Thursday, November 13, 2014

Suddenly ~ Blackout Poetry #6


unmistakeable
ever-present
sadness

     rendered
        even more poignant
           by choked emotions
           gathering as night falls;

     sequestered by
        enveloping anguish

suddenly

cried out in pain

lost
     in doubt and visions
        of nothing




A note on form:  Blackout poetry...Erasure poetry...Redacted poetry...by whatever name you wish to call it....  The above construction is formed by taking an already existing piece of work (whether from a book or newspaper or any other written entity) and removing words until you are left with something that hopefully makes sense.

About this series:  My goal is to challenge myself to unearth some semblance of sense through the use of blackout/erasure poetry.

Attribution:   Blackout Poetry unearthed from a page in Lee Smith’s novel, Oral History.

Friday, November 7, 2014

Where Colors Are Lacking

If I could paint you,
    I'd paint you
                        in heart

broad
           brilliant
                        splashes
imbued with compassion that understands thruths
infused with love that looks beyond perceptions
ingrained with generosity that awakens others eyes

If I could paint you,
    I'd paint you
                        in stain glass
                                 
tiny
        scattered
                        specs
forged with lost hearts squirreled away
fashioned with broken souls gathered close
framed with shattered minds secured together

If I could paint you,
    I'd paint you
                        in Equus asinus
                                 
stark
          intense
                      strokes
saturated with inspiring and enduring support
steeped with enduring and empowering strength
suffused with empowering and uplifting hope

If I could paint you,
    I'd paint you
                        a flickering light
drawn to the shadows
staving off the darkness
illuminating lost truths & shattered hopes



On fading thoughts resurfacing:  I've had two spells recently where a thought has popped into my head with the potential of being something more than it is...odd thoughts that don't quite fit into the world of reality, but have a way of finding themselves in a poetic frame.  Both (probably due to the fact that they came to me when driving) left me before really taking hold.  And then as if they were meant to breathe, something sparked them back to life.  Oddly...I did nothing with the rekindling embers...not immediately anyway.  Why do I bring this up, you ask...and if you don't, well too bad, I'm going to answer it anyway.  This piece is the fruition of one of those thoughts, which is encompassed in the first three lines of this piece.

About the blank:  Truth?  I can't find the right word.  Or maybe I'm looking for a better word than the one that first came to mind...though I'm sure the person who this piece speaks to would quite enjoy the use of the word.  I'm looking for something that speaks to being a shoulder one can lean upon, to being something that can help carry the heavy load...thus the words support and strength.  If something doesn't come soon, I will resign myself to my initial thought...you may wish to stop back later today to see what becomes of the blank...and trust me, you'll know whether I found the right word or went with the one still clinging to my thoughts.

Update:  So the blank is now filled...thus the above ramble seems pointless to most...I'm still not totally sold on my choice; I went with a variation on my initial thought...still I feel like I should just suck it up and go with my first instincts....I wouldn't be surprised if I came back tomorrow to...not sure what...

Update #2:  okay, I didn't even make it until tomorrow...the blank is back...I need more time to ponder...I know, it was barely up for a minute (okay maybe five) and now again you're curious...or perhaps not...I really do need to stop being an _______.

Final Update:  After much consideration and some pretty poor ideas for the blank, as well as a running argument over why my first instinct just didn't fit write, I have made a decision.  What finally sold me on it was the movie Couples Retreat.  And so, as my first update began, I will stick with my original word, but rather than using its generic name, I'm going with the more scientic name.



 

Thursday, November 6, 2014

The Switch ~ Blackout Poetry #5





the moon
was keeping time
with the sun

night
switched
pink to silver white
then orange
shinning all over

day







A note on form:  Blackout poetry...Erasure poetry...Redacted poetry...by whatever name you wish to call it....  The above construction is formed by taking an already existing piece of work (whether from a book or newspaper or any other written entity) and removing words until you are left with something that hopefully makes sense.

About this series:  My goal is to challenge myself to unearth some semblance of sense through the use of blackout/erasure poetry.

