Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 391

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No matter how many times we do it, I still have a bit of an adjustment period after going from a poem-a-day to a poem-a-week.

For today’s prompt, write a reconnect poem. Throughout history, people have gone through the process of reconnecting–from soldiers coming back from war to former students having reunions. Plus, there are connections of estranged family members, friends who’ve drifted apart, and former lovers. Or even poets, who were used to meeting each morning, reconnecting after a few days off.

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Here’s my attempt at a Reconnect Poem:

“would you”

would you please take a second look
at everything there is to see
even if only on Facebook

& maybe then you’ll see i took
the right steps to bring you to me
would you please take a second look

perhaps wander across the brook
that feeds a stream that feeds a sea
even if only on Facebook

your words somehow still turned & shook
filling me both with dread & glee
so would you take a second look

& pull me off this lover’s hook
that holds me like a rooted tree
even if only on Facebook

i trust the recipes you cook
& everything you could feed me
my open mouth your second look
even if only on Facebook

*****

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He’s happy to reconnect with the villanelle this morning.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

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250 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 391”

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    sutures
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    erect, but
    with a palm pressed against the glass
    she picked out Sara
    like she was picking out a dress
    from a storefront window,
    her own reflection
    staring back as harshly
    and ashen as the corpse before her.

    stifling an mother’s impulse to fish out
    the vapor rub from her purse and start
    rubbing it across her daughter,
    just above the autopsy sutures
    as if it could somehow clear her sinuses,
    elicit enough warm childhood memories
    to maybe soothe her back to this life,
    this table,
    this universe,

    before this pain of window shopping for bodies,
    new territory, reconnecting with dead daughters
    whose hands she’d let go of
    years ago.

    © 2017 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    ↓
  2. SH

    QUIET

    Quiet,
    Breathe the fresh forest air,
    Bathe in filtered sunlight.
    Feel the strength of the soil,
    Soft and pliant as it supports
    The small weight of your body.

    Inhale the earthy, florid scents,
    New awakenings meant to inspire,
    To rejuvenate you in this place,
    Sheltered by green leaves,

    Quiet,
    Listen to what the earth has to say,
    Remember why you are here:
    To cleanse, to heal,
    And take your healing with you.

    ↓
    1. ppfautsch24

      Reconnecting…
      You disturb my sleep;
      after not connecting for a week.
      Waking my thoughts and connection
      to you, my vampire tendencies come out.
      Wanting to devour you and take a bite
      of this connecting thing we are trying to do.
      Sinking my teeth into the adventure of
      falling asleep and reconnecting with you.
      By Pamelap

      ↓
  3. saymwaHolly

    Missed connection

    In student days, she had loved that
    small college in Ohio hills,
    pitying alumni reuners who
    cast envious glances her way, she was sure,
    with wish to trade places
    and still belong for real

    Years later, how strange not to feel
    the connection they had, she was sure
    those aged co-alumni.
    No pull to Granville’s cool greenery
    No urge to hop a plane
    To go back even to friends

    Regret for place or days
    escapes her, entrenched
    in here and now.
    Stasis of laziness?
    Or 8 years youthful travel
    In a job she didn’t like?

    Each month on her calendar she would
    ex out the days of flying the globe.
    When one month cancelled a ten-day trip,
    the exed-out days were un-exed!
    What to do next? Not travel, she was sure.
    Travel connects.

    ↓
  4. randi100

    We were childhood friends
    Then we became adults
    It turned bitter and then came the insults

    I wrote you a letter and I should have let it be
    There were no more smiles between you and me

    We became wives
    We became mothers
    Distance came between us along with the miles and others

    Maybe one day we will connect again
    Maybe one day we can repeat
    The laughs…
    The fun….
    The joy….
    I will then be complete

    ↓
  5. Jane Shlensky

    This has been my life thus far in 2017. Let’s just cross our fingers that my “reconnections” are often and fruitful.

    Erratic Reconnections

    You cannot have the internet—
    your cable’s blown; your wires are wet;
    your trees have leaved—did you forget?
    You cannot have the internet.

    Computers break—virus beset—
    they’re hacked (by bastards, you can bet);
    your server’s down, and so you fret.
    You cannot have the internet.

    Your smartphone is your favorite pet,
    small window on a world upset.
    You strain your eyes and then regret
    you cannot have the internet.

    New services spin a roulette
    of information. Why not get
    a zillion gigabytes? And yet,
    you cannot have the internet.

    Imagine monks in far Tibet
    whose disconnection makes you sweat,
    then presto, mesto, LaserJet,
    you boot up and there’s internet!

    Would you feel like a marmoset
    trained just to play a castanet?
    You’ve suffered—you’re a suffragette—
    who’s stuck with fickle internet.

    Do you feel trust is under threat?
    Have you taken up clarinet?
    Do you long only to forget
    when you can’t get the internet?

    Hello, Old Friends, your sobriquet
    is now connection’s silhouette
    forgotten as an epithet
    twice cursed and blessed with internet.

