Sevenling: (That entry)

That entry with stately Neo classic columns of two centuries ago
This courtyard with intricate Moorish tile work showing past Spanish influence
The balcony with geometric bas relief of American mid-century modernism

All coexist on a block hinting at the beauty of what it once was
On a crumbling calle of poverty and dilapidation of what it is
Within sight a renovating neighborhood of what will be again

Means nothing to those in a one room shack out in the back country

<>==========<>==========<>

Today’s form: Sevenling.

A Sevenling is a  7-line poem (two tercets and a one-liner as the final stanza) with these parameters:–

– Three lines that contain an element of three. This could be three connected or contrasting statements, a list of three names or details, etc. The three things can take up all three lines, or be contained anywhere in the stanza.

– Three more lines that contain an element of three (can relate to stanza one directly, as a juxtaposition, or have no connection whatsoever).

– Final line: a punchline, strange twist, narrative summary, or punctuation mark, of sorts.

No particular rhyme, rhythm or meter are required. Titles are also not required. If you do decide to title it, the title should be “Sevenling:” followed by the first few words in parentheses. The tone should be mysterious, offbeat, or disturbing, and the poem should have an atmosphere that invites guesswork from the reader.

Everything

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.

The Beholder

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.

dVerse  Poets Pub | Part Five: Revisiting Anthony Desmond

Sevenling: (For two hours daily)

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

claudia-music-1

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

¡Cuba Libre!

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

 

Meter Down

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

<>==========<>==========<>

popped
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-buton

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.

dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meter-Made Mood–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Every Way The Wind Blows

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….

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics : Chisel Me A Conversation

Pulse

 

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.

dverse
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille 11

real-toads-buton
Real Toads | The Tuesday Platform

Dandelion Wishes

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.

dVerse ~Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight #174