I’m trying something a little different this time around. This is still a poetry prompt (on Wednesday), but I’m going to combine it with one of our Writer’s Digest Poetic Forms Challenges (more details on that below). First, the prompt.
For this week’s prompt, write a chant poem. I just covered this poetic form yesterday on the blog (click here to read).
Though I wrote it for yesterday’s prompt, here’s my attempt:
“Santa Carla”
He can see all the birds lift from the grass;
there’s another missing child on the radio.
The trees appear to be covered in glass;
there’s another missing child on the radio.
He knows the many shades of wrong and right;
there’s another missing child on the radio.
If there’s a city waiting in the night,
there’s another missing child on the radio.
*****
Here are the guidelines for the WD Poetic Forms Challenge:
- I will consider any poem included in the comments on THIS post
- Deadline: 8 a.m. (Atlanta, Georgia, time) on October 26, 2012 (in other words, the next 48 hours)
- Please include your name as you would like it to be published (if selected)
- Contest is free
- If you would not like your poem considered for the contest, please indicate such in your comment
- Winning poem will be highlighted on the blog and be featured in a future Poetic Asides column in Writer’s Digest magazine
- All poems submitted must be previously unpublished (that is, published in a book or publication of some sort)
- Announcement of the winner and top 10 will appear on the Poetic Asides blog (usually within a week of the deadline)
Poets can continue submitting poems after the 8 a.m. deadline as they normally would on a Wednesday Poetry Prompt, but I will only consider poems for the challenge up to that point.
Let me know if you have any questions.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Are you trying to build your author platform?
If you are, you’re not alone, but it’s difficult to get started for some and to make real progress for many others. The good news is that Writer’s Digest has just opened a new program to help writers build author platforms that get results through Author Platform Consultations.
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just under the radar
by juanita lewison-snyder
no family to call her own
the woman who walks home alone
alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar
he follows along while he tweets
from the other side of the street
alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar
notes the neighbors, notes the time
notes the tingles up the spine
alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar
in the coming weeks he’ll prove
stake his mark, make his move
alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar
then off across state lines
put some distance ‘tween the crimes
alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar
© 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
MAKING A MESS OF THINGS
He chases superficial gain
A new graffiti dawns
Spray-painted tenets leach his soul
A new graffiti dawns
Fidelity repulses him
A new graffiti dawns
Her mousy brown bleeds into brash
A new graffiti dawns
Well, crap! Here’s the party. I posted mine in the blog post for the Chant Poem Form on the 23rd.
Life is Too Short
I can’t wait to play on Saturday
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait for vacation
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait for school to start, I’m so bored
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait to turn sixteen, so I can drive
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait to graduate and get a good job
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait to get married
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait to have kids
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait until they walk and talk
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait until they start school
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait to see the adults they’ll be
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait until they come home to visit me
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait for grandkids
Life is too short, enjoy today
I can’t wait to retire
Life is too short, enjoy today
Wait, wait, I can wait to grow old
Life is too short, enjoy today
Wait, wait, I can wait to die
Life is too short…
By Anita Porr
This was written on the fly, when I couldn’t post my original. Just fixed the errors.
To my fellow writers
Of posted poetry
Nice job, good work
That really touched me
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
Your poems are moving
I liked them a whole lot
Some make me chuckle
Some inspire thought
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
I’m just trying to comment
Just typing a reply
I get this message
I can’t figure out why
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
You must be kidding
How can this be?
I just type a response
And post comment, see?
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
It’s really too bad
I’ve comments to share
And my poem might
Have won by a hair.
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
By Anita Porr
Brilliant! How’s that old adage go…..”when Life hands you lemons….make Lemonade!”
To my fellow writers
Of posted poetry
Nice job, good work
That really touched me
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
Your poems are moving
I liked them a whole lot
Some make me chuckle
Some inspire thought
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
I’m just trying to comment
Just typing a reply
I get this message
I can’t figure out why
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
You must be kidding
How can this be?
I just type a response
And post comment, see?
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
It’s really to bad
I’ve comments to share
And my poem might
Have won by a hair.
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
By Anita Porr
His Face Moves Like Clockwork
By Lahevet
Met a young man with stunning long lips
When he smiles
His face moves like clockwork
His lips extend beyond his teeth, forming a triangle
Into his cheeks, and like a domino effect
His face moves like clockwork
Lips spread to cheeks, creating a triangle smile
Cheeks push up, forming wrinkles under his eyes
His face moves like clockwork
I am so fascinated by this clockface
I immediately dial a friend, who scoffs
“…His face moves like clockwork?”
Another writerly fascination I must keep to myself
Perhaps one day she’ll see the beauty that is a long-lipped young man who when he smiles
His face moves like clockwork
Very nice. I’d certainly like to see that face
Thank you!
As for the young man – still fascinated. Perfect writing fodder.
I have an addiction to characteristics I can’t seem to shake. But I’ll take that as a good sign for my literary future
The Game Changer
I used to fear my brain was shrinking
because as I read my emails I was thinking
What the hell are they talking about? It wasn’t clear.
Whether correspondence from family or friend
the language they used I couldn’t comprehend
because new words are created every year.
The portmanteaus, they caused no stress.
Ones like ginormous are easy to guess
even the very first time they premiere
and technological creations come easily–
iPhone, e-reader, the DVR and RPG
because new words are created every year
and computer-related terms are all the rage
in advertisements on an international stage
so that nomenclature lies within my lexical sphere.
But living overseas sometimes leaves me out of the loop
and often I must consult Webster’s for the scoop
because new words are created every year
and my students ask the meaning of boomerang child
and helicopter parent, man cave, cougar, bullycide,
a smackdown, nanobreak, bromance, craft beer,
and before the blockbuster film hit German screens
we had absolutely no clue what bucket list means
because new words are created every year
and no one knows all the words floating around.
Vocabulary is an ever-growing playground
to pioneer; new features pop up as others disappear.
Vocabulary is the game changer of language, always
reflecting new trends, advances, and creative ways;
therefore, new words are created every year.
Linda Hofke
Homecoming
The day you leave hospital, people stare;
I see beyond the layers of scars.
You try hard to pretend you don’t care;
I see beyond the layers of scars.
The neighbours are gathered on the street;
I see beyond the layers of scars.
In shock they find your eyes hard to meet;
I see beyond the layers of scars.
I wheel you in, I know you want to hide;
I see beyond the layers of scars.
The man I love is buried deep inside;
I see beyond the layers of scars.
It makes me sad but I like this.
MILES AWAY…
When I last felt your hand in mine
Was it yester-year or yesterday?
Now your hand and your voice have moved
so many, many miles away.
While saturating thoughts and heart,
your whispered endearments didn’t stay,
now sun’s brightness, bird songs are all
so many, many miles away.
Across deserts, mountains, deep seas
I try to find a newer way.
Across miss-understandings too,
so many, many miles away.
Across all the regrets and tears,
to hear again a love song play.
Across what might have been, but is
so many, many miles away.
Oooo – it is Late Night –
I forgot to add my name to the above post “MANY MILES…”
Should have added By Marjory M Thompson
i spent a little time reworking my poem “Only” that’s posted somewhere above, so here it is.
“ONLY”
Morning hit harder than it should
so it took hours to get myself out of bed.
It seems like no matter how well
I think I’ve slept, I’m still tired—
but it’s only fibromyalgia
.
I took a shower, put on makeup
and then needed a short rest,
had a salad for lunch, though “fatigue”
doesn’t always equal “good choices”—
but it’s only fibromyalgia.
For three days last week
I thought my skeleton was on fire,
and today’s a much better day,
I only ache like the flu—
but it’s only fibromyalgia.
I was scared when I drove
‘round that familiar corner
and felt lost, hateful
when my brain’s all smogged up—
but it’s only fibromyalgia.
Good days I can go to the gym and
still run errands, but not usually,
sometimes people think me a lazy
maker of excuses ( even I call me useless—)
but it’s only fibromyalgia—
and that’s not like a REAL thing, is it?
I mean, you can’t SEE it….
Paying Paul
Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.
Park your car and feed the meter.
Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.
Up the totter, down the teeter.
Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.
No regrets from the cheater.
Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.
He believes there’s nothing sweeter.
Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.
by Michael Grove
FOR PATTI.
missed all my appointments
right after you died
just couldn’t care
just couldn’t try
I still can’t believe you’re not here
waited all day for my birthday
phone call
for the sound of your laugh
but your voice is gone
I still can’t believe you’re not here
and I’m making dinner
the same as before
and I go to the bank
and I go to the store
and I still can’t believe you’re not here
the tether is broken
from me to the ground
and I’m floating away
like a winter’s day cloud
and my heart’s just a sigh
in the midst of a crowd
and I still can’t believe you’re not here
with me.
so beautifully sad
The Heroes
We all know a hero
Or two, three, or four
They give all and ask nothing in return
They come in all sizes
Sexes and colors
They give all and ask nothing in return
Often
So often
They hide in the shadows
They give all and ask nothing in return
And we all
At one point
Forget to say thanks
They give all and ask nothing in return
When will we dare to become one of them
They give all and ask nothing in return
When we bury ourselves and open our hearts
They give all and ask nothing in return
United By Verse
By: Meena Rose
We are, we are the Poeteers;
We are, we are mankind’s seers.
We are, we are the Poeteers;
We must, we must expose our fears.
We are, we are the Poeteers;
We can, we can bring you to tears.
We are, we are the Poeteers;
We are, we are blazing new frontiers.
We are, we are the Poeteers;
We must, we must amaze your ears.
We are, we are the Poeteers;
We can, we can chant on years.
“We are the Poeteers; we must, we must amaze your ears”. <— I'm in love with these lines.
Heirloom
baby gift from a wealthy aunt
the pearls lay gently on her neck
dress up heels and trailing hems
the pearls lay gently on her neck
schooling done, life unfolds
the pearls lay gently on her neck
one thing borrowed, another blue
the pearls lay gently on her neck
family days, occasions few
the pearls lay gently on her neck
time slips by, children gone
the pearls lay gently on her neck
tears many, their last respects
the pearls lay gently on her neck
June Rose Dowis
(please consider for the contest)
Gym Rats
by Lahevet
Inside, no food and no cellphones permitted
Outside, Outside would banish us
Inside, the sweatier the sexier
Outside, Outside would banish us
Inside, we unleash the beast from within
Outside, Outside would banish us
Inside, sadism is welcomed and masochism cherished
Outside, Outside would banish us
Inside, we can grunt and howl and spit and sputter
Outside, Outside would banish us
Inside, we compliment good form without getting slapped
Outside, Outside would banish us
But Inside isn’t Outside, so no reason to worry that
Outside, Outside would banish us
And if Outside entered, Outside would be Inside and, well, if Inside were
Outside, Outside would banish us
Hmm, Jay, mine could almost be a darker companion piece to yours:
Frankenstein
My monster will rise from two teenage boys
who killed a young girl for her bike.
My monster will rise from a commentator
who called the President a “retard”
and from those who hang him in effigy.
My monster will rise from the men who shot
a girl in Pakistan who wanted an education.
My monster will rise from those who bullied
a girl to suicide.
My monster will rise from those who say
the Holocaust never happened.
My monster will rise from the two men
who crucified a young gay man against a fence,
the three white supremacists who dragged
a black man to pieces behind their pickup.
My monster will rise from the slime of hatred
and intolerance, from the stench of inhumanity.
Who will kill my monster?
Alive is alive is alive
does it have a heart beat, does it breathe the air
does it cry tears of joy, of pain, of sadness
does it have a face, with eyes, with ears, with mouth
alive is alive is alive
does it give thanks, does it love, does it hate
does it struggle, feel the fear of death closing in
does it create, does it destroy, does it sit still while things change
alive is alive is alive
does it eat, shit, piss, puke
does it differentiate between races
does it own a gun, want to fuck everything that moves
alive is alive is alive
does it speak or hold its tongue
does its body have a language unheard
does it compete for rights, for food, for light
alive is alive is alive
does it have a name, a purpose, does it sing
does it know itself, the world, the connection therein
does it have a consciousness, a soul, an introspection
alive is?
by Jay Sizemore
Great work, Jay. Good luck!
Live for Love
Get down on your knees
and
then say pretty please.
Pray for peace, hope for joy, live for love.
Happiness so great
that
you don’t have to wait.
Pray for peace, hope for joy, live for love.
Open up your heart
since
It’s the way to start.
Pray for peace, hope for joy, live for love.
By Michael Grove
In Time
The day is past
and two walk,
hand in hand.
They’ll be late for death
for just one more night.
If Time could stop tonight.
I would save the girl
who walks alone,
a shadow far behind.
She’ll be late for death
for just one more night.
If Time could stop tonight.
There’s a brawl,
a man who fights,
for a woman’s heart.
He’ll be late for death
for just one more night.
If Time could stop tonight.
The Jumper waits
the winds to change,
clings to life alone.
I’ll be late for death
for just one more night.
If Time could stop tonight.
Thank you for reading
GRAB THE FUTURE
Taste the winds of change
so you can take what’s yours
Add the flavor of your age
so you can take what’s yours
Finger the fabric of your history
so you can take what’s yours
Reclaim the pull of your mystery
so you can take what’s yours
Hands of chance fondle your path
so you can take what’s yours
Unclench your fists, extend your palms
so you can take what’s yours
ANOTHER HEART
By William Canterbury Jr.
Glory-day’s and heavens ray’s
Sunny smiles of a little child
There’s another heart broken.
First true love, heart’s ablaze
Joyful walks along the beach
There’s another heart broken.
Growing old, taking longer to mend
Memory’s of years gone bye
There’s another heart broken.
Death of a spouse, a longtime friend
laid to rest, never seen again
There’s another heart broken.
WHOSE MOVE
Between shore and sea, Death is playing chess.
You’d rather keep on walking
between shore and sea. Death is playing chess,
a quiet game that’s loud with black pawns.
Between shore and sea, Death is playing chess.
You’ve given up games for silence
between shore and sea. Death is playing chess
by himself, inviting you to join him.
Between shore and sea, Death is playing chess.
Your footprints fade in tidal sand
between shore and sea. Death is playing chess.
SUPER
G. Smith (BMI)
——————————
Faster than the speed of sound;
Look! Up in the sky!
Leaps tall buildings in a single bound.
Look! Up in the sky!
Strong enough to pick up cars;
Look! Up in the sky!
From far beyond the distant stars.
Look! Up in the sky!
X-ray vision sees through walls.
Look! Up in the sky!
Don’t need a spotlight when you call.
Look! Up in the sky!
Bending girders with his hands;
Look! Up in the sky!
His alter-ego’s every man.
Look! Up in the sky!
It’s a bird! It’s a plane!
More powerful than a runaway train!
He fights for truth with all his might,
Just watch out for that Kryptonite!
Some call him the Man of Steel.
Look! Up in the sky!
Some don’t even think he’s real.
Look! Up in the sky!
Bullets bounce off of his chest.
Look! Up in the sky!
Lois Lane thinks he’s the best.
Look! Up in the sky!
Look!
Up in the sky!
Look!
Life
She lay there staring at the clock
A storm is brewing
Her eyes rolled back in her head
A storm is brewing
The family gathered at her bedside
A storm is brewing
It hurts her to laugh
A storm is brewing
The nurse checks vitals and all is good
A storm is brewing
She looks at the clock and begs don’t leave me
A storm is brewing
The morning comes and her life is gone
A storm is brewing
Kimberly Fayard
I AIN’T NO WAYS TIRED
G. Smith (BMI)
———————————
Lord, it’s such a heavy load;
But I ain’t no ways tired;
And Lord, it’s a long and winding road,
But I ain’t no ways tired.
The sun is high and burning hot;
I ain’t no ways tired.
I’m thankful for the things I’ve got.
I ain’t no ways tired.
I’ve been toiling many years;
I ain’t no ways tired.
You’re always there to dry my tears;
I ain’t no ways tired.
I was born here in this valley,
I ain’t no ways tired.
And Your grace is more than enough for me,
I ain’t no ways tired.
I ain’t no ways tired, Lord,
I ain’t no ways tired.
This world of Yours keeps me inspired,
And I ain’t no ways tired.
Sometimes I feel like I’m alone,
I ain’t no ways tired;
Yet I still know I am Your Own;
I ain’t no ways tired.
Elijah fasted forty days,
I ain’t no ways tired,
In everything I’ll give You praise,
I ain’t no ways tired.
I ain’t no ways tired, Lord,
I ain’t no ways tired.
This world of Yours keeps me inspired,
I ain’t no ways tired, no;
I ain’t no ways tired.
NON-COOKER’S CHANT
By Marjory M Thompson
There’s a big party in the works
And there’s a need for many cooks
So go dig out your recipe books.