    ↓
  6. Bruce Niedt

    This is in a repeating form I created called the “pan-ku”. Ir’s a sort of cross between a haiku and a pantoum. Each line has exactly seven syllables, and the lines repeat every third line, except for line two which is used as the next-to-last line in the poem. The lines are written as couplets (2-line stanzas) and there’s no specific length (number of lines). So in my poem here the repeated line pattern is AB, CA, DC, ED, FE, GF, HG, IH, JI, KJ, BK. Try one out for yourself!

    Failure

    The power’s gone out again,
    and it makes me feel helpless.

    Anxiety’s current flows –
    the power’s gone out again.

    How long before the food spoils?
    Anxiety’s current flows

    from my flashlight. I worry:
    How long before the food spoils?

    The only light is a beam
    from my flashlight. I worry.

    No TV, no internet –
    the only light is a beam

    and the batteries are low.
    No TV, no internet –

    it’s like back in the old days
    and the batteries are low.

    Finally, the power’s on
    it’s like back in the old days

    when nothing was for certain.
    Finally the power’s on,

    and it makes me feel helpless
    when nothing is for certain.

    ↓
    1. PressOn

      Fascinating form! Here’s a less ambitious atempt:

      SPRINGTIME FEEDER

      The goldfinches have come back.
      I wonder if they were gone;

      perhaps they were just hiding.
      The goldfinches have come back,

      their yellow feathers flashing;
      perhaps they were just hiding

      underneath a wash of dull.
      Their yellow feathers flashing,

      they seem happy to be home;
      underneath a wash of dull,

      I wonder if they were gone.
      They seem happy to be home.

      ↓
      1. Bruce Niedt

        Well done, William. The first poem I wrote in this form was eventually published in Tilt-a-Whirl, a fine but now defunct e-journal devoted to repeating forms. I was inspired by a poet friend who created her own form called the “haikoum”, but I was frankly not thrilled with the structure so I thought I would try my own twist on a haiku/pantoum hybrid. Glad you liked it.

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  7. usedname

    My sleeping beauty

    Resting on a bed of sand,
    The earth shifts while,
    Her body lays frigid

    Moving miles away, the dipping head of sun,
    then rising Cheshire smile of the moon-
    Til it fills up into a silvery platter.
    Repeat endlessly.

    A dream floats away into the ceiling,
    Out into the atmosphere.
    Until the vivid fabric woven by the mind
    unravels into unintelligible threads,
    faded and worn by time.

    Reality has become nothing
    more than a memory
    somewhere far away,

    Day 27,
    Hour 3,
    Minute 42,
    And counting

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  8. PowerUnit

    Their spoken words ate as cryptic
    As Chinese restaurant menus.
    Combo fifteen please
    Hold the rice and cashews.

    Music is music, so I thought
    Belting those hymns with enormous
    Volume, lest God be disappointed
    And walk out on your performance.

    Silence, a useless treasure
    When trying to connect.
    With friends, it’s always easy
    As nothing, is written in cement.

    ↓
  9. qbit

    Spark Gap

    Wobbled currents
    Hotwire skin
    To the muscular nest

    Of infrared
    Of heat seeking of
    Heart’s wild

    Desire
    Reaching out for
    You who are

    Just past
    The spark gap
    Just a touch too far

    To connect

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    1. PressOn

      Excellent, and I think the spark gap notion is perfect, especially considering the way one can see the spark diminishing as the gap widens.

      ↓
  10. Karen

    They sit not talking
    their song plays on the radio
    He reaches for her
    she takes his hand
    and they dance
    until the tension drains from them
    They soften once again

    ↓
  11. usedname

    Re-connect

    When I speak it echos,
    Distorted sounds mushed together that conveys nothing-
    “Hello, are you still there?”
    even the words, I don’t speak anymore,
    bounce around in my hollow chest.

    All I can hear is the dial tone,
    the constant hum, hum, hum,
    I thought you were murmuring something,
    I hoped.

    Silence looms again,
    Swallowing up each skipped beat of my heart,
    I cling to the receiver possessively
    A staccato of faux English wills me on, a hazy chaos of joy
    Your voice beckons,

    “Yes I am here,
    I am here once again”

    ↓
  13. De Jackson

    Return {To: Center}

    Sometimes
    she writes tiny postcards
    to herself to revisit
    where she’s been,
    trace her own
    scattered path
    on more than
    map skin.

    Remember
    the rain.

    Same time
    next year.

    Glad you
    were here.

    ::

    ↓
  16. headintheclouds87

    Attempted Reconnect

    Attempting to reconnect…
    View memories in multiple colours…
    Insufficient memory
    Faces fuzzy and indistinct
    Reminisce purely in monochrome
    Audio channels restricted
    As with age there is less storage
    For sentimental data
    All is slowly deleted
    To make room for trivial stresses
    That threaten to reprogram the mind
    And obliterate the very essence of us.

    ↓
  17. mayboy

    Reunited

    Soul lost somewhere in air,
    undetermined in our pace,
    wandering through the universe,
    silent bond around the space,
    reunited in the commonplace.

