You
Never said
What I wanted to hear
Show
What I wanted to see
Gave only
What I needed
So they said
It wasn’t enough
But I knew
It was
Everything
<>==========<>==========<>
Posting a belated for yesterday’s interview Catching Up with Samuel Peralta at dVerse.
A Twitter poem is the challenge of writing poems within the limit of 140 characters (including spaces, line-spaces etc.) of a tweet.
Beauty: sells tanning lotion in one area and lightening creams in another
Is: the TVs, magazines and runways of thinness attainable
In: a land where the curvy is passable, yet too fat is unacceptable– too?
The: rhinoplasty done to make noses look smaller while
Eye: get surgery to make them look wider.
Of: braids deemed unprofessional or locs truly dreaded in
The: root of – the problem?And if it can’t grow is it clip, glue or sew to a
Beholder: in the mirror who wonders…
But who is the beholder?
<>==========<>==========<>
At dVerse an interview with Anthony Desmond, and Gayle hosting, prompts us with beliefs; pondering what we might believe in, or had believed in.
I was struck by a conversation among friends of the (in)constant state of beliefs in what is considered beautiful and by whom.
For two hours daily my parakeet squawks
while my cat hisses as
my dog is howling
All in harmony with cars honking below
Planes flying above and the kid
badly practicing the cello next door
Earplugs are a thing of beauty indeed
Artist: Claudia Schoenfeld
Used with Permission
<>==========<>==========<>
Today at dVerse Victoria inspires us to use one of the paintings of fellow dVerse Poet Claudia Schoenfeld for our poems. As Claudia is also a musician we are further challenged to write a poem using the SEVENLING form with a theme of music.
The painting I chose clearly inspired me in an offbeat direction.
dVerse ~Poets Pub |
Poetry and Painting Embrace: We Can’t Forget Claudia Schoenfeld
what the books can’t tell,
the news can’t sell,
the senses imbibe –
aromas alongside stenches
vintage contrasts innovative
durable touching dilapidated
rancid against delectable
melodic rhythms divide harsh screeches
and the fierce pride of a people
who journeyed time
while standing frozen in it
<>==========<>==========<>
I recently returned from a trip to Cuba and fully understand why, among many things, it is called a A Country Frozen In Time. A year ago today, Cuba and the United States restored diplomatic relations. It’s only been a few scant years since Cuba’s resurgence into the US’ consciousness as a restricted travel destination and while the times are indeed a’changing for the country as those restriction become more and more relaxed, it has a very long way to go. That which makes Cuba unique remains very much in place.
dVerse ~Poets Pub | 5th Anniversary Quadrille – Journey
<>==========<>==========<>
Oh, I’m lousy at meter
Unless it’s Demeter
Of she I can speak night and day
Iambic pentameter
Just doesn’t matterer
To my muse any way
Saw what I did there, eh?
And “da-DUM da-DUM”
Just makes me feel dumb
Strike that mouse in the clock I begs
For I will give the boot
To all who mention “foot”
When lyrics ain’t got any legs,
But will run for some green ham and eggs. Dregs!
Whether di-, pent- or Hexes
Oh how meter vexes
The voice when unnaturally dropped
On meter spanned then
With lines enjambed when
Ow! I think my poor brain has popped!
And now my watch is end-stopped
<>==========<>==========<>
In a play against how cell phones now seem to take up so much of our time, Izy at Real Toads takes us “Out of Standard” and challenges us to pick up our cell phones for some “inspiredo” by taking the last text received and use it in a poem. Luckily, my last text had no emojis.
Real Toads | Out of Standard – From the Black Mirror
Meanwhile at dVerse, Victoria challenges us to pick a subject and write in meter to set its mood. Can you say ‘Ugh!”? I have never been one for formal meter. If a word or phrasing comes naturally to my write, an errant “foot”, sticking out like a sore thumb, will happen. The message is more important. Thus, I could not resist delightfully mocking it here as my subject, throwing in some poetic terminology, Hickory Dickory, Dr. Seuss and a touch of Game of Thrones to boot.