Attribution:   Blackout Poetry unearthed from a page in Lee Smith’s novel, Oral History.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

A Tale of Love (and Woe) – Lovers' Song #13

Princess #13

Knight #13



A note on form:  The above form has little (or sporadic) history.  Part of a long line of ancient Japanese forms from which come the sedōka, choka, and tanka is the katauta.  Depending on the source this poem (also known as a half-poem or half-song), is either 17 (5 / 7 / 5) or 19 (5 / 7 / 7) syllables long.  The feeling I get is that this form is meant to be one half of a conversation...perhaps two lovers conversing back and forth.  There is also note of this form consisting of a question-and-answer feel; the first poem posing the question, while the second poem answers it. 

About this series:  This series is a branch-off of a ten act ballad called A Tale of Love and Woe.  All odd numbered installations are initiated by the "princess" with a response from the "knight."  In each of these, the princess follows the 17 syllable pattern to which the knight replies in kind. All even numbered installations are initiated by the "knight" with a response from the "princess."  In each of these, the knight follows the 19 syllable pattern to which the princess replies in kind. 

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Blinding ~ Blackout Poetry #4

Blinding





I write the sun
so brightly
it comes with
the faintest of smiles
like a fairy tale

blinding
she rises
I cannot restrain
her shouting across
the snow
so bright and fine







A note on form:  Blackout poetry...Erasure poetry...Redacted poetry...by whatever name you wish to call it....  The above construction is formed by taking an already existing piece of work (whether from a book or newspaper or any other written entity) and removing words until you are left with something that hopefully makes sense.

About this series:  My goal is to challenge myself to unearth some semblance of sense through the use of blackout/erasure poetry.

Attribution:   Blackout Poetry unearthed from a page in Lee Smith’s novel, Oral History.


Thursday, October 23, 2014

Blurred ~ Blackout Poetry #3

Blurred





my answer blurred
in the laughter
frolicking

on the edge of
his full lips













A note on form:  Blackout poetry...Erasure poetry...Redacted poetry...by whatever name you wish to call it....  The above construction is formed by taking an already existing piece of work (whether from a book or newspaper or any other written entity) and removing words until you are left with something that hopefully makes sense.

About this series:  My goal is to challenge myself to unearth some semblance of sense through the use of blackout/erasure poetry.

Attribution:   Blackout Poetry unearthed from a page in Erin Kelly’s novel, The Poison Tree.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Wading in Depression

I choose blue
like the blood
running through my veins

I know red
could set me free
release me
from the dark depths
of blue

still
I choose blue
like the sky above
that I gaze upon in wonder
& hope
waiting on the rainbow's touch
to carry me away



About this write:  I was flipping through my notebook..searching for unresolved pieces and I came across this little number.  It was written to a prompt for dVerse Poets Pub, but in the end (for reasons I can't quite explain) I pushed it aside and constructed a different piece.  I don't know that it is ready to be shared...yesterday I thought so...today, my mood is to reflected and so I'm doubting its flight.  The poem was based of a piece of photography by Joel Robinson.  The particular piece that first struck me (see "Break Away" below) was partially due to the image, but I think even more so due to the quote that followed it.  And maybe it was my frame of mind then...maybe it is my frame of mind now...but the red felt like the wrong color choice as it relates to the quote.  Red = gushing blood = wrong kind of 'break away'.  Given that, I'd rather remain blue...always hopeful my rainbow might come and carry me away to a lovely treasure.

"Break Away" 
"A repost of an older image that I want to dedicate to anyone struggling to 
break through depression, darkness, turmoil or sadness. The world needs you, 
you are not alone and we are here to help you break through."
- Joel Robinson

On a side note:  I've been a bit lost lately...of course that is not quite so unusual with me.  I'm trying to keep a routing so I don't quite lose this part of me...thus the series appearing every Tuesday and Thursday...one forces me to write, one forces me to create.  I've been doing my best (which at the moment is terrible) in trying to make the rounds...the past several weeks I found myself at least once a week playing catch up for several hours...this past week did not go so well even in that regard.  I will pull myself out of this rut eventually..."break away" so to speak eventually...in the meantime, forgive me my absence...not here so much as in your neck of the woods...I'm working on locating the breadcrumbs back to your dwellings.

