WD Poetic Form Challenge: Contrapuntal Poem

[Correction: The deadline is August 31, 2017.]

Time for another WD Poetic Form Challenge–this time for the contrapuntal poem!

Find the rules for writing contrapuntal poems here. It may look like one poem, but it’s actually two (or three, I guess, if you consider the new poem separate of the two).

So start writing them and sharing here on the blog (this specific post) for a chance to be published in Writer’s Digest magazine–as part of the Poetic Asides column. (Note: You have to log in to the site to post comments/poems; creating an account is free.)

Here’s how the challenge works:

  • Challenge is free. No entry fee.
  • The winner (and sometimes a runner-up or two) will be featured in a future edition of Writer’s Digest magazine as part of the Poetic Asides column.
  • Deadline 11:59 p.m. (Atlanta, GA time) on August 31, 2017.
  • Poets can enter as many contrapuntal poems as they wish. The more “work” you make for me the better, but remember: I’m judging on quality, not quantity.
  • All poems should be previously unpublished. If you have a specific question about your specific situation, just send me an e-mail at robert.brewer@fwmedia.com. Or just write a new contrapuntal poem. They’re fun to write; I promise.
  • I will only consider poems shared in the comments below. It gets too confusing for me to check other posts, go to other blogs, etc.
  • Speaking of posting, if this is your first time, your comment may not appear immediately. However, it should appear within a day (or 3–if shared on the weekend). So just hang tight, and it should appear eventually. If not, send me an e-mail at the address above.
  • Please include your name as you would like it to appear in print. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to use your user/screen name, which might be something like HaikuPrincess007 or MrLineBreaker. WD has a healthy circulation, so make it easy for me to get your byline correct.
  • Finally–and most importantly–be sure to have fun!

*****

Pre-order the new Poet’s Market!

The new 2018 Poet’s Market, edited by Robert Lee Brewer, includes hundreds of poetry markets, including listings for poetry publications, publishers, contests, and more! With names, contact information, and submission tips, poets can find the right markets for their poetry and achieve more publication success than ever before.

In addition to the listings, there are articles on the craft, business, and promotion of poetry–so that poets can learn the ins and outs of writing poetry and seeking publication. Plus, it includes a one-year subscription to the poetry-related information on WritersMarket.com. All in all, it’s the best resource for poets looking to secure publication.

Click to continue.

*****

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community, which means he maintains this blog, edits a couple Market Books (Poet’s Market and Writer’s Market), writes a poetry column for Writer’s Digest magazine, leads online education, speaks around the country on publishing and poetry, and a lot of other fun writing-related stuff. He’s also the author of the poetry collection Solving the World’s Problems.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

*****

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27 thoughts on “WD Poetic Form Challenge: Contrapuntal Poem

  1. hpaquette

    Leaving

    He’s ready to leave;
    his heart and mind look forward as
    he has been preparing
    for this moment
    through so many years;
    the next phase in life is here – it
    beckons – he heeds the call.
    ______________

    The Nest

    Does he really have to go?
    I smile through my tears
    but I’ll never be prepared
    for any of these moments
    when the future we dreamed of
    becomes the now and
    I release my grasp, to let go.
    ________________

    Leaving the Nest

    He’s ready to leave;
    Does he really have to go?
    His heart and mind look forward as
    I smile through my tears
    he has been preparing
    but I’ll never be prepared
    for this moment
    for any of these moments
    through so many years;
    when the future we dreamed of,
    the next phase in life is here; it
    becomes the now and
    beckons; he heeds the call
    I release my grasp, to let go.

  2. Jane Shlensky

    A.
    Echo

    Her thoughts are weary travelers
    these days like vagrants seeking shelter,
    passing through,
    voices seeking truth.

    b. Signs

    Her knees and nose warn her
    of winter snows coming early,
    wooly worms and birds
    her messengers.

    Seasonal Signs

    Her thoughts are weary travelers.
    Her knees and nose warn her
    these days like vagrants seeking shelter
    of winter snows coming early
    passing through,
    wooly worms and birds,
    voices seeking truth
    her messengers.