    ↓
  19. mschied

    Oops

    The showrunners were in a tizzy
    jogging to and fro, throwing switches
    and testing lights, frantically unplugging
    and replugging extension cords, testing
    lights and checking circuit boxes, trying
    desperately to diagnose the faulty
    connection before the audience swarmed
    the seats. Amidst the hullabaloo, a
    lone figure nonchalantly wandered
    over to the speaker, and, slowly
    bending over for a better look, took
    one digit and, like a bird dive-bombing
    its prey below, drove it towards the
    precariously connected plug, dangling
    by a prong, immediately followed by
    the blaring fanfare of the background
    music. When asked what on earth
    she could have been thinking, tampering
    with an expensive piece of equipment
    like that, her blase response spoke
    volumes: “It was loose. I reconnected it.”

    ↓
  20. trishwrites

    Somewhere around the bend
    at the 3 kilometer mark
    Where the trial falls further
    away from town and winds
    through the ravine

    After stewing and turning
    over things I should have
    long ago shed

    Around the time the
    Cardinal sailed by
    And then a Blue Jay
    peered down at me
    When I looked up
    to find boughs bending
    A glimpse of the brilliance
    of blue
    How remarkable
    It is as I’m seeing them as if
    through a child’s eyes for
    the first time

    Around the time I began
    to sense the softness
    of pine needles
    beneath my feet

    And that finally after months
    of grey I’m surround by green
    The color of harmony
    And only the sound of my own
    breath

    Around that time I stopped
    Listened to the silence
    and reconnected with the earth

    ↓
  22. Anthony94

    Reconnecting Along the Boulevard

    Outside the door to the doctor’s office
    clearly marked No Soliciting, a killdeer
    dances in the wind. An inland plover
    that leans toward gravel spits and that
    precise section of ballast between railroad
    ties as best nesting. It is the bird that seems
    to drag a broken wing to lure predators and people
    from its young, understandable in the country
    or along the tracks but not here where the Ptek
    sign stands spread eagled above the churned
    up mud and water in the middle of the city
    warning away the unwary: Sidewalk closed.

    High stepping on stilt legs, it fails to heed
    orange cones, the black lettering. Veers into
    the water rushing down the street only to hop
    back up and shake mightily, every feather flying
    round as if powered by a lathe. It doesn’t join
    robins or starlings picking through grass
    or flicking mulch in search of worms, leaving
    me to wonder about imprinted connections.

    There is the pair that return yearly to our south
    pasture almost to the day come a warm spring
    wind. Contrast this solitary bird seining for
    nonexistent crustaceans. Freeze this precise
    moment when seeing it reconnects me to old
    memories, riverbanks, the day the engineer
    rolled the Santa Fe caboose south along the
    tracks so my father and I could see newly
    hatched chicks. I log this new occurrence
    on the back of a deposit slip to jog my mind
    when I return home three counties away,
    already knowing there are no coincidences.
    Was today’s sighting a gift of wind, rain,
    or just a benevolent serendipity? An hour later
    the bird had vanished but I know it isn’t gone.

    ↓
  23. Angie5804

    Does this betweenness include us?
    A shared secret, a love unsevered?
    Or are we bookends for what lies between?

    I search the fog for the bridge to cross
    To transverse the gulf, to close the gap
    To read the stories between us

    ↓
  24. Arash

    Tick-Tock
    by Arash

    Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock….
    the aging Adams and Eves, ageless Rock
    awash in oceans that spit shells and muck,
    stench must help it slim down, for Earth can’t walk
    as living do and universe’s clock,
    but only spin and spin as timeless talk.

    It’s late at night, I’m counting sheep, a knock,
    maybe it’s wind, I think of Keat’s hemlock,
    I need sleep, again the tick…where’s the tock?
    My Persian kitten yawns on the windowsill framed by stars….
    Between stars—on stars where no human race is,
    said Frost, but he’s no Eliot and Eliot can connect
    nothing with nothing. I’m sleepy…nothing. Tock.

    ↓
  27. Connie Peters

    Reconnect

    For the last two and one half years,
    I’ve been taking college classes,
    one after the other, back to back
    except for Christmas vacation.

    Somehow at the end Shakespeare,
    in mid-May, I have two weeks off
    to do whatever I want and need to do,
    during warm weather and longer days.

    It will give me a glimpse of what
    it will be like when I have no more school,
    when I’ll have a chance to reconnect
    with my life as I once knew it.

    Visit friends in another town on Saturday,
    Work on my writing projects and submit them.
    Take a long walk without a timer in my pocket.
    Take a day to shop and lunch with a friend.

    I know it will go fast and I’m thinking
    how to best use those two weeks.
    Clean the house? Landscape the yard?
    Take a trip? Or absolutely nothing?

    Or maybe a little bit of everything.