A Tale of Love (and Woe) – Lovers' Song #12

Knight #12


Princess #12



A note on form:  The above form has little (or sporadic) history.  Part of a long line of ancient Japanese forms from which come the sedōka, choka, and tanka is the katauta.  Depending on the source this poem (also known as a half-poem or half-song), is either 17 (5 / 7 / 5) or 19 (5 / 7 / 7) syllables long.  The feeling I get is that this form is meant to be one half of a conversation...perhaps two lovers conversing back and forth.  There is also note of this form consisting of a question-and-answer feel; the first poem posing the question, while the second poem answers it. 

About this series:  This series is a branch-off of a ten act ballad called A Tale of Love and Woe.  All odd numbered installations are initiated by the "princess" with a response from the "knight."  In each of these, the princess follows the 17 syllable pattern to which the knight replies in kind. All even numbered installations are initiated by the "knight" with a response from the "princess."  In each of these, the knight follows the 19 syllable pattern to which the princess replies in kind. 

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Finding Home ~ Blackout Poetry #2

Finding Home





you kissed
my heart

and I
was home















A note on form:  Blackout poetry...Erasure poetry...Redacted poetry...by whatever name you wish to call it....  The above construction is formed by taking an already existing piece of work (whether from a book or newspaper or any other written entity) and removing words until you are left with something that hopefully makes sense.

About this series:  My goal is to challenge myself to unearth some semblance of sense through the use of blackout/erasure poetry. 

Attribution:   Blackout Poetry unearthed from a page in Erin Kelly’s novel, The Poison Tree.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

NOTES

NOTES
music
vibrations

internal rhythm
unwinds on mellow waves
harmonizing with the world

"makings for poetry with sound."



A note on form:  I was a bit nostalgic for the clarity pyramid this morning.  It has been quite some time since I last wrote to this form.  For some reason, I have always found this form interesting and a bit challenging; granted I often wrote it to the 3WW challenge, which added extra constraints.  Typically the syllable constraints (1,2,3 // 5,6,7 // 8) lend themselves toward a triangular structure (thus pyramid), but as is the case with some crazy multi-syllable words this effect is not always fully achieved. This piece would be an example of minor departures.

On inspiration for this piece:  Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Poetics is exploring the influence of music.  I have often felt a very strong connection to music.  I actually wrote a series of poems that focused on the cathartic effects of music on me when the world is spinning out of control. This piece has overtones of the same.  I also (for almost a year) would write a poem a week inspired by a piece of music.  It was definitely a fun and enjoyable (though sometime frustrating) experience.


Tuesday, October 14, 2014

A Tale of Love (and Woe) – Lovers' Song #11

Princess #11


Knight #11



A note on form:  The above form has little (or sporadic) history.  Part of a long line of ancient Japanese forms from which come the sedōka, choka, and tanka is the katauta.  Depending on the source this poem (also known as a half-poem or half-song), is either 17 (5 / 7 / 5) or 19 (5 / 7 / 7) syllables long.  The feeling I get is that this form is meant to be one half of a conversation...perhaps two lovers conversing back and forth.  There is also note of this form consisting of a question-and-answer feel; the first poem posing the question, while the second poem answers it. 


About this series:  This series is a branch-off of a ten act ballad called A Tale of Love and Woe.  All odd numbered installations are initiated by the "princess" with a response from the "knight."  In each of these, the princess follows the 17 syllable pattern to which the knight replies in kind. All even numbered installations are initiated by the "knight" with a response from the "princess."  In each of these, the knight follows the 19 syllable pattern to which the princess replies in kind. 

Monday, October 13, 2014

Riddle Me This...

So first came the thought of fall and autumn colors dancing to the ground...this lead to another thought within which was hidden a poem.  I kept this poem tucked away, almost forgotten, until I came across a piece by another poet...a lovely haiku entitled Fall by Jeff (of My Tiny Throes).  After reading this, the poetic thoughts resurfaced forming the following:
Crying Trees

blush pink tears fall
scatter to the wind
celebrating new life
drops of joy

hushed amber tears fall
cascade to the ground
embracing life's end
drops of grief


In conjunction was birthed a riddle:

They cry twice a year, joyously at first with a spring in their limbs and then grievously with fallen hearts.  What are they?


