Whispers From Erato

Muse whispering warriors ear

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


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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… 

My Words

I’m stripped soul-naked standing bare
To a universe made of blank paper
Its mocking nakedness haunts me
Seductively taunts me with its vapor

I see my words as pieces of my deepest soul
Shattered apart in my passions throes
Then brought together in a multi-hued mosaic
A stained glass window, if you will, of prose

My words reaching through time with voices of one from long ago
My words reaching for the vernacular of the street griot, ya kno’

Words lose me in the folds of its scripts
And lets me discover myself yet again
Words listen to me when no one else wants to
Words speaks to me in a way no one else can

Sometimes my words scroll across my monitor
To let me say what I want to say
Sometimes I resort to pen and paper,
To express my words in some other way

It sometimes scares me to the core, being so beholden to such
I’m scared of being pushed away, I care for my words so much

Yes, I cater to word’s selfish lusts
It’s a call I’ll always heed
Words give off a satisfaction
That’s almost carnal in need

But lately my words are not happy
With the scratch of the mighty pen
There’s this new desire to be heard
And it’s a most frightening yen

Paper no longer holds them, my words have something to say
But in the excitement to be heard, my words get in their own way

I risk the bleat of my vocals failing
Changing the meanings I devise
Yes, my words on paper are lovely
My words from my voice are otherwise

But words have trusted me all this time
In the handling of its care
Spoken word is the natural evolution
If only I take up the dare

So, I put my trust in my words, as it puts in me alike
I take a prayer and a breath and step up to this mic


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dVerse Poets Pub | Poetics: Take a risk!

Tricia at dVerse challenges us to explore the theme of risk. Whether it is tackling difficult subjects or laying bare a personal struggle in vivid detail, exploring a new writing form that you may find “risky” or unconventional; perhaps the risk we take falling in love.

Write on any topic as long the word “risk” is used,

The Proposal

Photo of a vineyard at dawn vine laden with dark purple grapes.

Walking the vineyard
Early that morning
Wine fermented air
In the day dawning

A table waited
Laden with mounds
Of the deepest
Sweet rounds

There sparkled a diamond
Brighter than the dew
“My love,” you knelt smiling,
“I’ve a grape to pick with you.”


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dVerse Poets Pub : Quadrille # 125 – In Praise of the Grape

Tonight at dVerse bar Linda serves us some wine to prompt our taste buds to verse the quadrille.

A Quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title. It must include the prompt word wine. Muse was in a silly mood.

National Poetry Month for 2021 Day 5

The Ties That Bind…

He on my left knows about

She on my right

Both know of yet another

But none touch the other day or night

Yet they all touch me

Soft and free

It’s a multiple

But shared love we’ve got

Our polycule

in a pseudoknot

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Tonight on dVerse Mish challenges us to get our Quadrille all in a knot. With the added incentive of “I dare you to use pseudoknot.” Naturally, I had to take that dare head on.

The Quilt

Each square is story

Sentences in stiches

Pillow tucked paragraphs

Chapters of meandering memories

Lockstitch a life

My life

Started by one old hand

At my beginning

Passed through other hands

While I was busy

Finished with my old hand

To blanket my end

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Tonight at dVerse Merrill has the feel of autumn and wants to be blankest in a quadrille, a poem of 44 words, excluding the title. It can be in any form, rhymed or unrhymed, metered, or unmetered and must include some form of the prompt word – blanket.

dVerse Poets Pub | Quadrille #113: Blanket Us

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A Quiet Moment Passing

The
Blue skies and
Warm colors belie
The first hint of autumn days.
Pause.

Stop.
Acquire
A quiet moment.
Life encourages this soft
Path.

Time
Will again
Invoke its magic.
Next dash of eternity –
Poof!

Smile.
Wallow in
A chance to marvel
The ebb and flow of breeze; be
Touched.

Give
This its due
What will be – will be
Change is the only constant,
Breathe.

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Today’s form is a Crown Oddquain

Tonight Linda tends bar at dVerse where on this day 58 years ago The Rolling Stones released “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” and tonight happens to be Open Link Night.

dVerse Poets Pub| Open Link Night : On This Day

dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight Mic

Garden Tableau

In the early hours
As the dawn does rise
Rain had fallen deep
As I lay in sleep
And soaked the dark earth  

Awake now I breathe
The petrichor scent
Deep in the city
A moment of Zen
My window garden
Belies urban sprawl

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dVerse Poets Pub | Quadrille: How Does Your Garden Grow?

At dVerse Victoria wants to know about our gardens in a quadrille.

A Quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words not including the title. The poem must contain the prompt word for the challenge: Garden.

And because Muse likes to combine challenges I wrapped the Quadrille in a Tableau. (Or is that wrapped the Tableau in a Quadrille? You decide.)

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie| Saturday Mix – Lucky Dip, 8 August 2020

For this week’s Lucky Dip, the mystery bag gives us a Tableau. 

The Tableau, a poetry form created by Emily Romano in October of 2008, consists of one or more verses, each having six lines. Each line should have five beats. There is no set rhyme scheme, although rhyme may be present. The title should contain the word tableau.

The Final Bow

Just once more, he begged and pleaded to her
A hello and farewell tour as it were
She scoffs it’s the silliest thing she’s heard
And besides she’s now much too old a bird
For what purpose could there possibly be
To take on the burden of one like she
 
To argue money came quickly and went
Her career had made her quite affluent
Nor could he argue for awards or fame
Not with world-wide accolades in her name
Just one more stand in the glow of limelight
Doing the craft that has been her delight
 
Ten years had passed since she last graced a screen
And Broadway? Well that was a near fifteen
It goes back and forth for a little while
But he knows she’s in once he sees the smile
That smiles that stops men even as jaded as he
It was hard not to rub his hands with glee
 
Some thought she turned a new leaf in life
She brought none of the old dramas or strife
A junior diva tested this new meek
And learned from the curb that sweet is not weak
And not a step was missed as she rehearsed
Her new elegance shined as others cursed
 
The nocturne really tested her voice
Her body tired but she had no choice
Once her fire’s lit she’s in for the fight
And she was just fine come opening night
She trusted her nerves would not let her sway
As a full house harkens each word she says
 
When that solo light shines, she feels such bliss
And knows nothing, nothing will equal this
The applause thunders as the curtain falls
And she waits for the first of curtain calls
A bouquet of taffy and red roses
Greets her as she rises from her poses
 
She laughs at the joke, both ancient and sage
And waves at the giver just left of stage
Exhausted but grateful she has this chance
To act, to sing and yes a little dance
As the light faded, she fell to the floor
The diva had had her final encore
 
She was called difficult but the best
Fact to which all who knew her did attest
Eulogies told with melancholy tears
At the services filled with loved ones and peers
Every soul there agreed that it was
Fitting the last thing she heard was applause
woman on stage arms out

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Tonight Lillian tends bar at dVerse Poets Pub. It’s Open Link Night, where our words are all we’re ‘just sayin’…’ | Open Link Night : Just Sayin’ . . .

dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight Mic

No Means To Measure

I rise up in slate – what care I of time?

Shades reflective of my soul – my heart wonders in hues felt,

Charcoal through silver – yellows through purples.

Dawn or dusk does not matter – the seconds, minutes, the hours

In the colors of mourning – are no means to measure joy.

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At dVerse, Frank Tassone, our pubtender for today’s Meeting the Bar, challenges us to delve into aesthetics of Imagism, where less verbiage is employed to produce more imagery. We’re also encouraged to use Japanese or Sappho Greek lyric to accomplish such.

I chose an ancient form of Japanese poetry called Tanka and used it as a Super Tanka.

Tanka are 31-syllable poems. In Japan, it is usually written as a straight line of characters, but in English and other Western languages, it is usually divided into five lines, with a syllable count of 5-7-5-7-7.

The key to the Super Tanka form is that it is two Tanka side-by-side. Each can be read independently, yet must also work together as a whole, in effect creating three poems in one.

dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Imagism Revisited

dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight Mic

Until Control Slips

Suppressing a desire
For centuries commuted
Ferried about
Twixt the rage
And the frustration
Via the complication
Of our blackness unheard and unseen
Except through
Crosshairs white and blue
Until control held sage
With fury slips out
Only to be persecuted
For the fire

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dVerse ~Poets Pub Quadrille #105: Cry Havoc and Let ‘SLIP’ the Dogs of War

Tonight at dVerse Linda challenges us to write a Quadrille, is a poetic form created here at dVerse, a poem of exactly 44 words (not counting the title) and including this challenge’s prompt word: SLIP