    ↓
  28. grcran

    when you touch me

    ain’t much but i know this
    connecting can’t be dis
    ain’t living in the grotto
    don’t want connection auto
    we separate then we
    connect again good re
    regaled i’m in your clutch
    connected to your touch

    gpr crane

    ↓
  29. taylor graham

    RECONNECTING

    I had a date with Shakespeare, my first
    love. But, driving out our little one-lane of dirt
    eroded by winter-storm, beside the mailbox
    pedestal, and revealed by recent mowing
    of knee-high spring grasses –
    how everything’s connected! – I saw a sump,
    a swamp, a pool of wet. A new spring
    sprung from underground as the water table’s
    risen from all that rain?
    Oh no, too close to where our pipe
    must run, from water meter up unseen routes
    to reach at last our house.
    A disconnect, a leak? small birds
    exulted at the pond that’s formed by wayward
    water. Small birds sang “living water
    is the landscape’s eye a-smiling.”
    O this springtime! as Shakespeare said,
    “when birds do sing.”
    How everything’s connected.

    ↓
  30. MET

    The Rebellion of my Head

    My head this morning
    Wants to be disconnected with me.
    I woke up this morning
    And the ceiling began to spin.
    My head is rebelling
    Against the rest of me.
    My stomach keeps a tumbling,
    As the world around me spins.
    I wish my head would
    Rather reconnect with the rest of me
    And the world would then stay still…

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    May 3, 2017

    Vertigo has come visiting….

    ↓
  31. Eileen S

    Vietnam Veterans and Facebook

    Last time they saw each other, Vietnam was in the news.
    As proud, young servicemen they fought for their country.
    But now, because of Facebook, they connect and share views.
    Last time they saw each other, Vietnam was in the news.
    After a tour in ‘Nam civilian life was what they pursued.
    As civilians they knew full well that Freedom was not free.
    Last time they saw each other, Vietnam was in the news.
    As proud, young servicemen they fought for their country.

    ↓
  32. MET

    Matty’s Forgotten Child

    There is a missing link
    In my family that I am not sure
    That all will appreciate my endeavor.
    You see after the Civil War,
    Matty married a young soldier
    Who was with the bloody seventh.
    He went in as a young boy, but
    Came home a scarred broken man.
    She had five children with him, but
    Life is not easy when the one you love
    Is still in a battlefield in Gettysburg or
    Chickamauga and would never really come home.
    His brothers took him to a mental hospital
    Where he would never come home.
    Matty and five children had to keep the farm.
    A young man who just a few years before
    Had been a slave and not free
    Aided the widow in many ways.
    Her family would hide the tale;
    Her husband’s family would not.
    Her oldest daughter refused to forgive
    Her mother and had her heart harden…
    I know because my father told me.
    When her husband finally died
    Years after the baby was born,
    His family gave his portion
    To his children and left her without a penny
    Or a home.
    Matty’s baby when it was born
    Had to be sent away
    Across the Savannah River.
    How sad it must have been
    Knowing that women in her community
    Had their white babies outside of marriage
    And kept them while hers must go away.
    The war had torn the lives of those
    Who never saw a battle.
    I wonder how she felt that day
    She let her baby go.
    I heard that she visited her brother often
    Who was in the town her child grew up
    While living with his or her father’s people.
    She even went there to teach school
    When she was sixty-one, but gave her name
    As her maiden name, and
    Lived for a while as a boarder.
    I have wondered if she taught her child.
    When Matty’s obituary was written,
    It spoke of how kind she was, and
    How she was loved.
    Four of her children were there that day
    They said goodbye. The oldest daughter
    Had died the year before, and
    At that funeral, my parents met.
    The sixth child did not know his
    Or her mother was gone.
    Somehow, it is that missing child
    That wants me to find that link,
    To reconnect Matty to her family.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    May 3, 2017

    ↓
  33. Uma

    Through a sliver of time
    a skein of dark hair

    twists itself into a road
    leading away from you

    You ask why I can’t
    stay another day

    Bleached of passion, the question
    fades into the colourless sky

    The answer lies
    in my leaving

    to wait where the horizon
    dissolves into the sea

    Follow the path now lit
    by silver tresses

    With the sheen of
    starry eyes a beacon

    to bring you back to me
    Isn’t that why I set you free

    ↓
  35. deringer1

    RECONNECT

    Our father’s family—found at last!
    We knew so little about his past.

    As we grew older we decided to search
    our genealogy, so what we did first

    was find how many others had our family name
    and to our surprise the answers came

    from state after state. The list grew long
    for to a very large clan, it seemed, we belonged.

    For one hundred years they had met for reunion,
    and so, our desire for connection begun,

    we travelled to meet these cousins galore
    and learned so much we’d not known before.

    We love to meet relatives, though ever so distant
    and just think, we almost missed it!

    ↓
  36. tripoet

    We’ve Been Here Before

    Standing on the porch
    of the home he had worked
    so hard to pay for-
    his eyes hooked me in
    again, sad, repentant,
    begging for “just one
    more chance”. I never could
    resist him and his eyes read
    this in my soul.
    I asked for a moment
    to think and re-think
    for hadn’t we stood
    here in this very spot
    before? Then a tug on
    my skirt- a frightened child
    hanging on my hem
    her eyes penetrating, also
    sad, repentant, begging,
    for a chance at normalcy
    and so I closed the door.