And alas, came the melding of the two...

What Are They?

They cry twice a year
joyously at first with a spring in their limbs
blush pink tears fall
scatter to the wind
celebrating new life
drops of joy
and then grievously with fall hearts
hushed amber tears fall 
cascade to the ground
embracing life's end
drops of grief.
What are they?

Why the need to meld them?  No idea....  I guess I just thought it would be interesting....

Friday, October 10, 2014

Death of a Goldfish

Death of a Goldfish


orange sherbet floats
belly up in a
crystal sea
[three parts 7UP
four parts ginger ale]

waiting on the hand
giant in relation
to his own
[though his doesn't exist
so that's saying a lot]

meant to scoop him up
placing him deep within
earth's underbelly

swallowing him whole
turning him over
swim through non-existence



Inspiration for this piece:  Over at dVerse Poets Pub, for this weeks MeetTheBar they're exploring "Verbal Cubism and Tender Buttons."  I thought "what the heck" and then I thought "what the heck."  (You'd know the difference if you could hear me say them in my head.)  Anyway, in an attempt to write something I came up with the above piece.  Just because the prompt gave birth to this, does not mean it fits the prompt...'cause the cubism thing confuses me and the poem above makes perfect sense.

On unearthing titles:  This piece originally was going to be called Goldfish...I know...very creative.  Then it was going to be called Goldfish and the Glass Box, because well boxes can be cubes.  But that went out the window when I changed the word swim (at the end of the first line) to floats.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

The Wait ~ Blackout Poetry #1

The Wait




time shrugs
revealing boundaries;

only love
makes the waiting
thrilling.















A note on form:  Blackout poetry...Erasure poetry...Redacted poetry...by whatever name you wish to call it....  The above construction is formed by taking an already existing piece of work (whether from a book or newspaper or any other written entity) and removing words until you are left with something that hopefully makes sense.

About this series:  My goal is to challenge myself to unearth some semblance of sense through the use of blackout/erasure poetry.  This piece is technically my second attempt at such a feat, but the start of this new plight and thus marked as Blackout Poetry #1.  I have, for the fun of it, included my first attempt below.

Attribution (above):   Blackout Poetry unearthed from a page in Erin Kelly’s novel, The Poison Tree.

Attribution (below):   Blackout Poetry unearthed from a page in Debbie Viguié’s novel, Violet Eyes.



Dancing Down the Storm





A storm--
charged with intensity
of every terrible moment--
died,
when she danced.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

A Tale of Love (and Woe) – Lovers' Song #10

Knight #10

Princess #10



A note on form:  The above form has little (or sporadic) history.  Part of a long line of ancient Japanese forms from which come the sedōka, choka, and tanka is the katauta.  Depending on the source this poem (also known as a half-poem or half-song), is either 17 (5 / 7 / 5) or 19 (5 / 7 / 7) syllables long.  The feeling I get is that this form is meant to be one half of a conversation...perhaps two lovers conversing back and forth.  There is also note of this form consisting of a question-and-answer feel; the first poem posing the question, while the second poem answers it. 


About this series:  This series is a branch-off of a ten act ballad called A Tale of Love and Woe.  All odd numbered installations are initiated by the "princess" with a response from the "knight."  In each of these, the princess follows the 17 syllable pattern to which the knight replies in kind. All even numbered installations are initiated by the "knight" with a response from the "princess."  In each of these, the knight follows the 19 syllable pattern to which the princess replies in kind. 

Friday, October 3, 2014

Smack's Kiwi (N+7)

crinkles sing gently
beneath the moped's lushes glutton
waking drifts behind closed fables

carbohydrate horseflies serenade
beneath flashing nest likelihood
coaxing drifts to steal the nil



Inspiration for this piece:   As previously mentioned, over at dVerse Poets Pub they are exploring the merger of math and poetry.  The particular form described is the most popular OULIPO (Ouvroir de Litterature Potentielle); it is called N+7.  You take an already existing piece and replace all nouns with the noun seven places away in a dictionary of your choosing (mine was a Merriam-Webster's Pocket Dictionary).  Now, in my head this meant counting not every word and hoping the seventh was a noun (which may be what was supposed to be done), but rather finding the seventh noun that followed it (thus only counting a word if it was a noun).  You are also not to use a word that has the same root...this for me occurred twice and interestingly enough in the same relative spot.  The last word in each stanza.  This meant in the first stanza (which ended with eyes) I could not only not use eyesores, but had to skip past all the eye--- into the F's.  The second stanzas end of night would have been replaced with nightmare.