    1. RJ Clarken

      Trying it again under the comment here.

      On the Town

      O Darling, you look so somptueuse.
      Your fashion sense is first page news,
      but then, you’ve always been très chic.
      Let’s do the town – all night…all week!

      My watered silks? From gay Paree.
      The fan’s handmade. It’s from Capri.
      The jewelry’s from Bendel’s boutique.
      Let’s do the town – all night…all week!

      Let’s ditch this party; find the hub.
      Hey, Cabbie. To the Cotton Club…
      then maybe Stork. We’re on a streak.
      Let’s do the town – all night…all week!

      We’ll pop a cork and toast ‘til dawn
      at ‘21’ and then move on
      for breakfast with our little clique.
      Let’s do the town – all night…all week!

      ###

      Shadow Dance

      …and underneath our agéd skin
      our hearts drum rhythms deep within;
      with arms spread wide as if to fly…
      the music in us spans the sky.

      Just passing by us on the street
      won’t show you how we hear the beat.
      The kick-ball-change? It’s time-step. Why?
      The music in us spans the sky.

      Eight decades spell a vibrant dance
      that you might see, if by some chance
      you look past shadows. Close one eye…
      the music in us spans the sky.

      …and underneath our agéd skin
      the music in us spans the sky.

      ###

      Shadow Dance on the Town

      O Darling, you look so somptueuse
      …and underneath our agéd skin
      your fashion sense is first page news,
      our hearts drum rhythms deep within
      but then, you’ve always been très chic.
      With arms spread wide as if to fly…
      Let’s do the town – all night…all week!
      The music in us spans the sky.

      My watered silks? From gay Paris.
      Just passing by us on the street…
      The fan’s handmade. It’s from Capri.
      Won’t show you how we hear the beat.
      The jewelry’s from Bendel’s boutique.
      The kick-ball-change? It’s time-step. Why?
      Let’s do the town – all night…all week!
      The music in us spans the sky.

      Let’s ditch this party; find the hub.
      Eight decades spell a vibrant dance.
      Hey, Cabbie. To the Cotton Club…
      that you might see, if by some chance?
      Then maybe Stork. We’re on a streak.
      You look past shadows. Close one eye…
      Let’s do the town – all night…all week!
      The music in us spans the sky.

      We’ll pop a cork and toast ‘til dawn
      …and underneath our agéd skin,
      at ‘21’ – we’ll then move on
      for breakfast with our little clique.
      Let’s do the town – all night…all week!
      The music in us spans the sky.

      ###

  3. Asha1000

    FORGETTING

    One day I know I will forget
    the time when mangoes shone like jewels;
    when music twinkled.
    In twilight I will not remember how
    dragonflies’ wings fluoresced.
    But now, my love, on this rainy day,
    stay with me till the end.

    REMEMBERING GLEN CAMPBELL

    His songs studded my teenaged years
    and glittered my days
    like rhinestones on cowboys.
    His voice rainbowed our lives
    as white light through water droplets.
    I wonder, would my memories last,
    or be eclipsed by the moon?

    RHINESTONE MEMORIES

    One day I know I will forget
    his songs studded my teenage years;
    the time when mangoes shone like jewels
    and glittered my days;
    when music twinkled
    like rhinestones on cowboys.
    In twilight, I will not remember how
    his voice rainbowed our lives;
    dragonflies’ wings fluoresced
    as white light through water droplets.
    But now, my love, on this rainy day,
    I wonder, would my memories last,
    stay with me till the end,
    or be eclipsed by the moon?