    ↓
  39. Daniel Paicopulos

    Matchbooks

    Gathered together,
    like our family at Thanksgiving,
    recalling memories, telling stories,
    each a moment in our shared lives.
    There must be more than a thousand,
    too many really to count,
    pretending to be snowflakes,
    every one distinct from the other.
    The shiny ones call for attention,
    their embossed lettering leaping out,
    not dimming the significance of
    their plainer cousins, but screaming
    mightily for attention.
    The calmer models,
    with no special filigree,
    just the facts, ma’am,
    of no less significance to us.
    We kept them for a reason,
    sometimes simply for an address,
    a telephone number,
    a note written on the inside cover,
    almost never for their created purpose,
    seldom to provide fire.
    We’ll keep them for a while,
    even play with them, spread on
    the dining room table,
    remembering the times, the places,
    a bit wistful, a little laughter, feeling older.
    Eventually, probably when we move,
    we’ll toss them, not without an argument,
    but a box of matchbooks
    just makes no sense in
    a moving van, moving on.

    ↓
  40. De Jackson

    Have you tried turning it off and on again?

    My internet is down again.
    I’m awfully sad about it.
    I’ve got a serious Netflix yen,
    but my internet is down again.
    Surely it’ll come back? Don’t know when,
    and I just can’t live without it!
    My internet is down again.
    I’m awfully sad about it.

    ::

    Walt, care to reconnect our triolet play today? I’m out soon, for a couple of hours, but then I’ll be back. 😉

    ↓
    2. Walter J Wojtanik

      WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID?

      I’m awfully sad about it.
      but old connections seem strained.
      It could be something that was said, but I doubt it,
      and I’m awfully sad about it.
      We could certainly do without it,
      it would be great to connect again.
      I’m awfully sad about it.
      Our old connection seem strained

      ↓
      1. De Jackson

        Can You Hear Me Now?

        Our old connections seem strained.
        Hey! Can you hear me now?
        All this static is leaving me drained,
        as our old connections seem strained.
        Does my hearing need rearranged?
        Or have I lost you somehow?
        Our old connections seems strained.
        Hey! Can you hear me now?

        ↓
        1. Walter J Wojtanik

          THE SILENT VOID

          Hey! Can you hear me now?
          I’ve been talking for years. Are you still there?
          Our connection was once a sacred cow,
          but hey, can you hear me now?
          I really think I’ve had enou’
          I wonder why we no longer never share
          Hey! Can you hear me now?
          I’ve been talking for years. Are you still there?

          ↓
          1. De Jackson

            I’ll Be Here All Week, Folks
            (Whether you like it or not.)

            I’ve been talking for years. Are you still there?
            Is this thing on? I’ve got a joke.
            And all you do is sit and stare –
            I’ve been talking for years. Are you still there?
            Hey, you! That big guy over there,
            Do I need to come over and give you a poke?
            I’ve been talking for years. Are you still there?
            Is this thing on? I’ve got a joke.

          2. Walter J Wojtanik

            TRY THE VEAL!
            (I don’t like it!)

            Is this thing on? I’ve got a joke.
            These two poets walk into a bar.
            One’s a wordsmith; one’s just a bloke.
            Is this thing on? I’ve got a joke.
            But both are really regular folk,
            and should stay the way they are!
            Is this thing on? I’ve got a joke.
            These two poets walk into a bar.

          3. De Jackson

            You All Know The Ending

            These two poets walk into a bar
            (right onto a friendly Street.)
            Yearning, relearning the scribblers they are,
            these two poets walked into a bar
            and nine years later, they’re still here to spar
            with words, and phrases complete.
            These two poets walk into a bar
            (right onto a friendly Street.)

          4. Walter J Wojtanik

            ALWAYS LISTEN TO WHAT MOTHER SAID

            Mother said to never play in the street.
            You all know the ending if we did!
            No matter what kind of folks you’ll meet,
            Mother said to never play in the street.
            You play on a playground. You drive in the street.
            (And drivers would mow you down no matter where you hid!)
            Mother said to never play in the street.
            You all know the ending if we did!

          5. De Jackson

            Connecting the Dots

            You all know the ending if we did.
            (And let me tell you, it ain’t pretty!)
            Our poor mamas would all flip their lids,
            and you all know the ending if we did
            everything that our wild whims bid.
            It would make for quite a ditty.
            You all know the ending if we did.
            (Let me tell you, it ain’t pretty!)

          6. Walter J Wojtanik

            POCK MARKED FOR SUCCESS

            (Let me tell you, it ain’t pretty!)
            It doesn’t’t look good from my place,
            and it certainly is a pity,
            (Let me tell you, it ain’t pretty!)
            Be it clean or be it gritty,
            i’ll never get this look off my face!
            (Let me tell you, it ain’t pretty!)
            It doesn’t’t look good from my place.