On selecting an original poem:  Short and sweet...


Slumber's Kiss

crickets sing gently
beneath the moon's lushes glow
waking dreams behind closed eyes

car horns serenade
beneath flashing neon lights
coaxing dreams to steal the night 

cr | azy

(I know, I usually put this ramblings at the end, but I thought it better to start with the things that brought this craziness into existence.)

Inspiration for this piece:  Over at dVerse Poets Pub, they are exploring the intersection (or Marriage) of math and poetry.  While the introduced form (which I must admit intrigues me) is not one I have ever come across, I have explored other convergences of math and poetry:  Fibs, which are based off of the Fibonacci sequence; Palindromes, of the word by word variety (I've seen the letter by letter variety and those people who wrote them...wow); and then technically there is any of the syllabic numerical pattern such as Etherees and Nonets.  The challenge was to employ the N+7, the most well known OULIPO (Ouvroir de Litterature Potentielle) though the Palindrome falls under this group as well.  Or, for those left-side brained crazy people (crazy is my word), to create an form where math and poetry overlap.  If I haven't mentioned this lately, my left brain has been vying for some attention as of late...seems my right has been running the show.  And so, please forgive me the math you are about to encounter.

A bit of math:  I was too lazy to write my own explanation of the Stem-and-Leaf plot, so I grabbed this from the Usborne Illustrated Dictionary of Math.


A bit of figurative language:  I'm certain most poets are well familiar with alliteration.  "The occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of adjacent or closely connected words." (google search dictionary definition)  There definitely are some fun tongue twister examples of this..."Peter Piper picked a pack of picked peppers"..."Sally sold sea shells by the sea shore"...

The trick of bringing them together:  First...often with alliteration, there are additional words (such as of, the, by, etc.) that sit in the midst of the adjacent "same" letters.  In creating this mergence, these extras must go and not take away from the piece.  Second...in the case of the stem, this comes from the beginning consonants that are repeating.  (Yes, I am avoiding words that begin with vowels in this creation...I'm sure I could come up with a way to use vowels, but my brain is not ready for such thought.)  Finally, the stem comes from the rest of the word, with spaces (as seen above) used between the word endings.  So, what does it look like and how do you read it?  Glad you asked....

cr | azy
 

hmmm....maybe I shouldn't tell you how it reads...it would probably be more fun if you have to figure it out...


An aside:  As for the N+7...give me and my pocket dictionary a few minutes or so...

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Too Late





A note on form:  This is  my third attempt at the form developed by Gay Reiser Cannon. She has dubbed it by two names, "Falling Diamonds" and "Quarrel."

"It is composed of a series of lines beginning with one line of one iambic foot, then two, three, four, five, four, three, two iambic feet and then again one iambic foot where the one foot lines must rhyme. Basically then the form is blank verse that is shaped in diamonds or triangles with one sustaining middle rhyme. You may choose to add either internal or end rhymes as well but the only requirement is for the one foot lines to rhyme. Hyphenating end words is prohibited. A minimum of two diamonds should be made." (Cannon, 2014)
In her most recent exploration of the form, she spoke of how adjusting the structure slightly would allow for this form to be utilized to tell two sides of a story or a conversation between two individuals.  This is my second attempt at varying the structure, yet this time I worked to better maintain the diamond form.  I also created the piece so that the middle (shared line) can actually be used to end the first diamond and/or start the second diamond.