    – Lelawattee Manoo-Rahming

  4. Jane Shlensky

    a. Roughs

    Old Buddah’s hands are rough and thick,
    his nails jagged from digging deep
    dislodging stones, pulling at roots,
    his mortal scars a testament
    to less than noble paths.

    b. Unresolved

    Questions mushroom upward
    curved like shepherd’s hooks
    corralling the unknown, answers
    dropped below them like luggage,
    grown too heavy to carry.

    the Worn Path

    Questions mushroom upward.
    Old Buddah’s hands are rough and thick,
    curved like shepherd’s hooks,
    his nails jagged from digging deep,
    corralling the unknown answers,
    dislodging stones, pulling at roots
    dropped below them like luggage,
    his mortal scars a testament
    grown too heavy to carry
    to less than noble paths.

  5. Jane Shlensky

    My mama was a poet with two collections of poems published in her lifetime. I thought I’d try a mother/daughter contrapuntal for the heck of it.

    Rest
    Mary Garner Craver

    I dream of gardens fresh with rain
    And meadows sweet with clover
    Of peace and warmth and blissful sleep
    When the long weary day is over.

    Homecoming
    Jane Craver Shlensky

    After the darkness of the storm
    All greens and blues washed clean again
    A muted pond, woods lush and deep
    you and me safe, home again

    Mother and Child Reunion

    After the darkness of the storm,
    I dream of gardens fresh with rain,
    all greens and blues washed clean again,
    all meadows sweet with clover,
    a muted pond, woods lush and deep,
    peace and warmth and blissful sleep,
    you and me safe, home again
    when the long weary day is over.

  6. Jane Shlensky

    a.
    Adjustments

    Perhaps if I were something small
    Something you hardly see at all
    So nondescript, wordless and shy
    I’d be like any cloudless sky
    No intellect to make you fear
    No competition for you here
    Nothing to challenge or provoke
    No talent you must starve or choke
    No need to withhold love or cheer
    You’d find a friend who’s always near
    If I could be less than I am
    If I could fail every exam
    Perhaps you’d choose to build me tall
    If I were only something small

    b.
    Everyday Accounting

    A bird in flight, a distant sail
    A soaring kite with floating tail
    A katydid, a calling loon
    A child holding a red balloon
    A lake that sparkles in the sun
    A spider’s web, pristine, well-spun
    Wind in the trees before a storm
    A gentle fire that keeps me warm
    A furry loved one’s nudging nose
    A song, a dance, a hug that’s close
    A comfy chair, a well-lit room
    A bed of flowers in full bloom
    I name small blessings more and more
    Reminding me what hope is for.

    Everyday Adjustments

    Perhaps if I were something small
    A bird in flight, a distant sail
    Something you hardly see at all
    A soaring kite with floating tail
    So nondescript, quiet and shy
    A katydid, a calling loon
    I’d be like any cloudless sky
    A child holding a red balloon
    No intellect to make you fear
    A lake that sparkles in the sun
    No competition for you here
    A spider’s web, pristine, well-spun
    Nothing to challenge or provoke
    Wind in the trees before a storm
    No talent you must starve or choke
    A gentle fire that keeps me warm
    No need to withhold love or cheer
    A furry loved one’s nudging nose
    You’d find a friend who’s always near
    A song, a dance, a hug that’s close

    If I could be less than I am
    A bed of flowers in full bloom
    If I could fail every exam
    A comfy chair, a well-lit room
    Perhaps you’d choose to build me tall
    to name small blessings more and more
    If I were only something small
    Reminding me what hope is for

  7. Jane Shlensky

    I.
    Identity

    Sometimes I’m fisherman
    Sometimes fish
    Or snap of line
    Or rippling chill
    Or morning mist burned clear

    Apple Picking

    fat pink apple cheeks
    swell on the trees
    dapple of sunlight
    blush of frost
    crisp bite of October sky

    Naming Seasons

    sometimes I’m fisherman
    fat pink apple cheeks
    sometimes fish
    swell on the trees
    or snap of line
    dapple of sunlight
    or rippling chill
    blush of frost
    or morning mist burned clear
    crisp bite of October sky

  8. rmpWritings

    Lately, I keep looking for excuses to write and there is something about the challenge of writing in form that I find enticing (maybe ’cause it is like solving a complex math problem allowing me to tap into the right side of my brain where I tend to reside). Anyway, I dug up an old poem, I’m waiting, from 2011 and thought it might be fun to compose a new piece for it to intertwine with; took some liberties with the twining, but that was part of the fun.