—-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’
There’s room for every dish you please,
Scalloped potatoes to creamed peas,
Meat and rice rolled in cabbage leaves
—-Don’t ask me ‘cause I’m not cookin’
Salads, melons laid out a mile
Buns, cheese, condoments in a pile
Potato dish blue ribben style
—-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’
Cans of pop be coolin’ in ice,
Beer of choice, don’t think twice
Select the drink you think is nice.
—-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’
Chops will be heatin’ on the grill
Hamburgers and hot dogs to fill
Get them quick before they chill
—-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’
Forget diet, desserts to die for
Everyone will come back for more
You’ll find several you will adore
—-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’
Once everyone has had they fill,
More food the cooks will offer still
(Anyone have a heartburn pill?)
—-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’
No sir-re,
—-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’
CHANT of PRAISE
…By Marjory M Thompson
You are light,
You are sound,
You are music and strength.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
The light of the sun,
the moon and the stars,
the light of sunrise and sunset.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
The sound of thunder,
the sound of children at play,
of a church bell calling.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
The sound of tears,
of laughter and joy,
the sound of the poor, the needy,
Oh Lord, You are all things.
The music of the wind and birds,
a child’s cry and song,
music of the voice and heart.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
The movement of the trees.
of a lone sea gull’s flight
the quiet notes of prayer.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
The strength of wind,
of the pounding waves.
the strength of fear and fire.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
You are the giver of purpose,
of strength, comfort, forgiveness,
the source of all love.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
The strength of the poor, of those in pain,
the strength of a child and the cross,
the strength of love.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
You are sound and light,
You are music and strength,
sight and color, You are learning.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
You are a whisper and a shout,
work , play and a promise.
You are Love.
Oh Lord, You are all things.
Not yet
Half blind, half deaf; no nose, no teeth;
I’m not human yet.
I tried to hold on and failed;
I’m not human yet
Reached out for help:
I’m not human yet
There are holes in my fence;
I’m not human yet
Door locks have changed;
I’m not human yet
I sleep with a fist of metal and grit:
I’m not human yet
At the sound of noise, I prowl.
I’m not human yet.
Ariel
Oct 25, 2012
Yesterday Come Back
Once upon a crowded street
I felt the pavement beneath my feet
Verti… Go!
Walked for miles without a cane
Through falling snow or pounding rain
Verti… Go!
Jumped and ran and danced and played
Now I sit at home most days
Verti…Go!
Took for granted what I was given
I just hope to be forgiven
Verti… Go!
(c) Jacqueline Hallenbeck
THE SOFT WINDS BLOW
…..By Marjory Thompson
The sun comes up above
the far high mountain range
to bathe all life with light,
while blotting out night’s stain.
We feel the soft winds blow.
For those with helping hands
who so seek to expand
and meet as best they can
all manner, type of man.
We feel the soft winds blow.
When willing, seeking minds
let hearts open and grow,
they learn of ways and means
to let their own love show.
We feel the soft winds blow.
Dark storms will rage, as men
plan only how to take.
While through love we grow,
thus leaning peace to make.
We feel the soft winds blow.
Nations, people, the rich,
the poor can end the storm
that rages ‘round us so,
let peace become the norm.
We feel the soft winds blow.
Our time will someday come
this life we know will end,
before that day, may peace
and harmony find blend.
We feel the soft winds blow.
May we feel the soft winds blow.
“ONLY”
Morning hit today harder than it should
so it took hours to get myself out of bed
and it seems that no matter how well
I think I’ve slept I’m still tired—
but it’s only fibromyalgia.
I took a shower, put on some makeup
and then I needed a short rest,
I had a salad for lunch, though “fatigue”
does not always equal “good choices”—
but it’s only fibromyalgia.
For three long days last week
I felt like my skeleton was on fire,
but today’s a better day, I only ache
like I have that nasty flu—
but it’s only fibromyalgia.
It scared me when I drove
‘round that familiar corner,
momentarily lost, hating when
my brain feels all smogged up—
but it’s only fibromyalgia.
On good days I can go to the gym and
still run an errand or two, but not usually,
and sometimes people think me lazy and
unmotivated, and I call me useless—
but it’s only fibromyalgia—
and that’s not like a REAL thing, is it?
I mean, you can’t see it….
for consideration Megan McDonald
In the silence of Departure
aromatic moods
enhancing the night
in the silence of departure
no well-being comes from
buying making truths
in the silence of departure
The scent of taste
fans kindles the emotional journey
in the silence of departure
devastating truths lie in
outlines, evolved into another fantasy
in the silence of departure
another installment an unfilled wish
another unrequited love
in the silence of departure
I remain observer visiting nowhere
Paper-Writing Woe
Another sixteen hundred words to go . . .
My brain gets numb; my fingers start to slow.
An hour from now, what will I have to show?
Another twelve hundred words to go . . .
I head to the kitchen, empty bowl in tow.
Why do papers make my appetite grow?
Another seven hundred words to go . . .
I just lost that quote that I know would really flow.
Where’s my pen? I need something to throw!
Another four hundred and fifty words to go . . .
The fluff piles up as resources get low.
Go back to the library? I’m too lazy, bro.
Another two hundred and three words to go . . .
Do I have to add more? My paper sounds so pro!
If I increase the font size, will my prof. really know?
Another thirty-seven words to go . . .
I’ll just add three dozen adjectives or so,
And end this paper-writing tale of woe.
R. J. Neilson
P. S. I’m not sure if this actually counts as a chant poem, since the chant line changes a bit each time it’s repeated, but I figured I may as well enter it anyway. And now I should actually go write those 1600 words…
i don’t know if it counts or not, but i love it! LOL!!
POCKET GARDEN
She lost the garden in her pocket -
One which she loved to explore.
She lost the garden in her pocket.
It was not forgotten on some floor.
She lost the garden in her pocket.
The groundskeeper said that she was banned.
She lost the garden in her pocket -
Now her library is a vacant book stand.
She lost the garden in her pocket -
Guts stolen, replaced with pocket lint.
She lost the garden in her pocket -
Canned contract speak her only hints.
She lost the garden in her pocket
But didn’t enjoy life by herself.
She lost the garden in her pocket -
So she grew a forest on her shelf.
Winter Approaches
Clouds gather, inconspicuously pushing aside
The radiant beams of the autumn sun.
You can hear it coming in the cold silence.
I’d rather ignore this turn of the seasonal tide,
But the north wind screams that it can’t be done.
You can hear it coming in the cold silence.
Clouds burst open; feathery missiles explode,
Leaving grassy corpses frostily concealed.
You can hear it coming in the cold silence.
I wonder when I will tread a dusty road
Never glassy, its ruts and gravel revealed.
You can hear it coming in the cold silence.
R. J. Neilson
JUST A QUICK COMMENT TO MY FRIENDS AT POETIC ASIDES….
Great job! I love these two lines especially
and they spoke to me in such a deeply personal way—
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
I love this one, it actually made me cry and i
felt so deeply what you were trying to say—
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
and the way you put those words together painted
such a clear picture and I wish I could write like—
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
I mean, the title says it all and the rest just completes
it in a really tender, loving way, and—
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
Uhh, great job today, everybod—
You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
OHHHHHHH BUGG—
–are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
*sigh*
Obviously i do not understand how to use the HTML stuff, only the repeated line should be in bold
HAH!! One word i can do right! aaarghh
LOL .. love it! I saw that line a lot while I was trying to comment, too. (“You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!”)
so annoying,eh?
Big love for this one! You speak in a voice so exceedingly familiar.
I like its cleverness.
it even says that when you are posting for the first time! i love this poem! er…chant…
THE TAKE DOWN.
an’ he’s flingin’ those angry words again
she don’t know why it takes her down
those icy words breakin’ her heart again
she don’t know why it takes her down
when she tries so hard y’think she’d get a break
she don’t know why it takes her down
‘cause sometimes he’s as sweet as cake
she don’t know why it takes her down
when today he’s calm and his touch is soft
she don’t know why it takes her down
never seein’ ahead what’ll set him off
she don’t know why it takes her down
breaks her down wears her down
but it does.
The Map of the Sky
When God created the Big Bang
He moved it all around, to give us…
The Map of the Sky.
When man first walked the Earth
And needed to find his way, he looked up to…
The Map of the Sky.
When the first boat sailed the ocean blue
It found its way back to land, using…
The Map of the Sky.
Through the centuries all life
Has traveled through the ages, under…
The Map of the Sky.
Now we’ve created our own stars
With lights covering the planet, blotting out
The Map of the Sky.
miss josh emmett
copyright 2012
10-25-12
Remedy
She walks a mile and limps and cries,
cramps in her back, her calves, her thighs,
but she keeps moving.