          7. De Jackson

            My Place or Yours?

            It doesn’t look good from my place.
            How is the view from yours?
            It just feels like outer space;
            no, it doesn’t look good from my place.
            Our connection’s been misplaced,
            taken one too many detours.
            It doesn’t look good from my place.
            how is the view from yours?

          8. Walter J Wojtanik

            YOUR PLACE FOR SURE

            How is the view from your place?
            I think I would like just what you see.
            It appears you have a lot of space,
            How is the view from your place?
            Reconnecting is not a disgrace,
            when we come together as “we.”
            How is the view from your place?
            I think I would like just what you see.

          9. De Jackson

            Connecting the Dots

            I think I would like just what you see
            when you look up to the night sky.
            You etch those lines so reverently,
            and I think I would like just what you see.
            Orion’s got an arrow just for me,
            I’m all sky-wandered starry eyes.
            I think I would like just what you see
            when you look up to the night sky.

          10. Walter J Wojtanik

            ^ That’s “Connecting the Dots – Part Deux”

            CONNECTING THE STARS

            When I look up to the night sky
            I see more than a confluence of stars.
            The vision I see is the beauty alive in your eyes
            when I look up to the night sky.
            That vastness is merely a parse of space, and try
            as I might I can never imagine spanning that far.
            When I look up to the night sky
            I see more than a confluence of stars.

          11. De Jackson

            Refastening Ourselves To This Vast, Wide Sky

            I see more than a confluence of stars;
            there are galaxies tied to us by invisible strings.
            When I look to Mercury, or Mars,
            I see more than a confluence of stars.
            This great expanse connection’s ours
            if we just let go of lesser things.
            I see more than a confluence of stars.
            There are galaxies tied to us by invisible strings.

          12. Walter J Wojtanik

            TO A LESSER STAR

            There are galaxies tied to us by invisible strings.
            And our flight goes to the second star on the right
            and straight on ’til morning, as if we had wings.
            There are galaxies tied to us by invisible strings.
            Lost boys like me would give their hearts for such things,
            even though we are not good looking, we are very bright.
            There are galaxies tied to us by invisible strings.
            And our flight goes to the second star on the right

          13. De Jackson

            Tied to Sky

            Our flight goes to the second star on the right,
            for true north’s got us in its gaze.
            With silver laces tucked in tight,
            our flight goes to the second star on the right –
            That one there, see? And I just might
            be tied to sky for all my days.
            Our flight goes to the second star on the right.
            True north’s got us in its gaze.

          14. Walter J Wojtanik

            BLESS THE TRUE NORTH, EH?

            True north’s got us in its gaze,
            and it’d be crazy to ignore us.
            Even through the murkiest of haze,
            true north’s got us in its gaze.
            It’s better through the sun’s bright rays,
            her brilliant stare if for us,
            True north’s got us in its gaze,
            and it’d be crazy to ignore us.

          15. De Jackson

            We Got a Guy for ’Dat.

            You’d be crazy to ignore us,
            cuz we’re connected to the mob.
            The quiet life sure does bore us.
            Oh, you’d be crazy to ignore us.
            And although some do implore us,
            we’re just here to do a job.
            You’d be crazy to ignore us.
            We’re connected to the mob!

          16. Walter J Wojtanik

            LA COSA SESTINA
            (We Got Made!)

            We’re connected to the mob
            I tend to blame “this thing of ours!”
            In this “poetic mafia” we are the slobs,
            we’re connected to the mob!
            Sometimes this is a “whacky” job,
            we could end up pushing up flowers!
            We’re connected to the mob
            I tend to blame “this thing of ours!”

          17. De Jackson

            The Pompanos

            I tend to blame “this thing of ours,”
            this obsession for rhyme and phrase.
            We’re word-gangsters with a poem cause
            (I tend to blame this thing of ours.)
            We’re armed and dangerous, that’s for sure!
            These pens can fire for days.
            I tend to blame “this thing of ours,”
            this obsession for word and phrase.

          19. Walter J Wojtanik

            The Triolet-Father

            This obsession for word and phrase,
            it is an offer made that I couldn’t refuse.
            This is the life we’ve chosen. It stays
            this obsession for word and phrase.
            In this regime, we have been “made”, it plays
            with the words and poetic forms we choose.
            This obsession for word and phrase,
            it is an offer made that I couldn’t refuse.

          20. De Jackson

            Quills in Your Bed Instead of a Horsehead

            It’s made us an offer we can’t refuse,
            this wily, whip-smart writing trade.
            It’s kept us limber, fast and loose –
            it’s made us an offer we can’t refuse.
            We’ll work in metered feet and concrete (shoes);
            we’ll work day and night – and not get paid.
            But it’s made us an offer we can’t refuse,
            this wily, whip-smart writing trade.

          21. Walter J Wojtanik

            VERSE CURSE

            This wily, whip-smart writing trade
            is both a blessing and a curse.
            Just when you thought have it made
            in this wily, whip-smart writing trade,
            someone rains on your parade.
            All in the cause of writing verse,
            this wily, whip-smart writing trade
            is both a blessing and a curse.