    I’m Waiting ~~ Silent and Alone (by rmp)

    Where’s the music man?
    My heart searches for a rhythm and
    the drums won’t beat by themselves;
    it’s strings are tuned – waiting, but
    the guitar won’t strum a tune alone.

    I wait for the words;
    the lyrics won’t sing of their own accord
    words my entire body can hum with.

    Where’s my music man?
    I long to sing along
    with his raspy sultry voice;
    I long to feel alive
    with his rough caressing fingers.

    Too long have I been here silent and alone.
    Come,
    transport me.

    I’m ready
    to taste life
    with that silvery sweet tongue;
    ready to open myself up
    to another —
    unravel me
    with that callused tender touch.
    I’m ready to feel
    the truth behind those words.

    Take me away with you
    to a land of eternal bliss,
    where I no longer question
    where’s my music man.

    When will love finally
    come,
    find me, & wrap me in it’s arms?

    Take me
    where I might finally feel beautiful.
    I’m waiting.
    For far too long, I’ve just been waiting
    on my heart to find another with which to harmonize.

    I’m waiting (by rmp)

    where’s the music man
    the drums won’t beat by themselves
    the guitar won’t strum a tune alone
    the lyrics won’t sing of their own accord
    where’s my music man
    with his raspy sultry voice
    with his rough caressing fingers
    come
    transport me
    with that silvery sweet tongue
    unravel me
    with that callused tender touch
    take me away with you
    to a land of eternal bliss
    where’s my music man
    come
    take me
    I’m waiting

    Silent and Alone (by rmp)

    My heart searches for a rhythm and
    it’s strings are tuned — waiting, but
    I wait for the words;
    words my entire body can hum with.

    I long to sing along;
    I long to feel alive;
    too long have I been here silent and alone.

    I’m ready
    to taste life,
    ready to open myself up
    to another.

    I’m ready to feel
    the truth behind those words;
    where I no longer question,

    when will love finally
    find me & wrap me in it’s arms
    where I might finally feel beautiful.

    For far too long, I’ve just been waiting
    on my heart to find another with which to harmonize.

  9. Michelle Hed

    The Walkway

    She wandered
    the garden path,
    her feet sinking
    into the cool moss
    and the mist
    slowly lifting
    at the cry of the gull.

    The End

    Feeling loss and alone,
    the beauty around her unseen,
    her heart folding
    as her veil fluttered
    and the music swirled
    her fear and doubts away
    as she took his hand.

    The Walkway to the End

    She wandered,
    feeling loss and alone,
    the garden path –
    the beauty around her unseen,
    her feet sinking,
    her heart folding
    into the cool moss
    as her veil fluttered
    and the mist
    and the music swirled
    slowly lifting
    her fear and doubts away
    at the cry of the gull
    as she took his hand.

  10. Tracy Davidson

    My Uncle

    I see him waiting on the shore.
    No wave of welcome to greet me
    as I make my way toward him.
    Unlovable, in many ways, and yet,
    below the surface, a warm heart beats.

    Hidden Depths

    Grim faced, shoulders set, unmoving,
    cold as a statue, and just as weathered.
    I wonder what misfortune made him so.
    This child sees something in him,
    layers of love to be mined.

    My Uncle has Hidden Depths

    I see him waiting on the shore –
    grim-faced, shoulders set, unmoving.
    No wave of welcome to greet me,
    cold as a statue, and just as weathered.
    As I make my way toward him
    I wonder what misfortune made him so
    unlovable in many ways. And yet
    this child sees something in him.
    Below the surface, a warm heart beats,
    layers of love to be mined.