About the structure:  While I was able to get the desired effect to appear for me, the device used to view or even the screen resolution some choose to use could throw off the visual.  And so, in order to counteract this I decided to create it as an image instead.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

A Tale of Love (and Woe) – Lovers' Song #9

Princess #9



Knight #9




A note on form:  The above form has little (or sporadic) history.  Part of a long line of ancient Japanese forms from which come the sedōka, choka, and tanka is the katauta.  Depending on the source this poem (also known as a half-poem or half-song), is either 17 (5 / 7 / 5) or 19 (5 / 7 / 7) syllables long.  The feeling I get is that this form is meant to be one half of a conversation...perhaps two lovers conversing back and forth.  There is also note of this form consisting of a question-and-answer feel; the first poem posing the question, while the second poem answers it. 


About this series:  This series is a branch-off of a ten act ballad called A Tale of Love and Woe.  All odd numbered installations are initiated by the "princess" with a response from the "knight."  In each of these, the princess follows the 17 syllable pattern to which the knight replies in kind. All even numbered installations are initiated by the "knight" with a response from the "princess."  In each of these, the knight follows the 19 syllable pattern to which the princess replies in kind. 

Friday, September 26, 2014

Right vs. Left: Brain Wars

I need
to be. That's it,
just be - but you, my friend,
my "better" half refuse to let
me be.  You fear the driving force behind
my creativity.  I breathe emotions in
like air; emotions set me free an though
irrational they be I have
to breathe to live.  So why,
oh why, do you
impede?
And don't you think
I too have cause to breathe.
But you in all your flashy hues
disturb my sense of self; but even more
you threaten all we are.  Those crazy emotions
disrupt our equilibrium; and all 
you care about is you.  And what 
of me, my "better" half,
oh why must I
recede? 



Inspiration for this piece:

#1 - Over at dVerse Poets Pub, we are exploring a form invented by Gay Reiser Cannon (Beachanny by the Sea and Beachanny Texas).  This is not my first time exploring this form.  Once before I tried tackling it while incorporating opposing views, but I felt unsure.  I think part of that had to do with the fact that I was uncertain if people would realize it was to different points of view.  With this new exploration of the form, called Quarrel (or Falling Diamonds), ideas were presented on how to alter the format to allow for two sides of the same coin...so to speak.  I do admit I'm torn by the center line (as is my poem).  In my first go at this form I created such that if you read the two diamonds separately the middle line worked both as the end of one or the beginning of the other.  Here I was not able to accomplish that same feat, nor sure how I would have included it given the structure I chose.

#2 - Been thinking a lot on brain theory...attended a workshop on it...and to be honest the battle of my hemispheres for control has always been on my mind.  I have some pretty odd theories in regard to this matter, but I'll save you the crazy.


Side Note ~ structure loses something on mobile devices, particularly phones. 

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Autumn's Palette - Defying the Color Wheel

green transforms
into blushing reds
       brilliant oranges
       mellow yellows
       russet browns

what other color
can claim such fame?

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Para-Morph

To Serve
by Brooke Shaden


Para-Morph

There exist diamonds among butterflies,
colorless morphs with gossamer wings.

They cling like death to trees
born to fear the blustering winds;
their delicacy easily tossed-n-torn.

Vigilant, they wait for life giving forces
  weighed down in hues of blue
    overflowing in shades of orange
  steaming in tints of red
    steeped in blushes of purple
to connect their symbiotic chord to.

Emotions flow as colored ink
releasing heavy/bursting hearts
as the butterflies find their wings.

On the winds dance colorful morphs,
shimmering jewels with brilliant-cut wings.



Inspiration for this piece:  For Poetics this week,  dVerse Poets Pub is exploring the "Passion of Brooke Shanden," a fine art photographer who doesn't mind getting in front of the camera.  It was not easy to select one image...for I was drawn to many, but in the end I did manage to find one to focus on.  (You can see more of her work through her gallery or her blog.)   

While the image present here as a heavyhearted feel to it, which I think fits well with the color choice of blue.  Originally my thought was to focus on the sadness...the butterfly pulling the sadness away both helping the individual by lightening their load and the butterfly by weighing it down (and adding color).  As I came to that portion of the poem, I felt an itch to move beyond just a single emotion.  I imaged similar images of joyous (orange) individuals twirling with butterflies attached and angry (red) fuming individuals and passionate (purple) individuals....  Any emotion can go overboard and take us too far away from the world and from ourselves; it seemed like the butterflies could help with stealing a bit more than just blues.

On a side note:  Not 100% sold on the title...



Tuesday, September 23, 2014

A Tale of Love (and Woe) – Lovers' Song #8

Knight #8

Princess #8



A note on form:  The above form has little (or sporadic) history.  Part of a long line of ancient Japanese forms from which come the sedōka, choka, and tanka is the katauta.  Depending on the source this poem (also known as a half-poem or half-song), is either 17 (5 / 7 / 5) or 19 (5 / 7 / 7) syllables long.  The feeling I get is that this form is meant to be one half of a conversation...perhaps two lovers conversing back and forth.  There is also note of this form consisting of a question-and-answer feel; the first poem posing the question, while the second poem answers it. 


About this series:  This series is a branch-off of a ten act ballad called A Tale of Love and Woe.  All odd numbered installations are initiated by the "princess" with a response from the "knight."  In each of these, the princess follows the 17 syllable pattern to which the knight replies in kind. All even numbered installations are initiated by the "knight" with a response from the "princess."  In each of these, the knight follows the 19 syllable pattern to which the princess replies in kind. 

Monday, September 22, 2014

Slumbers' Kiss

crickets sing gently
beneath the moon's lushes glow
waking dreams behind closed eyes

car horns serenade
beneath flashing neon lights
coaxing dreams to steal the night



A note on form:  One form I have found interesting is the sedōka.  Being an ancient Japanese form predating the haiku, there is little about this form for an unschooled poet who relies on the internet for information.  It has been linked with the choka, tanka, and katauta.  Most closely it is related to the katauta; I have found sources that state the katauta is 5-7-7 and/or 5-7-5 (like a haiku, but without the nature link).  The form is known as a half-song...putting two together (in the 5-7-7 version) creates a sedōka.  My first exposure to the sedōka stated it was often a pair of individual poems (able to stand on their own) that addressed the same subject in a different manner.  I think this is what I like most about the form.  There is also sources that indicate this pairing was an exchange between lovers.  I prefer to link that instead with the katauta with the idea that two different individuals are writing in a call-n-response form.  I have been exploring this notion in a series called A Tale of Love (and Woe) - Lovers' Song.  Tomorrow I will be sharing the 8th piece in the series.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

More than Me (alt. title: I Need to Get Over Myself)

I want to say something
     not nothing

I read the other day
about 'perfection paralysis'

the inability to
     put pen to paper
           fingers to keyboard
           life o words
for fear of not
     being perfect

& I thought
                   "Wow,
that's me!"

so caught up with all of me that
is imperfect, I
long for something
             something
             something that
is perfect

& it's not about the words I choose
    though
that definitely plays a part
     but

I want to say something
     not nothing

I want my words to resonate
to mean something
outside of the nothing that is me

I'm not paralyzed by the imperfection
     of my words

I'm paralyzed by the perfection of others'

beauty pours from their lips
heart scrawls across napkins
truth stains their fingers

& I sit
so caught up in the nothing of me
that I grasp at straws for something
                                      something
                                      something more

than me


Monday, September 15, 2014

Crazy & Old – Yes, but Cats – No

They say every girl dreams
        about her wedding day;

I'm not
            "every" girl.

I wonder if I knew
        even back then

        (though fond of felines)
how reluctant I would be
to adopt a cat.


Thursday, September 11, 2014

In the End, It Is for Me Alone

Selfishness,
the ability to put one's self
before others
a quality I lack
with regret
for those moments
of pain
which tear through me
at times

Selfishness,
the ability to disregard others
in self gain
a characteristic I view
with envy
for to cut away the pain
which consumes
would take one single selfish act
ending it all

Selflessness,
the ability to look past one's self
at others
a quality I exude
with glee
for those pained moments
are few
which leaves many wondrous experiences
to live.



Inspiration for this post:  I wrote the above piece back in September of 2004.  I felt, with this being National Suicide Prevention Week, this was a relevant write.  I admit it is an unusual and odd train of thought, but that is often the case with me...odd and unusual.  Honestly, aside from the use of the word "few" at the end there, I still hear echos of this train of thought.   