She gardens late into the day
as sun and flowers chase pains away,
and she keeps moving.
Sometimes she cannot rest or sleep
and reads good books instead of weep,
but she keeps moving.
She uses patches, ointments, drugs,
assuaging aches with children’s hugs
as she keeps moving.
She laughs and bakes and volunteers,
filling her painful days and years
with constant moving.
She’s funny, wise, and loves her wine,
her friends the best folks she can find,
who keep her moving.
And when she’s down and feeling low,
she says a prayer that hurts will go
and keeps on moving.
Some people say she should sit still,
but she is bigger than her ills,
and she keeps moving.
She says she has nothing to prove,
but life is moving, so she moves,
and life is loving, so she loves,
and keeps on moving.
Two Chant Poems from Lauren Dixon
Portlandia
Trading sunshine and a brown cloud,
Going home to family, clear water, clean air,
Back to an environment of which I’m proud,
Going home to family, clean water, clear air,
Yes, there’s rain, and gray, and dark,
Going home to family, clean water, clear air,
But, there I’m inspired to make my mark,
Going home to family, clean water, clear air.
Quiet
Looking for a quiet abode,
Highly sensitive noise adverse girl,
No dogs barking, no crickets, no toad,
Highly sensitive noise adverse girl,
No sleep deprivation from fans whirring,
Highly sensitive noise adverse girl,
Only silence, there’s no purring,
Highly sensitive noise adverse girl.
Vultures
Black finely feathers blue.
Stealing shadows kill.
Rancid rain that pecks the eyes.
Stealing shadows kill.
Flooding the feet of the huntress fair.
Stealing shadows kill.
Till she’s buried there in brainless number.
Stealing shadows kill.
TREE OF HEAVEN
New green sprigs along the fence – I count seven
surviving on almost nothing at all.
Could it be ailanthus, the alien tree-of-heaven?
Surviving on almost nothing at all,
it grows uninvited, anywhere you look in town,
surviving on almost nothing at all.
Just try to stop its advance, pull it, cut it down –
surviving on almost nothing at all
it roots into roadside cutbanks, pavement cracks.
Surviving on almost nothing at all
on steepest hillsides, it runs the railroad tracks,
surviving on almost nothing at all.
Helicopter-seed-pods which the westwind flings
surviving on almost nothing at all.
It flies like wishes on the song-sparrow’s wings,
surviving on almost nothing at all.
It grows lush without water, spring-summer-fall,
surviving on almost nothing at all.
Noxious weed or hero-tree? graceful, leafy-tall,
surviving on almost nothing at all.
Hmm .. I hope this fits into the “rules” of the chant form since I varied the repetitive lines a little. I would like it considered for the contest. Many thanks. -Linda G Hatton
This is the Room
This is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
We gathered here in darkness for him to find the light.
Sometimes I sit in that spot, wondering where he is.
This is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
Life seemed long until end’s arrival made it short.
No love, no money, no doctor, no words; nothing could save him.
This is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
Coma held him tight in its arms, pushing hope aside.
Breathy whispers could not coax him to leave.
This is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
Yes, this is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
Lightning wakened the midnight space, thunderous words opening his eyes.
Then he was gone.
All that’s left,
this is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
Wow. Strong.
Application
Nothing ever always is,
he said in his sadness,
counting his endings, losses.
Nothing ever always is
as you hope it will be,
bright with love and laughter.
Nothing ever always is,
he repeated as hope died,
as careers and marriages failed.
Nothing ever always is,
he responded to stories
of lives cut short, of joyless ends.
His very presence basked in strife
until a surgeon saved his life
and taught him good things could be his
in saying, Nothing ever always is.
Pursuit
In monasteries, monks intone
Sweet syllables
In hush and drone to the divine.
On mountaintops, aged gurus claim
Sweet syllables
Like riddled names, a seeker’s sign.
Out on the seas, on paths and roads,
Sweet syllables
Make lighter loads, make pilgrims whole.
In churches, mosques, temples, and caves
Sweet syllables
In prayers might save the humble soul.
Across the earth, all creatures seek
Sweet syllables
From those who speak their names with love.
And poets raise in longing sighs
Sweet syllables
Like lullabies that heal and move.
We search the whole wide world to find
Sweet syllables
Of any kind behind each door.
But for all that lives, the planet sings
Sweet syllables
And each day brings us more and more.
Prayer
If I hurt someone, I’m sorry.
We are holy ones.
Hurting another injures me.
We are wholly one.
I will not hold myself from life.
We are holy ones.
I live to fully realize
we are wholly one.
Let’s have faith in our resilience—
We are holy ones—
and give ourselves sweet permission.
We are wholly one.
You can feel safe in my safety.
We are holy ones.
I wish to feel joy through your joy.
We are wholly one.
I open to what’s possible.
We are holy ones.
To all peace imaginable:
We are wholly one.
Ooh–love that “holy” “wholly” thing. What we woulda called “deep” back in the day!
Great double chant. Great message.
Just Keep Moving Forward
A Chevy chugged up the mountain.
Just keep moving forward.
Kids clamored in the back seat.
Just keep moving forward.
Snow piled near treacherous curves.
Just keep moving forward.
She took the trip several times.
Just keep moving forward.
Her parents gone, her kids moved out.
Just keep moving forward.
She put her hand in her husband’s.
Just keep moving forward.
brave hearts and bayonets
brave hearts and bayonets
do not make war
loyalty and deepest love
do not make war
I beg you
do not make war
on our children without compassion
do not make war
on need without provision
do not make war
on ignorance without wisdom
do not make war
brave friends, stow your bayonets
do not make war
A lifetime in a moment
In your arms
A lifetime in a moment
Every kiss
A lifetime in a moment
Lost in your eyes
A lifetime in a moment
And although
A lifetime in a moment
Time passes
A lifetime in a moment
We have lived
A lifetime in a moment
JW Laviguer
Just Desserts
Life’s a crispy, crunchy, chocolate chip mess.
That’s the way the cookie crumbles.
It’s what I’m used to now, I must confess.
That’s the way the cookie crumbles.
I don’t mind a milk-mustachioed receipt.
That’s the way the cookie crumbles.
My personal viewpoint? Dunk. Bite. Chew. Repeat.
That’s the way the cookie crumbles.
###
Love this, RJ. Your work always makes me smile.
LOVE this! Thanks for making me smile.
Love this! (And now I want a cookie.)
Perfect piece!
Crossing
“You can’t cross the sea by merely standing and staring at the water.” ~Rabindranath Tagore
I opened the door before I even heard the doorbell ring.
I knew there was something for me to do.
I stood in the archway. I said, “You. What forecast do you bring?”
I knew there was something for me to do.
I waited for a word, ‘though I knew none would be forthcoming.
I knew there was something for me to do.
Fat raindrops began to fall; to their beat, I started humming.
I knew there was something for me to do.
To stay in the archway was a decision. So was moving.
I knew there was something for me to do.
I went outside, in the rain. But were my prospects improving?
I knew there was something for me to do.
Standing still is always safe. But it covers little distance.
I knew there was something for me to do.
And even straight lines stir more than the path of least resistance.
I knew there was something for me to do.
So in that moment, I knew exactly what I had to do.
I knew there was something for me to do.
I had to dance in the asphalt-tinted puddles. Wouldn’t you?
I knew there was something for me to do.
###
A Woman
Blind my heart
to your deception, tear apart
this life,
this trust,
this wife
of dedicated years.
Blind my heart
to your predilection to start
anew but never today, depart
you say,
you wish,
I pray,
Blind my heart.
Marilyn ‘Misky’ Braendeholm
They Said a Puppy…and That Worked Out
They said a puppy wasn’t a suitable choice,
It would keep him awake with its whimpering voice.
He said our baby used to cry and that worked out.
They said a puppy pees and poops in any space,
slobbers and scratches and stinks up the place.
He said I had to potty train my boy and that worked out.
They said a puppy takes time. Do yourself a favor
and go to the pound. A grown dog is a time saver.
He said it took 18 years to train my son and that worked out.
They said a puppy at your age, you old fart?
Think of the stress it brings! Think of your heart.
He said I gave my heart to many and that worked out.
They said a puppy definitely wasn’t right for a man of his years.
They said if he got one it would only lead him to tears.
He said people said that about my wife and that worked out.
They said a puppy was for sale and he didn’t think twice.
His friends petted it and held it and forgot their old advice.
He said Dog is a man’s best friend and that worked out.