They marvel at your skill
How lifelike I appear
As though I could fly
Every way the wind blows
They know not your dark secret
A twirl in Sol’s gold
Coiling in Luna’s silver
Diaphanous and solid
Every way the wind blows
How your majik sealed me within
Lighter than dandelion fluff
Joyful wings ever airborne
Yet never take flight
Every way the wind blows
A statue admired as so alive
The ethereal made corporeal
To this post ever bound
In eternal dervish motion
Every way the wind blows
I scream unheard in living death
<>==========<>==========<>
Today at dVerse Lillian invites us to pick a piece of art and tell a story from the view of the artist or the art itself. I recently saw this wonderful piece of kinetic art and have been completely enchanted by it.
I promise this started out on a much happier note, wondering about the unknown artist who could create such a delightful thing. But as I watched the video again, I thought what if this isn’t the magnificent work of a very talented artist, but of magic, dark magic that trapped a faerie playing with a dandelion.
Perhaps the statue looks so alive because she is….
Midnight dawning
Pulse spills
Their beats and grooves
That dance from night
Into the morning
But where one man assaults 103 rights so dear
To live freely, openly and party without fear
When without warning
Pulses spill
Their blood and cries
That screams from night
Into the mourning
<>==========<>==========<>
#LOVEisLOVEisLOVEisLOVE
At dVerse De (aka WhimsyGizmo) wants us to “spill”. All my muse could think of was yesterday morning’s mass murder in Orlando. Pulse is the name of the dance club where the killings happened. 103 being the confirmed number of deaths and wounded.
The hashtag above is my take on “Hamilton” creator and star Lin-Manuel Miranda’s heartfelt, original sonnet used as acceptance speech at last night’s 70th annual Tony Awards.
Blown soft against the gentle bloom
Bloom of the most, tender of white
White fluff to fly, upon the winds
Winds soft under, warm summer nights
Nights just like this, where clouds are naught
Naught like true love, thought ne’er to find
Find just for her, but now she feels
Feels of that chance, once deemed declined
Declined to ones, money denied
Denied like her, of lower class
Class of poor – she, he – class of clout
Clout that declares love of the lass
Lass who now dares, to dream of life
Life like only, the rich have known
Known not by her, she felt ‘till now
Now with the prayer, she’s gently blown
<>==========<>==========<>
Today’s form? Chain Verse
Chain verse has two known forms: one repeats the last word or syllable of a line with the first word or syllable of the next line, while the other repeats the last line of each stanza with the first line of the following stanza.
While not required, I created a complete chain where the last word of the poem is also the first word.
We once thought this was heaven, why are we going through such hell?
For now I find I’m opening myself like wound on skin
And on the cusp of everything at our beck and call
Feeling how deep the well that’s held within
I’m giving everything I’ve got , but is this your all?
And it has come to this, we’ve reach this bittersweet impasse
Too far gone to start over, not far enough to see a path clear
This could be all we’ve wanted, but now it’s so close to being trash
And from that I’m not sure we can recover, I fear
And it has come to this
One night we disturb the neighbors with the sounds of our passion
The next night it’s with the anguish of our fights
We nod like mimes faking life in our own fashion
Seems like we can never find a balance that’s just right
And it has come to this; can we keep our eyes on
The prize of happiness a magical love to bewitch?
We sit here hoping for a sign on this horizon
When the horizon looks as bleak as the execution’s switch
And it has come to this
Sometimes we look upon each other and we both know we can still feel it
But we’ve dealt each other mighty blows – is there enough left to heal it?
Knowing me all too well you exploit all that makes me weak
Knowing you even better, with a precision I play your game
Have we the courage to love the love of which the old folks speak?
The ring is in my hand, but I’m not sure if you still want my name
And it has come to this, you’re facing my white light
Am I here to let you in – or to get you out?
Am I warm, comforting? Or a sudden fright?
I could be your sinner or your savior; what is this about?
And it has come to this
<>==========<>==========<>
At dVerse Mish wants the random song in us to come out.
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics – The Music in You
Raivenne-lations 