          22. De Jackson

            Why-Fi

            It’s both a blessing and a curse
            to reconnect your Internet.
            There are certainly things that could be worse,
            but it’s both a blessing and a curse.
            One zillion channels, so diverse.
            I’ve flipped them all, and there’s nothing on yet!
            It’s both a blessing and a curse
            to reconnect your internet.

          23. Walter J Wojtanik

            WYSIWYG GUY

            To reconnect to your internet
            ’tis to reconnect with the world!
            For ’tis “what you see is what you get”
            when you reconnect to your internet.
            No better WYSIWIG, you bet
            with your bright blog banners unfurled!
            To reconnect to your internet
            tis to reconnect with the world!

          24. De Jackson

            What You See Is What You Get – and No Regrets

            To reconnect with the world,
            just reach out and touch a heart.
            It’s the method that’s preferred,
            to reconnect with the world.
            A kind hand, a thought, a word
            is enough to make a start.
            To reconnect with the world,
            just reach out and touch a heart.

          25. Walter J Wojtanik

            HEART AND DARTS FLY

            Just reach out and touch a heart
            and watch what happens when the sparks fly.
            The perfect way to make romance start,
            just reach out and touch a heart.
            Do not shy from Cupid’s dart,
            Don’t ask for reasons why!
            Just reach out and touch a heart
            and watch what happens when the sparks fly.

          26. De Jackson

            To Gather Together, Again

            Watch what happens with the sparks fly
            at our family reunion in June!
            Aunt Mabel’s still mad at Cousin Syd’s lie.
            Oh, watch what happens when those sparks fly.
            Even twice-removed’s believe “an eye for an eye,”
            and so sometimes the food flies, too!
            Watch what happens when the sparks fly
            at our family reunion in June!

          27. Walter J Wojtanik

            ONE BIG CRAPPY FAMILY

            At our family reunion in June,
            We gather together from near and far.
            Well, some of us do, it’s the same old tune
            at our family reunion in June!
            Two sister aren’t talking to the other two, and
            blood is thicker than tar.
            At our family reunion in June,
            We gather together from near and far.

          28. De Jackson

            Together We Spill

            We gather together from near and far
            with our quills poised and ready to spill.
            With our minds full of barrows and sparrows and stars,
            we gather together from near and far.
            To etch out the ache and to heal some old scars,
            we come here to get our phrase-fill.
            We gather together from near and far
            with our quills poised and ready to spill.

          29. Walter J Wojtanik

            BLOOD POETS

            With our quills poised and ready to spill
            “blood stained” ink from our heart and soul,
            we join once more for our triolet thrill
            with our quills poised and ready to spill.
            Ms. Masterful Mermaid and her poetic shill,
            with the other’s last line we takes control.
            With our quills poised and ready to spill
            “blood stained” ink from our heart and soul,

          30. De Jackson

            We Think In Ink

            Blood-stained ink from our heart and soul
            chains us together in rhythm and rhyme.
            Some poem dance-sparring is the only goal
            with this blood-stained ink from our heart and soul.
            A brilliant Poet-Man on a triolet stroll
            knows how to show this girl a good time.
            Blood-stained ink from our heart and soul
            chains us together in rhythm and rhyme.

          31. Walter J Wojtanik

            POETS BE LIKE…

            Chain us together in rhythm and rhyme
            leave us to our own devices,
            give us a prompt and a wee bit of time,
            chain us together in rhythm and rhyme.
            We’re just poor poets, we don’t make a dime,
            a good word full of praise suffices.
            Chain us together in rhythm and rhyme
            leave us to our own devices,

          32. De Jackson

            Re:Connection

            Leave us to our own devices
            (you know, iPhones and iPads and such).
            These electronics are connection paradises,
            so just leave us to our own devices.
            We’ll click and share and collect “Like” prizes,
            all with just one quick touch!
            Leave us to our own devices
            (you know, iPhones and iPads and such).

          33. Walter J Wojtanik

            GO BIG, OR GO BIGGER!

            You know, iPhones and iPads and such,
            even on our 60 inch screens,
            we can be found writing with our poetic touch,
            (on you know, iPhones and iPads and such).
            We’ve found triolets have been great in a clutch
            and a little easier than a sestine!
            You know, iPhones and iPads and such,
            even on our 60 inch screen.

          34. De Jackson

            Reconnecting with Auntie Grace via FaceTime

            Even on our 60-inch screens,
            her laughter is contagious.
            And she paints such vivid story-scenes,
            especially on our 60-inch screens.
            She’s filled with joy, and full of beans –
            the sounds she makes, outrageous!
            Even on our 60-inch screens,
            her laughter is contagious.

          35. Walter J Wojtanik

            WHEN SHE LAFFED, THE WORLD LAFFED WITH HER!