Linda Hofke
hmmmmm,..I guess italics don’t copy over. Does anyone know how to do that? Several lines of this poem should be italicized.
i love your lines about “I gave my heart to many and that worked out” and “people said that about my wife and that worked out”… there’s so much of his story in a sentence. i love it.
Unfortunately i’m clueless about the italics thing, the HTML world is a mystery to me.
I’ll try it. This should be italicized and if it was, I used the lower case “i” without quotes. Instead I bracketed the i-for italics in those “greater-than” and “lesser-than” symbols.
Okay, now I’ll press submit and see if it worked.
btw, if it does, you should also be able to use the lower case “b” for bold and “u” for underline, etc.
i’m just not sure how to bold some and then turn it off!
I’ve been trying to post this for TWO HOURS.
It keeps telling me, “Sorry, you’re posting too quickly.” I haven’t posted anything yet!
Key in the letter i for italics, b for bold, or u for underline. Do it like this:
type your text here, but use no spaces in the formatting code, which is what the bracketed part is.
the first bracketed i tells the programming to start italics. The backslash enclosed in the brackets tells the programming to stop the special formatting.
Ask if you aren’t clear.
I am just now seeing this. So let me give it a try. This should be italic and this should not.
This is try number two. This is italics and this is not.
And She Dances
When love is lost and all is wrong
and a man is a blues song come to life
she tries to change his mood
and she dances.
When the crowd thins the night long
but the ding-dong of the clock
signals one hour to go, she works it
and she dances.
When life jabs her like the fork’s prong
and her babies’ bellies sing the hunger song,
she puts on a thong to pay the bills
and she dances.
It took me three tries to post and then the first stanza didn’t copy over. Here it the correct version.
When a corporate deal closes strong
and a throng of men come to celebrate
she celebrates right along with them
and she dances.
When love is lost and all is wrong
and a man is a blues song come to life
she tries to change his mood
and she dances.
When the crowd thins the night long
but the ding-dong of the clock
signals one hour to go, she works it
and she dances.
When life jabs her like the fork’s prong
and her babies’ bellies sing the hunger song,
she puts on a thong to pay the bills
and she dances.
Linda Hofke
I love the positive image of her dancing in joy and in pain. Lovely imagery Linda. Keep on dancing.
NIGHT SHIFT
Overhead winds and undulant tides
ride through the night as vessels move
hold their course as they gaze above
ride through the night as vessels move
sensing the subtle shifts in the air
ride through the night as vessels move
gentle hands press, flow in the breeze
ride through the night as vessels move
lanterns below sway slowly beneath
ride through the night as vessels move
alone faraway resting and rocking
ride through the night as vessels move
calculating hours scanning the sky
ride through the night as vessels move
as waves wash up against the sides
ride through the night as vessels move
the tumults dwindle the sea is calm
ride through the night as vessels move
a glimmer of dawn up ahead the sun
ride through the night as vessels move
steadily advancing into the day
ride through the night as vessels move
a toe hold of land in the distance
ride through the night as vessels move
closer the moon fades behind us
ride through the night as vessels move
a shock of morning a port of call
ride through the night as vessels move.
Zev Davis
The Fight
You know you know wrong from right.
Don’t you ever give up the fight.
Each choice is not black or white.
Don’t you ever give up the fight.
Hold on tight with all your might.
Don’t you ever give up the fight.
Deep cuts can’t heal overnight.
Don’t you ever give up the fight.
Never live in fear or fright.
Don’t you ever give up the fight.
Leave the darkness. Seek the light.
Don’t you ever give up the fight.
Past is gone, the future’s bright.
Don’t you ever give up the fight.
Everything will be alright.
Don’t you ever give up the fight.
By Michael Grove
Excess Baggage
Twisted image in your head.
Out of your sight and out of your mind.
Never hearing what was said.
Out of your sight and out of your mind.
All the excess baggage tossed.
Out of your sight and out of your mind.
Useless dreams and visions lost.
Out of your sight and out of your mind.
by Michael Grove
Strolling
Truths kept from the dearer.
Why won’t they look in the mirror?
Lambs strolling toward the shearer.
Why won’t they look in the mirror?
Inevitable draws nearer.
Why won’t they look in the mirror?
The picture can’t be any clearer.
Why won’t they look in the mirror?
By Michael Grove
The Secret Song of Simon
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
Where mountains dress themselves in clouds
Where even the dormouse scales the peaks
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
But remaining in hiding is our preoccupation
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
Discovery—a jolt, a worrisome dread we share
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
Our faces will not betray us, nor our shoulders bare
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We mimic your language, your singular gestures
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
Assimilation, you marry your daughters to us without clue
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
When we’ve hatched enough, what you call grandchildren
We’ll leave on the ship that sailed the moon
And take them all
This poem is for the contest and my name as it appears is correct. Thanks!
Cool!
Beautiful People, Gorgeous Country
The people further away
From the city of Atlanta
Are kinder than I am used to,
The mountains are alive with color.
I stopped for directions
A couple of times and the people
Are kinder than I am used to,
The mountains are alive with color.
Is it my imagination or is it true
That the country people
Are kinder than I am used to,
The mountains are alive with color.
I traveled far into north Georgia,
North Carolina, Tennessee and folks
Are kinder than I am used to,
The mountains are alive with color.
The people further away
From the city of Atlanta
Are kinder than I am used to,
The mountains are alive with color.
Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/10/24/365-creativity-project-day-289/
Makes me want to visit.
The Election of 2012
by Stephanie J. McGowan
Are we looking forward to the next four years?
Is it Romney or Obama, who wants more tears?
No one really has the answers
I feel the frenzy at the polls
The ballots long and laws out of control
No one really has the answers
House bill yes? Rule 2 No? Not really clear
I see confusion everywhere
No one really has the answers
Will this be the end when November 6 2012 arrives?
And be not like the stars that fall our nation does survive
No one really has the answers
So are we surprised because we worry about electoral spies?
And debts we owe.making pockets empty, Politicians are despised
No one really has the answers
Middle income earners will feast if Obama wins
While Romney courts the rich and takes them for a spin
No one really has the answers
Battlegrounds are shifting
Like the polls that quake, the difference keeps drifting
No one really has the answers
The war still on, who can really end it all?
And this is why politicians fall
No one really has the answers
I posted this for the contest
Precious Life Lost
We sent our finest overseas
to fight a war that cannot be won
They battle in climate with nary a breeze
to fight a war that cannot be won
Unable to trust those they have trained
to fight a war that cannot be won
Our future dies, with their blood, drained
to fight a war that cannot be won
Written for Poetic Asides/chant poem challenge
Stop don’t stop
Your elbow is in my side
Stop don’t stop
We really should not
Stop don’t stop
Your mouth is wet
Stop don’t stop
It does not feel right
Stop don’t stop
Your feet are cold
The sheets are wrinkled
The light is wrong
Stop don’t stop
I can’t breathe
Stop don’t stop
Where are you going?
Stop! Don’t stop.
Damn punctuation.
All is connected all is one
Train hoots in early morning fog
Through meadows sheep grazing
Desert sands blow heat furnaces amazing
Sensibilities from burka to bikini
Wax poetic prophetic human
All is connected all is one
Butterfly sheds chrysalis crackling
Rhino tusk flash primitive attacking
Rhyme scheme and prose free verse and chanting
All is connected all is one
First blade of grass from seed dropped through fog
Lambs bleating
Sweat pouring
Bikinis neath burkas
Wrinkled newborn centurion
All is connected all is one
Seed floated into the earth
Shoot grows a field, sheep grazing
Train hooting in the fog
Looping as a seed floats on worn barren
Earth and begins again
All is connected all is one
Train vanishes into early morning fog
Lambs grow to grazing sheep
Sweat beads diamonded droplets
of dew
In the meadow where
sheep graze on verdant fields
sun blazing in the shifting desert
sands
A withered hand falls cold fingers splayed
Suckling infant grabs the breast with wrinkled fingers
And opens new eyes wide on
The blue marble
All is connected all is one
Spinning
As the train whistles
somewhere in the fog
All is connected all is one
Pearl Ketover Prilik
“Rhyme scheme and prose free verse and chanting
All is connected all is one”
Interestingly, Pearl, these lines gave me a sense of the purpose for writing. Thanks for that.
