again,
In screams and wails without sound
Gossamer baggage weighting me to the earth

Because a vision softly creeping,
While the sun was upward bound
Turning this soul to flameless hearth

Left its seeds while I was sleeping
Taking from my flesh its pound
For all it’s worth

And the vision that was planted in my brain
The tick- tock of my own ‘gator run aground
Mocking me in a Cheshire mirth

Still remains
In the ever-growing mound
Of compassion’s dearth

Within the sound of silence
To seethe and confound
The truth never given birth
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Abhra is hosting at the Poetics bar here at dVerse Poets Pub today, challenging us to talk about secrets without actually revealing any.

Using the ever familiar lyrics of Simon & Garfunkle’s “Sound of Silence”  in a modified combination of Glosa and Trireme Sonnet forms.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics : What is your secret

The Canvas Laughs

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the canvas laughs at me knowing

I hold the image of you,
sipping water from the fountain, in my head,
ready to transfer it from my memory to my canvas.
the cobalt and pthalo greens along with the terre verte
of the background foliage
the mixing of warm and cool grays for the fountain
were all easy choices
but now I’m down to you.

the canvas laughs at me knowing

ivory black, burnt umber and raw sienna?
for glossy dark locks of your hair,
the sweep of your brow, the curve of your lashes – yes.
oh, but where do I begin
for the deep rich tones that comprise all of your complexion?
burnt sienna might imbue the shadow in the curve of your dimples
maybe some yellow ochre deep to highlight your cheeks, hmm

the canvas laughs at me knowing

some titanium white to capture the hint of teeth showing as you smiled
won’t capture its mischievous gleam
but a touch of naples yellow light is perfect
in that the arc of the water drop reflecting sunlight
against the alizarin crimson
that is but one scant shade of the lushness of your lips
lips still wet from the water drank
not even seconds ago
an errant liquid drop is about to fall.

and the still unadorned canvas laughs at me knowing

there will never be a man-made hue,
that can rightly capture
the soul of you

I pick up my pallet anyway

what makes a person - Photo by Andrew Wilmot

What Makes A Person
Photo by Andrew Wilmot

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At dVerse Victoria challenges us Word Artists to Grab a Brush and Write! something related to art technique. The attached photo is from Andrew Wilmot a painter, award winning screen-writer, author and above all a person I am honored to consider a friend, is the inspiration for my write.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Word Artists, Grab a Brush and Write!–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Installment

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Across the bar, I saw you standing there
Just out of the light’s glare partly shaded
Struck by your beauty, all I could do was stare
And you stare back with intent, but I was jaded

From the same flowers, different weeds
We were a pair of living contradictions
Your alabaster skin versus my well tanned
But you aim your look at me with conviction

You started to say something to me
But realize the music is too loud
So you mimed to me your destination
And wound your way through the crowd

I follow through the din of partying bodies
To the bathroom down the end of the hall
You didn’t hesitate for even a moment
As you reached around me to lock the stall

I was filled with words, yet could say nothing
High as a kite from the essence of you
You smiled like the cat caught with the bag
And proceeded to make dreams come true

In a desire that so overwhelmed me
I mulled but one thought, to get inside
Of your heart, of your soul, inside of you
Totally stripped of that thing called pride

I was afraid you would think I was crazy
But your kiss removes all other thought
Tipping a pretend hat, as I reciprocate
In your kiss I’m held, entrapped, caught

I was so beyond any reason or caring
Held in your grip of the perfect feel of tight
By the time you spring your truth upon me
I was more than ready for your bite

I roared with the shock of the transition
And an ecstasy that blew away the rest
One swift move, I impaled you to the door
And gave you a nice dose of what I do best

Someone banged the door just as you moaned
And moan with each recoil as my retort
Still riding hard, I bring the banger into my fold
Knowing I’d just passed some test of sorts

It’s been decades since that glorious night
And I only smile when I’m having fun
My true enjoyment? Adding to our guild
So if you ever catch me smiling – run!

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What can I say? It’s almost Halloween…

 dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight

Luna

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woman_in_the_moon

Loquacious as stone she

Looks soft to the lonely

Listens to deep confides

Lifted in to the night

Likens their tears to tides

Lingering in the heart

Lost where to end or start

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Today at dVerse our host for this week, Vandana, asks us to create a Pleiades poem.

A Pleiades, invented in 1999, consists of seven lines of six syllables; each line starting with the same letter as the title. The title is a single word.

And as further challenge, our poem should reference to a celestial body in honor of the form inspired from a heavenly object.

dVerse ~Poets Pub | Meeting The Bar: Pleiades

Back There Again

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Chateau de Nice by Claudia Schoenfeld

Chateau Nice by Claudia Schoenfeld

Another dollar, another score
As the sun sets on another City day
It was all that I once wanted but not more
No my heart is now many miles away

And though you smile like it’s all right
I can see it in your eyes
You may be looking at the skyscrapers
But your heart is searching for open skies

Remembering late summer evenings, when the day’s work is done
Our feet up on the porch rail, a cold one in one hand,
With your hand with the other, those were times like no other
When it was all so simple, and yet so grand
Do you remember? And can we get back there again?

I remember my auntie yelling for getting the floors gritty
Man, that red clay is tougher than this city’s hustle and flow
Yeah, the skyscrapers at night look so pretty
But when’s the last time I saw fireflies glow?

I miss how the riverbank sparkles on a bright sunny day
The sound of crickets in the midnight air
How the smell of dinner wafts every which way
And how there always  seemed to be haystack straw in our hair

Oh we spent so many years wishing to get away
Now we’re wishing for anything just to get back

Remembering late summer evenings, after all the work is done
Our feet up on the porch rail, cold ones in our hand
How we drop everything when we heard that dinner bell ring
It was all so simple and yet so grand
Do you remember? Let’s get back there again.

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Today Mary challenges us to “Sketch it Out” in words with the lovely artwork of our own Claudia Schoenfeld as inspiration.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics – Sketch it Out

Memory of Heaven

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.
.
I am minded of candles, of then
of love, simple, sound
of love deep beneath stars
Your fiery temple beside mine

The strength of Luna’s pull
Our chief alibi for the seed’s planting
A new growth begun in a crevice
We watch bloom into full flora

Peace falls upon us
Waking in dawn’s gilded light
Trades in golden finish
A nimbus, it falls around me and you

Speech fails and I fall hard
And yours fail as souls combine
You do not fear, prepared for the roar
My heart, once pieces, now whole

I am minded of candles, of then
of love, simple, sound
of love deep beneath stars
Your fiery temple beside mine

Seeing between light, dark
Afterglow in silver, gold
Cosmos mine timed in forever
Your heavens have no end

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Today at dVerse, Marina Sofia challenges us to try a homophonic translation of a Romanian poem by Lucian Blaga and see what we come up with.

Having no idea what the original poem translates to, my interpretation is a combination of phonetics and (VERY) loose translations of Latin/Romance language based words I gleaned.  It’s a little disjointed, as some things really do get lost in translation. I hope you still find it readable.

dVerse Poets Pub | Poetics: Homophonic Translations