            I remember “Laffing Gerty”, her laughter was contagious.
            I haven’t heard the old girl for years,
            but when she would roll, she was outrageous!
            I remember “Laffing Gerty”, her laughter was contagious.
            There was just a loud uproar, she did not “laff” in stages.
            And I would laugh with her, almost to tears.
            I remember “Laffing Gerty”, her laughter was contagious.
            I haven’t heard the old girl for years,

            For more about Gerty:

            https://aleerily.wordpress.com/2013/07/16/laughing-gerty/

          36. De Jackson

            Gerty’s Still Got It

            I haven’t heard the old girl for years.
            But oh, she was a fright!
            She once had me in fearful tears,
            but I haven’t heard the old girl for years.
            She haunted me and all my peers
            and had us up all night.
            I haven’t heard the old girl for years.
            But oh, she was a fright.

          37. Walter J Wojtanik

            EVEN WHEN SHE WAS GOOD, SHE WAS BAD

            But oh, she was a horrid fright.
            She was part saint, part witch.
            She would cackle all night,
            and oh, she was a horrid fright.
            Her good and bad would nightly fight
            she couldn’t scratch her “itch”.
            But oh, she was a horrid fright.
            She was part saint, part witch.

          38. De Jackson

            Not Half Bad?

            Oh, she was part saint, part witch
            (and which was witch, we did not know.)
            Oh, she could pull quite the switch,
            because she was part saint, part witch.
            When we got near her, we’d get a twitch –
            an itch that said it’s time to goooooo!
            Oh, she was part saint, part witch
            (and which was witch, we did not know.)

          39. De Jackson

            Sitting at Her Table

            When she was bad, she wasn’t that mean,
            just a lonely old lady in a warty mask.
            She hardly ever made a scene;
            even when she was bad, she wasn’t that mean.
            And she was kind to us wayward teens
            as we gobbled cookies on her damask.
            When she was bad, she wasn’t that mean,
            just a lonely old lady in a warty mask.

        2. De Jackson

          Not Half Bad?

          Oh, she was part saint, part witch
          (and which was witch, we did not know.)
          Oh, she could pull quite the switch,
          because she was part saint, part witch.
          When we got near her, we’d get a twitch –
          an itch that said it’s time to goooooo!
          Oh, she was part saint, part witch
          (and which was witch, we did not know.)

          ↓
          1. Walter J Wojtanik

            WHICH IS WITCH?

            Which was witch, we did not know,
            for when she was bad, she wasn’t that mean!
            And I believe that it only goes to show
            which was witch, we did not know.
            When she was saintly her halo would glow,
            but it never did on Halloween.
            Which was witch, we did not know,
            For when she was bad, she wasn’t that mean!

          2. De Jackson

            Whoops. Wrong spot.

            Sitting at Her Table

            When she was bad, she wasn’t that mean,
            just a lonely old lady in a warty mask.
            She hardly ever made a scene;
            even when she was bad, she wasn’t that mean.
            And she was kind to us wayward teens
            as we gobbled cookies on her damask.
            When she was bad, she wasn’t that mean,
            just a lonely old lady in a warty mask.

          3. Walter J Wojtanik

            SKIN DEEP

            Just a lonely old lady in a warty mask
            but for sure looks can be deceiving.
            Too many suitors had been taken to task,
            just a lonely old lady in a warty mask.
            “Is beauty only skin deep?” they ask
            for it seems that they are disbelieving,
            Just a lonely old lady in a warty mask
            but for sure looks can be deceiving.

          4. De Jackson

            Reconnecting with a Classic

            Looks sure can be deceiving,
            as Beauty and the Beast should know.
            There’s a lesson to be receiving:
            looks sure can be deceiving.
            Be our guest when it comes to believing
            it’s only skin deep – there’s more, fo sho’.
            Looks sure can be deceiving,
            as Beauty and the Beast should know.

          5. Walter J Wojtanik

            POEM IN THE KEY OF LIFE

            A Beauty and a Beast should know
            expression is the key to a life,
            and a triolet is the way to go,
            a Beauty and a Beast should know.
            A Vegas beauty and a beast from Buffalo
            will write of pain and love and strife,
            a Beauty and a Beast should know
            expression is the key to a life,

  42. mapoet

    Doughboy

    I learned through
    family anecdotes
    that you fought
    in World War I.
    Research let me
    trace your journey
    from Parris Island
    to Quantico and
    then to France.
    You were wounded
    and declared missing
    during a major offensive
    in which an American
    poet was killed.
    It is unlikely that
    you knew him, but
    like the rest of us,
    caught a glimpse of him
    through the trees.

    By Michelle Pond

    ↓
  43. writinglife16

    WAVES OF LIFE

    Depression interrupted
    my muse’s flow.
    Words dried up and dreams just stopped
    And during poem-a-
    day month of all things.

    ↓
  44. LCaramanna

    Jigsaw Puzzle

    Puzzle pieces
    in a pile
    appear
    random shapes
    with undefined relationships.
    Irregularly cut,
    jigsawed edges
    seem unrelated
    until closer analysis
    reveals
    disjointed puzzle pieces
    connect
    in preconceived pattern.

    ↓

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