But I’m still waiting , I don’t know why
The tired trees are bare and scared
The plumes have shed their treasures and fled
The day is asleep and the clouds are dry
But I’m still waiting, I don’t know why
My dreams are lost in spaces dark
My heart is quiet, it’s whispers stark
Some candles have lit the dome in the sky
But I’m still waiting, I don’t know why
Those footprints are buried way deep in the sand
The ticking clock has lost a hand
An open thought goes floating by
But I’m still waiting , I don’t know why
I don’t know why, I don’t know why
But I’m still waiting, I don’t know why
PriyA Jane
OOH!
Memories Lost
He was uncomfortable in
not remembering what he
should be remembering.
Where did those lost memories go, anyway?
At first he didn’t even know
because it didn’t really show
except to her. She could tell.
Where did those lost memories go, anyway?
With him devoting his summer
days to his garden, there just
weren’t many chances for even
Where did those lost memories go, anyway?
her to see. The diagnosis spoke
the dread that cancer had done
just a generation before. And
Where did those lost memories go, anyway?
now he had meds to take and
still felt fine, except for the times
he paused to find the right word,
Where did those lost memories go, anyway?
and used the wrong word,
and was confused as to why he
couldn’t remember. But she knew
Where did those lost memories go, anyway?
that the foundations of his
bridge to the past were crumbling,
and taking his memory with them.
Where did those lost memories go, anyway?
She knew why he was not
remembering, and that made her
discomfort greater than his own.
Where did those lost memories go, anyway? Ellen E. Knight
OH. Says it so well.
The end of the world is near
Why should I pay my rent?
The end of the world is near.
Or tip twenty-percent?
The end of the world is near.
Go ahead and call me fat.
The end of the world is near.
I’ll have some fries with that!
The end of the world is near.
Screw that high school diploma.
The end of the world is near.
Are you sensing that aroma?
The end of the world is near.
(c) Jacqueline Hallenbeck
HAHA!! i will take this as permission to stop eating so many salads.
FROM CARSON PASS
We’ve climbed together, height to height,
just looking for a farther view.
We’ve watched golden eagle in its flight,
looking for a farther view.
Goat-trails along cliff-sides we’d climb
still looking for a farther view,
then take our rest by meadow columbine.
Always looking for a farther view,
we counted miles and elevation gains
as if they were the farther view.
Now summer’s gone, and what remains
but looking for a farther view?
The Memory Remains
The wind through the trees
The memory remains
The sun breaking through the clouds
The memory remains
Skipping stones on the still waters
The memory remains
Our first kiss in the boat house
The memory remains
You said “yes”
The memory remains
For better or for worse
The memory remains
The pain on her face
The memory remains
Feeling helpless
The memory remains
‘Til death do you part
The memory remains
“You have to let her go”
The memory remains
JW Laviguer
I know I commented on the Tuesday page already, but this carries such a haunting memory, and I love it.
TIME AND TIDE
The wind whips up across the lake,
time and tide waits for no man.
Churning waters in its wake,
time and tide waits for no man.
I stand at shore side gazing out,
time and tide waits for no man.
Questioning this life of doubt,
time and tide waits for no man.
Sunset settles long past rising,
time and tide waits for no man.
Hopes and dreams on new horizons,
time and tide waits for no man.
This has the rhythm of the tide and I love the literal and figurative picture of it. (I THINK that sentence makes sense!)
Robert, I forgot to add my name to my poem. Forgive me. It’s been one of those days. For the poem “Why Me” you should use Claudette J. Young if it’s selected.
Why Me?
He rose to a kitchen filled with smoke
Rising from a toaster left too long
By children too young to experiment.
His eyes lifted and he lamented, “Have you
An explanation as to why me?”
All he’d was the lawn cleared of debris,
Not stacked as a fort for duels with sticks
While he tried to mow without mishap.
His eyes lifted and he lamented, “Have you
An explanation as to why me?”
He heard glass shards tinkling to the floor
Seconds after a bat crack with bang and shatter
Resounding from the upstairs bedroom.
His eyes lifted and he lamented, “Have you
An explanation as to why me?”
Years of lamenting had paced his life with
Events of varying dimensions,
Many with smiles, some with tears.
One day he gazed through shielding glass
At tiny forms wiggling, crying, sleeping,
To focus on one with a pink bow of a mouth.
His eyes lifted and breathed, “Have you
An explanation as to why me?”
Aww! Gave me sweet chills.
America is the binder full of women
coiling our green pages together
America is the binder full of women
neatly categorized by feathers
America is the binder full of women
as changeable as the fall weather
America is the binder full of women
knotting the political tether
that America’s binder full of women
will begrudge the leader forever
Lisa Dalrymple
That Winter Smelled of Ice, Tasted of Bitter Tobacco Kisses
Previously, our eyes had met in hard-heated stolen glances,
I gathered certainly a lithograph of passion pictured in this tome…
but that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.
Joyous laughter and jibber-jabber always led to repetition
and a strange story change indicative of deep depression…
that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.
Your dark efficiency was lit by flashes of late night T.V.
vacant desire, endless longing, tall empty bottles…a broken plot…
oh, how that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.
Somehow, in the beginning, I never read you correctly,
misinterpreted the script fixed on your binding…
and so that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.
I gave up trying to woo you out of your sadness,
bailed before those last lonely predictable pages…
because that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2012
Ephemeral Cages
These ribs keep tired breath,
and wayward heart. Let’s set
them free, and cast them loose
like stones. Let’s flee,
Let’s not befriend our bones.
This sternum, sacred, sheltered
strong, holds middle, but not
center, see? The water’s deep;
Let’s rock to sleep.
Let’s not befriend our bones.
This skin, an organ playing
tired old songs, these veins
untied are flimsy roadmaps only
here on earth. Let’s fly,
Let’s not befriend our bones.
Some things are meant
for finer thrones. Let’s be.
Let’s not befriend our bones.
.
Great work, De.
De!! Awesome work…”This skin, an organ playing,” love the sound play there and the passion within the rest…great chanting line, too…wow!
This is excellent. Love your last verse, and your refrain, especially how you punctuated the poem.
Getting Carried Away
Robert introduced a new form
and I ran with it with glee!
I’m done now.
I tried it over and over again,
wondering where it would take me!
I’m done now.
I wrote about being sad
and I wrote about death.
I’m done now.
I wrote about antiques
and I’m still not out of breath!
I’m done now.
But I don’t want to bore you silly,
so I surely should now stop.
I’m done now.
Thank you Robert for the prompt
but I think I’ve gone over the top!
I’m done now.
LOL!! (i realize that isn’t the most literate of responses, but i’ve rather enjoyed seeing your name pop up over and over on this challenge!)
Revised/edited and re-posted for the purpose of being entered in the WD Poetic Forms Challenge (If by some chance I happened to be selected please use the name “Prose of Mellifluous”
A Chanting Haunting Tail
I shall tell you the story of a haunting plight
In chanting stanzas, that I hope will shed light.
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
Of what some believe to be the darkest of nights,
So you not be so frightened, come Halloween night
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
It began in the ancient in the days of old,
Long before Halloween has ever been known.
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
At summers end in the autumn of year
When they harvested the crops as winter drew near
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
The people, they did gather, when the harvest was done
In costumes and masks under a harvest moon
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
They amassed with great joy at the harvest they did reap
And began an ancient tradition, that they called Samhain
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
This Celtic belief as the old legend goes
Holds that spirits of the dead they amassed there so
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
When the festival had ended and all fun was through
The people in their masks, and those in costumes too
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
They danced to the edge of the town with chants
Escorting the spirits of this past years dead
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
They chanted and they danced the town straight through
Right to the edge where the town lines were drew
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
The spirits of those of the past years dead
Followed the town’s people seeking final rest
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
The people in the masks and those in costumes too
Led the spirits out of town as the highlight of the fest
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
Now you know the story of the ancient Celtic fest
Now called Halloween that frightens folks to death
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
Epic…”those bereft of breath,” great phrase and alliteration!
I’ve Had a Bad Day
I’ve had a bad day;
walk with me.
I over slept,
walk with me.
I missed my ride,
walk with me.
I spilt my coffee,
walk with me.
My report was late,
walk with me.
My assignment was wrong,
walk with me.
I got a flat tire,
walk with me.
My supper is burnt,
walk with me.
I need a break,
walk with me.
Will you just
walk with me.
i love the simplicity of this. not sure how to say it exactly, but it shows a lot of emotion with few words.
24.October.12
what is lost to technic progress
the subtleties of your pen stroke,
giving away your every emotion,
gave way to clumsy text messages-
Substance is lost to technic progress
pictures exchanged, sharing intimacy,
were posed, taken, posted for the world,
not to be taken back-
Privacy is lost to technic progress
the suspense, the possibility, awaiting your words,
and the windswept afternoons spent crafting a reply,
faded behind the screen of one-way posts and tweets-
Communication is lost to technic progress
we shared our lives, in intricate detail,
across great distances, a few weeks at a time,
made obsolete by instant updates of unfamiliar things-
Information is lost to technic progress
we would talk, for hours at least,
through handwritten words and pictures-as though face to face-
now replaced by online content of someone i do not know-
a Friendship is lost to technic progress
Antiques
My Great-Grandmother had a spinning wheel,
end of an era –
My Great-Grandfather had a horse and carriage,
end of an era –
My Grandmother had a cranking phonograph,
end of an era –
My Grandfather had a Model-T,
end of an era –
My Mother had a Brownie Camera,
end of an era –
My Father had a television set,
end of an era –
I had a typewriter,
end of an era –
My husband had a boom box,
end of an era.
The progression of this is wonderful, Michelle…moving through time.
Death of a Question
On the road at 6:00am
from the back
a sleepy voice at 6:10;
Are we there yet?
Stopped for breakfast
had a tasty meal
an hour later a quite plea;
Are we there yet?
Then suddenly
every five minutes
came the whine
Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
We had a devious plan,
every time that question appeared
we doubled our time;
Are we there yet?
The kids are smart,
they caught on quick
and so died the question:
Are we there yet?
Wings of Time
No longer sticky handprints on door
Messy sinks and toys on the floor
My how time does fly
No blaring music and phone calls at midnight
No piles of laundry or sibling fights
My how time does fly
Plenty of time for solitude and prayer
No unmade beds or misplaced chair
My how time does fly
Facebook messages and texts on i-phone
Are the way you communicate now you’re alone
My how time does fly
Dust the rooms and clean the linen
Grandchild is coming for the weekend
My how time does fly.
Spacing between lines is wrong.
This is endearing, Iris…I was just thinking about how it does and I’d blink and be in a new phase of this life-game. Great chant!
Thanks Hannah. You are such an awesome poet, I appreciate your commenting on mine.
This flows well. Good work.
Waiting for the day to rise, hungering for her slippery thighs
How does she feel when you hold her so tight?
Our holding hands won’t let go, and her empty eyes won’t say no
Does it turn you on when she puts up a fight?
Her tattoo dragon so green, and your tattoo dragon so keen
Does she scare you away when you walk in the night?
She’s in her room, and you’re in your doom
Does it bother you to walk in the light?
Walking freely reaching for love, as fleeting as a lonely white dove
When she flies away, will you keep her in sight?
Politics Make Me Sad
Why would I vote for you?
… another negative political ad.
You have nothing nice to say.
… another negative political ad.
What have you done for this country?
… another negative political ad.
Even on Facebook
… another negative political ad.
In the store
… another negative political ad.
In the car
… another negative political ad.
I can’t get away from you
… another negative political ad.
You make me sad
… another negative political ad.
So timely – the ever-present ads drive me crazy too.
yep…love it
When and where
the breeze blew by?
She took his hand
but didn’t know why.
When and where
the cymbals crashed?
He left her here
tied and lashed.
When and where
the serpent’s tongue
flicked and flocked
the old and young?
When and where
the days bygone
slip silently through
brain and brawn.
When and where
his strength found rock?
She stood here
her hands a clock.
When and where
shall we see
the light of lights
and seas of sea?
When and where
shall we be
when the walls crumble
us to our knees?
Love this, Great Job
Introduction Note: People I got to tell ya, this sucker gave me the willies while writing this Poem…
Suggestions for a Title are welcomed?
………………………………………………
I shall tell you the story of a haunting plight
In chanting stanzas that I hope will shed light
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
On what some believe to be the darkest of nights
So you will not be frightened this Halloween night
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
It began in the ancient and days of old
Long before Halloween was ever known
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
At summers end in the autumn of year
The harvested crops as winter drew near
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
The people gathered when the harvest was through
With costumes and masks under the harvest moon
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
They gathered and celebrated the harvest they reaped
Twas an ancient tradition, known as samhain
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
This Celtic belief as the old legend goes
The spirits of the dead they gathered too
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
When the festival ended and all was through
The people with masks and costumes too
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
They marched to the end of the town with glee
Escorting the spirits of this past years dead
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
They chanted and danced the town through
Right to the edge where the town line were drew
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
The spirits of those of the past years dead
They followed to as they sleeked final rest
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
They people in the masks and costumes too
Led the spirits out of town and gave them rest
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
Now you know the story of the ancient Celtic fest
Now called Halloween that frightens folks to death
We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath
Additional note: The forth paragraph of stanzas (second line) should read “They harvested the crops”….Sorry, forgot to correct that before posting….OPPs LOL
Sheesh now reading the post I see many more errors I really need to start editing before clicking post
GRAVITATIONAL
It pulls her out the doorway, down the hill.
Something new to a dog’s nose.
This old world looks just the same to me,
dried out by drought at summer’s end.
Nothing green or freshly minted –
but everything’s new to a dog’s nose.
Take this stone, whitewashed
by last winter’s floods –
just a chunk of creek-bottom rock –
ecstatically new to a dog’s nose,
with a tough scrim of dried-on fluff
like old meringue. My dog scrubs
it with her breath; inhales its common
wonder, new to a dog’s nose,
a come-hither scent that’s got her
creeping on her elbows
for a closer sniff. Secrets I’ll never
know; new to a dog’s nose.
You write it with that very dogged urgency. ^_^ Awesome.
This is such fun…moves your reader right along with you Taylor….I like the variations in your refrain!!
this is very good. I like the wording and imagery.
Are We There Yet?
We’ve just pulled out of the driveway.
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Are you sure you packed my swim trunks?
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Did you hear me say don’t touch her?
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Right now! Put on that seat belt!
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
No, we certainly are not stopping here.
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Don’t make me turn this car around!
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
For next year, just go without me.
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Oh, Nancy. You’ve captured the quintessential road trip, regardless of length–to the state park, to the grocery store, or across the country. Love it and remember them well.
Don’t make me turn this car around! ^_^ Love it!
So apropos of the form, Nancy!!! Love this!!
Hmmm… as a taker of many road trips, these all sound very familiar.
How a baby is made
When the angels exult on clouds of bliss
That’s how a baby is made
Running their fingers over harps like this
That’s how a baby is made
With the stork as a delivery guy
That’s how a baby is made
Winging you down as a gift from the sky
That’s how a baby is made
Don’t listen to your silly friends who lie
“That’s how a baby is made”
Angels, stork, mama – no one can deny
That’s how a baby is made.
Sweet, Andrew. Well done.
<3 Love this!
Robert, your poem today is fab. So much said in so few words – really chilling.
Go Ask YourMother
Catching Father in his workshop tinkering with his tools,
I’d say, I’m bored, and ask to help; looking helpless,
possessive of his tools, his manhood’s certain proof,
he’d say, Go ask your mother.
Confronted with realities of farm life, bloody birth
and unexpected death, I’m find him woebegone
and ask him why things had to happen so.
He’d say, Go ask you mother.
Appealing to him when I needed splinters tenderly
removed or gravel-pocked and bloodied knees
tended with kisses, salve, and bandages,
he’d say, Go ask your mother.
Relentless, I’d beseech him for clear explanation
of the way the brutal male heart operated,
ruthless, unafraid to break another’s.
He’d say, Go ask your mother.
As cruel as Medieval rules of primogeniture
are those unwritten codes that relegated matters
of utmost urgency as either masculine or feminine,
feeding his answers to my girlish pleading.
He’d say, Go ask your mother.
To this one I can relate so completely, Nancy. I grew up in that family as well. It wasn’t easy when both demands trapped one between them. Nice to know we weren’t alone. Terrific take on the reality.
So perceptive, Nancy, of that masculine heart so unfamiliar with emotion, it had no answers. Yet, one can sense in the writing that there were emotions that could not be spoken.
Beg your pardon for the darkness, but this is what came to mind, a dark scene from a long time ago.
Where did you go?
Open the door!
You think I don’t know?
Open the door!
You can’t hide from me
Open the door!
You think I can’t see?
Open the door!
I won’t be mad this time.
Open the door!
Get out here you slime!
Open the door!
C’mon, don’t be bad.
Open the door!
You’re making me mad!
Open the door!
I’ll give you some treats
Open the door!
Candy and sweets
Open the door
But if you don’t come out
Open the door!
I’ll do more than shout!
Open the door!
This time I won’t beat you.
Open the door!