  11. Kateland

    Mother Mary, My Keeper – (Kateland Smith)
    Mary Mother, of God Above
    You who answered humbly, yes

    Angels trumpet Hails of Grace
    Mary Mother, Sorrowful

    You who walked the darkened path
    Let me live to walk your way

    In the hour of death please come
    Bid my being to your home

    O Jesus, My Keeper – (Kateland Smith)
    Jesus, child of Heaven’s Love,
    God’s great plan did not detest

    You who saved the human race
    Jesus, guardian of my soul

    Intercede on my behalf
    That I might show your works each day

    Recieve my Spirit for your Love
    To live in heaven forever more.

    Keepers of my Soul – (Kateland Smith)
    Mary Mother, of God Above
    Jesus, Child of heaven’s Love

    You who answered humbly, yes
    God’s great plan did not detest

    Angel’s trumpet Hails of Grace
    You who saved the human race

    Mary Mother, Sorrowful
    Jesus, Guardian of my soul

    You who walked the darkened path
    Intercede on my behalf

    Let me live to walk your way
    That I might show your works each day

    In the hour of death please come
    Recieve my spirit for your love

    Bid my being to your home
    To live in heaven forever more.

    Kateland Smith

  12. Rob Keim

    Contrapuntal Poem

    “From the Deep”

    A fog blanket mutes the silhouette of
    Craggy limestone monsters
    Rising, falling, rising, falling,
    Sending great bursts of foaming spray
    From the deep –
    The Megalodon’s message
    Before conceding to fossilhood—
    A final thrashing and churning
    In a battle to survive

    “She Sleeps”

    Her face – a seascape of
    Shadowy stirrings –
    Inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales,
    Hitches, snores, mumbles
    In Sanscrit (or some dead language)
    From her parted lips, then—
    A last breath,
    Leaving us creatures alone
    Fading like stars at dawn

    “Deep Sleep”

    A fog blanket mutes the silhouette of
    Her face – a seascape of
    Craggy limestone monsters
    Shadowy stirrings –
    Rising, falling, rising, falling,
    Inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales,
    Sending great bursts of foaming spray
    Hitches, snores, mumbles
    From the deep –
    In Sanscrit (or some dead language)
    The Megalodon’s message
    From her parted lips, then—
    Before conceding to fossilhood—
    A last breath,
    A final thrashing and churning
    Leaving us creatures alone
    In a battle to survive
    Fading like stars at dawn

  13. grcran

    FLORA

    Sun shines. We eat.
    Grape vines. Hard wheat.
    Reach up. Grab rays.
    Grow roots. Stay. Stay.
    Frost comes. Die back.
    Save for seed pack.
    Springtime. New sheaf.
    Rebirth. Be. Leaf.

    FAUNA

    Meatless. Unfed.
    Eat you. Instead.
    Drink too. Break bread.
    Gather. Pick fruit.
    Go nuts. Give a hoot.
    Holler. Damn cold.
    Snowball. Foolsgold.
    Nurture the land.
    Eat Sun, secondhand.

    FLORA and FAUNA

    Meatless. Unfed.
    Sun shines. We eat.
    Eat you. Instead.
    Grape vines. Hard wheat.
    Drink too. Break bread.
    Reach up. Grab rays.
    Gather. Pick fruit.
    Grow roots. Stay. Stay.
    Go nuts. Give a hoot.
    Frost comes. Die back.
    Holler. Damn cold.
    Save for seed pack.
    Snowball. Foolsgold.
    Springtime. New sheaf.
    Nurture the land.
    Rebirth. Be. Leaf.
    Eat Sun, secondhand.

    gpr crane

  14. rmpWritings

    This was most definitely an interesting, albeit an exasperating, challenge.

    Flutters ~~ Alight (by rmp)

    There is a flicker of light
    burning inside me
    beating to the sound of your heart
    unstable
    it teeters between extinguishing and igniting
    desire swells
    & I’m terrified — so completely terrified
    uncertain
    of how the darkness might consume
    every inch of me
    & yet I, too, fear the flames
    scorching
    as they wrap themselves around us
    with just the idea
    I so long to be stuck in this moment of limbo
    of what your touch
    might bring to life
    where what-ifs allow hope to flutter
    along with the sound of my own beating heart.

