Tag Archives: National Poetry Month

Because of You

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This frozen-solid heart by choice
Thought ne’er again to see light true
Could not afford another break
By yet another harsh adieu
An abstract thought called you swept in
But moving towards what? Who knew
You burst past any alibis
Now this heart thaws because of you

Ambient warmth
First hard adjust
Now complete must
Because of you

In the sleeping night
Love moved in
All because of you

No it’s not scarlet words spoken in avarice
Nor the cerise heat of the noonday sun
Nor the crimson flame of the winter hearth
Nor the cherry star gleam on a stone
The ruby pyre of Hades pales to compare
To the blaze of my love because of you

Because you aced the test unknowingly given, that

Of all the hurdles thrown before you
You overcame them all with sanguine grace and

I now know that I who had given up on such
Am indeed worthy to love and of being
Loved so completely because of you

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This loving hodge-podge of a form is called a Descort.

Descort is French for “discord”, and the form is almost more of a non-form. It requires that each stanza or verse have some similar lyrical elements; however, that they be totally different forms. Each stanza should be verse, that is, a structured portion of poetry, but not the same. They can conform to known verse structures or be nonce forms. Some descorts have even used different languages in different stanzas.

This descort was created with six different forms, in order: Raccontino, Pathya Vat, La Lune, Not Poem, and a combined Cherita / Word Acrostic. You can click the form name to discover each form’s characteristics.

dVerse ~Poets Pub | Open Link Night: Week 147

National Poetry Month – Day 23

Deglutition

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Before her a split path is laid
A deep decision to be made
One road only affects her now
The other risks her days and how
Naked she rises and finds voice
Arms open he awaits her choice
Motherhood? Won’t chance that call
Instead down to her knees she falls

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Today at dVerse ~Poets Pub, we’re asked to write about roads, and further challenged to do so “anywhere your eight lined muse leads you”.  For some reason Robert Frost popped into my head regarding choosing paths. And while hardly the path less taken my muse, in customary ornery fashion, goes off the beaten one to choose the emotional road instead of a physical one with a take on the modern joke regarding a female’s choices in the moment. And just in case it still eludes some, the title of the poem is the medical term for swallowing.

Yeah, I know, I wonder about my muse sometimes as well…

National Poetry Month – Day 21

Come Out Best

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I’ve always come out the best
Except the carefree day
I gave my heart away

To he who put it to the test
For no other reason I could see
Than my pain kept his company

But my soul’s joy shall not be wrest
It would not allow this
Theft of my complete bliss        `

One thing I can attest
Even through heartache’s burn
There are lessons to learn

I learned to return the jest
That was made of my heart
Put back the pieces torn apart

And to walk away blessed
To know a peace so real
That no one can steal

Now his heart feels the unrest
While I do feel for his soul
He must find his own console

And again I come out the best
With joy my intact
Never looking back

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National Poetry Month – Day 20

The Stillness Of Twighlight

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Blues, reds and oranges imbue
Semi-dark, yet semi-light skies
Trying to make sense of the deep hues
As I wake with slowly opening eyes

Is it dusk or is it dawn now? For the moment I wonder

Here in this cabin far away from the City
I have naught around that can give a clue
Nature surrounds and its sounds are pretty
But not enough for me to put a time frame to

Laying there in the summer warmth I let my mind wander

Does it really matter I think with the mildest chagrin
As I feel your touch in the not yet day-not yet night
And just like that sparking an emerging fire within
Time no longer a concern in the stillness of twilight

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National Poetry Month – Day 18

Rebel

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I’ve been accused of being hasty
Full of mischief
I don’t act my age
And just what would my maturity be
Were there no markers to presume me sage?

And since when does sage mean stoic?
Or static? Or standard? Or stunted? Or still?
If my entire youth was lived being the rebel
Why shouldn’t my later years
Hold the same will?

I share a bond with Luna
My spirit justly named
Come mess with me
Try to lead me astray
If by chance you think I’m tamed

Simply because my sea of ebon locks
Is pierced with a few opaque silver strands
I’ll blow smoke circles while we match martinis
’Cuz come the morning
It will be me who still stands

An Ample Beauty in all my glory
A modern Venus rising from the foam
Luna shines her light upon me
As I add new tales
To her ancient tomes

I’m vivaciously living to my fullest
So when I close my eyes at last
It won’t be with tears for what wasn’t done
But with a jocund wink
To my past

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National Poetry Month – Day 17

The Lovers

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We’ve been together for years
Yet I hold her so close
As though each time
May be the last time
She’s in within my grasp

My calloused fingers
Stroke her neck
Run up her curves
Down her contours
As she lays across me

Ever my lover
She has in turns
Destroyed my heart
And saved my soul
She knows I am hers

Not my woman
With each caress
She wails and moans
At my command
Dark night or bright day

I share her always
Yet the moment I touch her
It is just she and I
On stage alone
In tuned only to each other
A man and his guitar

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Open Link Night – Week 152

Ricardo

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Try this he says holding out the glass
And I’m thinking to myself No, I will pass
But his eyes hold a look, a certain teasing dare
And I’ve never been able to resist the challenge there

Holding it to my nose I could smell the sweetness
Something not quite bold and yet without meekness
You like? He smiles after a moment’s space
Already knowing the answer by the look of my face

My first cruise ever, our first true vacation
Had a rocky start, on but later the elation
So many new sights, new joys, new bliss
And now we are introduced to this

A couple of bottles of rum bought on a simple whim
But we sipped from afternoon, until light grew dim
The next day more bottles were bought to roam
And then bought more to take it home

Here I sit reminiscing on that September
I take a slow sip and fondly remember
How this taste first came to be in my days
And the bittersweet hold in which it now stays

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Reminiscing on my very first cruise and a specific brand of spiced rum that can only be purchased in the Bahamas as the company does not export.

National Poetry Month – Day 15

Play Me One More Song

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Brother, come and play me one more song
For my load is heavy, my sight bleary
My days are now few where once they thronged
And my thoughts they grow ever more weary

We knew someday this day would come
Brother, come and play me one more song
The path we traveled together at last is done
For we have traveled this road so very long

You have known me all my days
From boy to man in all my ways

Give me one more memory before long
For there’s little chance I’ll make another
Brother, come and play me one more song
It would warm this heart of mine like no other

For my time is done this much is true
And when I’m gone I’ll heed you to be strong,
But ‘till we meet again I ask this last thing of you
Brother, come and play me one more song

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At dVerse Jennifer Wagner asks us to write about brothers “from any angle”. Using what I’ll call a disrupted Quartern, my muse chose the final angle.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics : Oh Brother!

National Poetry Month – Day 14

Real again

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They
are gone,
with my heart
the sweet  twilights
of which I once sung

Like
the joys
and the pains
of loving you
now just memory

Yet
eyes closed
soul open
I can feel you
Dusk is real again

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Today’s form: the Arun.

A nonce poem created by friend and fellow 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. Today, I follow the pattern she’s set, so far, left aligned and un-rhymed.  I will take a little poetic license again, in future runs of the form.

National Poetry Month – Day 13

On Her Own

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.
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Coffin covered with newly upturned earth
Contains that last of all she’s ever loved
She starts to pull rose petals from their stems
She’s aiming them to land within a shape 
Patterning pictures only she can see
Patching a tribute for lives cut away
Eyes blur with each crimson petal that falls
Upon the sodden ashes of her youth

Her life, based on the scope of others, bound 
Daughter-wife-mother; thus have been her days
Her own deep needs followed for the first time 
She finds the sudden freedom much too bold 
She watches the last petal land with grace
Then heads out to live a life on her own

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National Poetry Month – Day 12