I won’t try to break through.
Open the door!
You’re gonna be sorry!
Open the door!
I’ll make you so sorry!
Open this door!
Open the door!
Open this door!
Open the door!
OPEN
THIS
DOOR!!!
Diana Terrill Clark
Diana, I have no words to express my feelings at the moment. It touches something too deep.
SO scary…so true for so many.
Wow. That chant packs a punch (no pun intended). Very scary stuff. If you lived this, I am so sorry for what you went through and hope you are in a better, happier place now.
All is well, and thank you for your kind comments. ^_^ But sometimes it needs to be said. There are those who live this nightmare.
Perfectly said.
Ready Me to Receive
Do I make it hard for You to answer my prayers?
Ready me to receive.
Do I believe I am unworthy to succeed?
Ready to me to receive.
In my hiding from rejection, do I miss out on acceptance?
Ready me to receive.
Do I have a victim’s mindset, feeling unfamiliar to victory?
Ready me to receive.
Am I so accustomed to ugliness, beauty brings pain?
Ready me to receive.
Do I have poverty mentality, repelling financial blessings?
Ready me to receive.
Am I so used to depression, joy feels extravagant?
Ready me to receive.
Am I so frightened, I don’t hear Your calling for me?
Ready me to receive.
Do I complain so much, praise is a foreign language?
Ready me to receive.
God You are a joyful giver, a loving Father.
Ready me to receive.
This is lovely, Connie, truly.
Such a beautiful prayer. Your refrain is so deep.
Thanks Claudsy and Maxie
“The Pot”
Those tattered journal pages stained with ink,
I add them to the pot.
Those pressed rose petals faded pink,
I add them to the pot.
The tea leaves from the gypsies’ fair,
I add them to the pot.
The wisps of cherry willow braided hair,
I add them to the pot.
The bottled nights of insomniac musing,
I add them to the pot.
The glassy mornings that shatter my snoozing,
I add them to the pot.
The pieces from musty ideas swept to the side,
I add them to the pot.
The waters from a catharsis’ crashing tide,
I add them to the pot.
And all the other things that chew on my brain,
I add them to the pot,
To boil, then simmer, and then stir up again,
I add them to the pot.
When I think my stew is done, I need one more spice,
I add it to the pot.
I’ll be brewing forever, no less would suffice,
But it’s always the cooking, not the eating, I find nice,
So whenever there is a new ingredient to my life,
I add it to the pot.
Love this. Great sentiments.
The perfect recipe…love your approach to this chant and life!!
This is being alive
This is being alive
To have grass stains on your knees
this is being alive
To sweat in the sun or in bed making love
this is being alive
To yell and hear your own voice coming
from where you have never been
this is being alive
Once I mounted uneven parallel bars, stretching and contracting opposing muscles
until I was a swinging bar of supple life, caught the second bar with my knees, flipped,
flew, and dropped into place in the universe.
this is being alive
Once I looked at a mountain rolling with pink flowers visible for miles,
and it was my mother, and it was god, and held me
this is being alive
I am an old woman full of aches and forgetfulness
this is being alive
I am dry, and growing drier, the rough sheet scratches
this is being alive
I smell the dust motes burn when the heater starts and watch the moon through a narrow bathroom window
this is being alive
I listen to night trains sing their names to bridges and drink metallic water from the tap
this is being alive
to love
this is being alive
to lose
this is being alive
to remember and to forget,
this is being alive
to be in pain and to cease hurting
this is being alive
to grieve and cease grieving
this is being alive
to change the world
this is being alive
to be changed
this is being alive
__Barbara Young
Such words, such truth. Excellent, Barbara.
Lovely, Barbara. I love it.
Oh my goodness…Barbara…so much here that I’m just wowed by….in total agreement, beautiful, beautiful chant. ♥
This is being alive… what a perfect line for a chant.
Love this Barbara! Wonderful chant!
Thanks, y’all.
Good Morning. My chant
All Will Become Dust
The brush of the artist
Swords of the bravest
formulas of the chemist
all will become dust.
Words that are chorused
flute of the flutist
cello of the cellist
all will become dust.
Chants of the Buddhist
songs of the psalmist
prayers of the pacifist
all will become dust.
The door to your closet
my love at its queerest
and hate at its darkest
all will become dust.
Amazing.
Great organization with your stanzas, especially like the thoughts in the last one.
Somehow, this is about peace to me. The ending is so personal. Poignant. I am charmed.
The rhythm of this piece and profound meaning are just music to my ears!! Nicely chanted!!
This is simply gorgeous. Just beautiful.
You killed it with this one. Good for you!
good work. I like this a lot.
Thanks to all of you for your words of support
From dust to dust so we go.
Oh, Humanities
Sitting in the corner
Looking ever studious:
Guilty as charged.
Philosophy text at hand
But absent in mind:
Guilty as charged.
Preferring fresh lines
Of lunacy
To reams of educational
Redundancy:
Guilty as charged.
R. J. Neilson
Ah, the luscious college experience. I remember it well, and to be honest, miss it once in a while. Good one.
Thanks, claudsy.
I’m glad this evoked some good memories for you.
I can relate to this line, “Philosophy text at hand
But absent in mind:”
Nice work!
Thanks, Linda!
Oh the memories of college life
Followed those before us and set examples for those who followed.
Now I’ll see if I can post!
Had to stop earlier because of tooooo many rejects.
Hope to comment on several more posts.
It is amazing the variety of subjects presented.
Everyone has done a great job.
I can see you clearly now
I’ve picked my way through the narrow path
Breathing hard in the cleft of the rock as you passed
I can see you clearly now
Your clues were words like breadcrumbs strewn
Glaring bright you had to give me the eyes to see them
I can see you clearly now
You’ve pulled me by your grace to this end to start again
And we all clamor with a song of ascents that finally ends
I can see you clearly now
I’ve forgotten my self the right way, at last.
Sarah Heidt
Ah! i do identify. good one!
“I can see you clearly now”
a wonderful place to be.
Colorado Autumn
Clouds few, sky brilliant blue
Aspen shimmer in golden glory
Evergreens bold against the gold
Aspen shimmer in golden glory
Air crisp, wood smoke wisp
Aspen shimmer in golden glory
Robins fled, oak purplish-red
Aspen shimmer in golden glory
Jonathans tart, orange pumpkin art
Aspen shimmer in golden glory
A mountain refrain. Well don, Connie.
You’ve painted a gorgeous picture, Connie!
Thanks Claudsy and Domino. That reminds me I forgot to paint in the mountains. The third couplet would be
Alight, mountains tipped white
Aspen shimmer in golden glory
Beautiful piece, Connie…the refrain is gorgeous!!
You did paint, Connie! This lovely scene was painted on my inner vision.
This makes me want to visit. What beautiful imagery!
Refreshing picture…
THE ANGELS SANG
He called her home last Friday night
At heaven’s gates the angels sang
While sleeping soundly, snug and tight
At heaven’s gates the angels sang
Her prime of life had just arrived
At heaven’s gates the angels sang
Eighteen years of noble strides
At heaven’s gates the angels sang
Touched by all she came upon
At heaven’s gates the angels sang
And now up high she’ll sing her song
At heaven’s gates the angels sang
Lovely, Laurie. Well done.
I second this!!
Glorious, Laurie!
Thanks so much!
beautiful work, Laurie
Very nice, Laurie. I enjoy the rhythm..
We can’t know the whys of life…
Why?
There are bargains to be had
Why do we let children go hungry?
Black Friday doesn’t seem so bad
Why do we let children go hungry?
Thanks given on the day before
Why do we let children go hungry?
Nothing to feel guilty for
Why do we let children go hungry?
A truth most can’t even see. Excellent, Nancy.
Timely subject.
Good question – Hard answer.
See how far we’ve come!
Women carry placards with words in red,
Malali keeps on fighting from her hospital bed,
Demanding respect with heads held high.
See how far we’ve come!
Little girls married to grizzled old men,
children born to children again and again.
Paedophile abuse on the News at Ten.
See how far we’ve come!
And the old ones in high places are closing ranks,
packing their cases and giving up thanks
for the Swiss bank accounts that keep them safe.
See how far we’ve come!
But the will of the people will not be stopped
and truth comes out though the stories are dropped.
Not just women, only women but loud strong women!
See how far we’ve come!
Michele Brenton
Good one, Michelle.
Your refrain shows a lot of passion. Good work.
Wow. That comes from a deep place, and hits an even deeper one!
Addressed well with striking verbiage, Michele.
What a fun way to start us out!
Good morning!