    Flutters (by rmp)

    There is a flicker of light
    beating to the sound of your heart;
    it teeters between extinguishing and igniting,
    & I’m terrified — so completely terrified
    of how the darkness might consume
    & yet I, too, fear the flames
    as they wrap themselves around us.
    I so long to be stuck in this moment of limbo,
    where what-ifs allow hope to flutter
    along with the sound of my own beating heart.

    Alight (by rmp)

    burning inside me
    unstable
    desire swells
    uncertain

    every inch of me
    scorching
    with just the idea

    of what your touch
    might bring to life

  15. JRSimmang

    TRAVELER’S LAMENT

    I imagine myself a hammer,………………………… Quenched in too cold water,
    top-heavy and splintered handle,…………………. I emerge a threadborne traveler,
    believing the superstitions and……………………. hunched and blind. My ebony staff
    carried in the left hand. …………………………….. serves me no more. Now, only, could

    I imagine the days of sweat…………………………. I bend to the years behind me.
    I imagine the nights of sleep……………………….. And, when my dreams revisit me,

    I imagine the swinging head………………………… I remember the calloused foot.

    -JR Simmang

  16. Mama Zen

    Seminole County

    In the Age of Lynching
    was the Green Corn Rebellion
    draft dodgin’ trash
    hid up on Spear’s Mountain
    with dynamite and guns
    till a thousand man posse
    come ridin’ to Seminole County

    August of ’17

    A Working Class Union
    of whites, blacks, and Indians
    saw a rich man’s war
    and swore to resist
    all the way to DC
    hungry for justice
    in August of ’17

    The Green Corn Rebellion

    In the Age of Lynching
    a Working Class Union
    was the Green Corn Rebellion
    of whites, blacks, and Indians
    draft dodgin’ trash
    saw a rich man’s war
    hid up on Spear’s Mountain
    and swore to resist
    with dynamite and guns
    all the way to DC
    till a thousand man posse
    hungry for justice
    come to Seminole County
    in August of ’17.

    Kelli Simpson

  17. Anthony94

    Haystack Rock, Cannon Beach, OR

    Poseidon tossed sheets of basalt
    seined from the Pacific, nothing
    peaceful about his trident pitching
    pile upon pile, rock upon rock, until
    the Haystack formed beneath the
    puffins resting, rose higher and
    higher, crests blowing in the spray.

    Sea Twin

    Only a god could play with lava
    from the mountains, reshape it
    into Tillamook Head, the Arch Cape,
    Jealous of Mount Shasta’s sacred beauty,
    Did he decide to build her sea twin until
    arms tired, tines bent, leaving an earth
    quake or two in his dripping wake?

    Haystack Rock, Cannon Beach, OR (Sea Twin)

    Poseidon tossed sheets of basalt,
    only a god could play with lava
    seined from the Pacific, nothing
    from the mountains, reshape it.
    Peaceful about his trident pitching
    into Tillamook Head, the Arch Cape,
    pile upon pile, rock upon rock, until
    jealous of Mount Shasta’s sacred beauty,
    the Haystack formed beneath.
    Did he decide to build her sea twin until
    puffins resting, rose higher and
    arms tired, tines bent, leaving an earth
    higher, crests blowing in the spray,
    quake or two in his dripping wake.

  18. Konchok Dolma

    The Light

    I always reach for you
    hoping you will fill me
    and in a moment of joy
    the silence thrills me
    you expand in my heart
    and with a shrill in me
    I finally find what I seek
    and all goes still within me
    _

    The Dark

    expanding when I’m not looking
    taking over my head
    the pain bursting through
    with too much to be said
    I try to run from you
    as you pull me like a thread
    a stab of pain peeks through
    when my heart simply bled
    _

    Resolved

    expanding when I’m not looking
    I always reach for you
    taking over my head
    hoping you will fill me

    the pain bursting through
    and in a moment of joy
    with too much to be said
    the silence thrills me

    I try to run from you
    you expand in my heart
    as you pull me like a thread
    and with a shrill in me

    a stab of pain peeks through
    I finally find what I seek
    when my heart simply bled
    and all goes still within me

  19. taylor graham

    FINDING THE CREEK

    Wire bins receive the clatter of cans
    in a hurry to re-make metal. It serves.
    I’m surreptitious at the recycling
    edge, nothing but a shadow slipping
    past, will take no steps but rock-slide
    carrying down trash, never stopping.

    AS IT FLOWS

    Barb-wire, someone’s crazy idea
    in possessing the right-of-way
    from two-lane potholed chipseal
    to the creek that all through summer –
    just a trickle and yet it runs.
    Here’s the creek that’s always been.

    FINDING THE CREEK AS IT FLOWS

    Wire bins receive the clatter of cans,
    barb-wire. Someone’s crazy idea
    in a hurry to re-make metal. It serves
    in possessing the right-of-way.
    I’m surreptitious at the recycling
    from two-lane potholed chipseal
    edge, nothing but a shadow slipping
    to the creek, that all through summer
    past will take no steps but rock-slide –
    just a trickle. And yet it runs,
    carrying down trash, never stopping.
    Here’s the creek that’s always been.

  20. Walter J Wojtanik

    STIRRING MUSIC

    Her music stirs my senses,
    a lightning bolt to shake me
    waking me from my malaise and breaking me
    away from this crazy despair.
    I find her there, and I have this need to listen,
    though I am not required to pay her heed.
    she has written lyric and book and I pine to read.

    REFRESH

    A new start to an old beginning,
    the winning formula has been improved.
    When moved to resurrect a suspect muse,
    I choose to use whatever is available,
    turning the sail into her wind to begin again!
    She is all that I have come to believe!
    Everything she whispers is refreshing; a true blessing.

    REFRESHING

    Her music stirs my senses,
    a new start to an old beginning,
    a lightning bolt to shake me,
    the winning formula has been improved,
    waking me from my malaise and breaking me.
    When moved to resurrect a suspect muse
    and away from this crazy despair,
    I choose to use whatever is available,
    I find her there, and I have this need to listen,
    turning the sail into her wind to begin again,
    though I am not required to pay her heed.
    She is all that I have come to believe,
    she has written lyric and book and I pine to read
    Everything she whispers is refreshing; a true blessing!

  21. candy

    Walking

    my morning walk takes me
    under bare branches of oak
    where houses once stood
    children’s voices rang out in play
    echoes in the silence
    human presence has been erased


    Back to Nature

    along a deserted road
    the sun makes stark patterns
    beside the crumbling sidewalk
    now the only sound is of chipmunks scurrying
    nature has reclaimed this place


    Walking Back to Nature

    my morning walk takes me
    along a deserted road
    under bare branches of oak
    the sun makes stark patterns
    where houses once stood
    beside the crumbling sidewalk
    children’s voices rang out in play
    now the only sound is of chipmunks scurrying
    echoes in the silence
    human presence has been erased
    nature has reclaimed this place

    by Candace Kubinec

  22. AsWritten

    CONTRAPUNTAL LIMERICKS by Ken Bentz

    There once was a boy from the sky
    His heart belonged to a Spirit
    whose dreams were tattooed on his eye.
    Its voice was too low to hear it.

    It would often beseech him,
    and when he would pray,
    he couldn’t quite reach him.
    He’d forget what to say.

    No matter how hard he would try,
    he’d only remember to fear it.

    Limerick 1
    There once was was a boy from the sky
    Whose dreams were tattooed on his eye
    Though they’d often beseech him
    He couldn’t quite reach ’em.
    No matter how hard he would try

    Limerick 2
    His heart belonged to a Spirit
    Its voice was too low to hear it.
    And when he would pray
    He’d forget what to say
    He’d only remember to fear it.

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