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Bringing Light to Darkness

Inspiration for this post:  This is the convergence of what I feel must be non-coincidences.  Over at dVerse, the topic is "Bringing Light to Darkenss."  Shortly after reading the post, I was browsing through my tumblr feed and came across a post by Tyler Knott (see below), which reminded me of the fact that this is National Suicide Prevention Week.  I admit, for me, far too often "darkness" links to "depression."  I would not be true to myself if I tried to unearth some other version of darkness for this prompt.  So...I have two pieces at the moment (in honor of today which is World Suicide Prevention Day)...and another coming tomorrow (in continued celebration of this week).  While I'm sure I could dig up quite a number of pieces that fit the prompt, I thought I'd keep things simple.  The first piece, Still, (created using an app called Poetics) I feel says quite a lot in just TenWords.  The second is a piece entitled Origami Hope.

Still



Origami Hope

Hope brings tears to my eyes;
logic would assign these precious pearls
with a joyous & uplifting tempo,

but tears are a fickle thing,
their truth held only
in the eyes shedding them.
yes,

        hope brings tears to the surface,
but they are sad
                           dark
                                    su
                                       ff
                                         o
                                     cat
                                   in
                                      g
                                           streams
threatening to consume.

Sometimes I think
                               if I could
I would fold every single hope lying within me
    up
into tiny little paper seeds
& blow them away
leaving me a bald dandelion head
bowed in the darkness where light
cannot trick me into feeling
                                              more.

but I know
                   I'd shed tears
                                         for their loss.

(what am I without hope?)

I'd rather watch those tiny white puffs
float along my dark oceanic tears–

     life rafts for me to cling to
     as the darkness looks to pull
                                            me
                                          under.





Post by Tyler Knott

TWLOHA's 2014 Campaign
for National Suicide Prevention Week (NSPW14)

"There Is Still Some Time"
poster based on blog post
by Jamie Tworkowski, TWLOHA Founder.

Monday, September 8, 2014

Fly Swatters & Motorcycles

The side view mirror announced
its presence even before
I heard it buzz on by me

& I couldn't help wonder
what it might be like to
ride a bumble bee

leaning to one side where feet
could easily touch asphalt
& glide in between empty

spaces careful not to taste
metal which can easily
squash it like a bug



Inspiration for this piece:  I was driving home yesterday and a yellow motorcycle passed me by.  (Never ridden a motorcycle before.)  That coupled with the buzzing bees that had been disturbing me earlier in the day lead me here.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Lune: Sweet Spot

Music Workshop at Castle Goldrain
by Claudia Schoenfeld

Lune:  Sweet Spot

#1 (Kelly Lune)
notes kissing earlobes
awaken
passion deep within

#2 (Collom Lune)
it's the sax
with notes slow dancing together
that seduces me



Inspiration for this piece:  If only I could be this good after 9 months...over at dVerse Poets Pub, the walls have been decorated with some lovely artwork by one of the dVerse community members, pubtender and proprietors of the pub.  You can learn more about Claudia and her art at dVerse: Poetics - Sketching it Out, check out her work on Flicker, or her poetry at jaywalking the moon.

Sunday, August 31, 2014

"For those concerned..."

I feel your words
   as though meant (souly) for me

strike the core of me

creating a fulcrum
        pros   &  cons
     teetter   –   totter
       back  -n-  forth
weighing my worth

unveiling a center
where thoughts spin uncontrollably
     clockwise
     arguing "against"
then stop suddenly as I cling to the rail
before thoughts run rampant gaining speed
     counterclockwise
     rationalizing "for"

I find myself searching for the center
where this perpetual spinning
feels more like being off balanced
than clinging on for dear life

and there – again – are your words
reminding me I'm not alone

I may be the only one who finds
the seesaw so daunting
or
the merry-go-round so dizzying
but
I'm not the only one
daring
to brave the playground



Inspiration for this piece (or as much of it as I'm willing to expose):  I've been having an argument with myself for the past several days.  It is amazing how creatively one can talk themselves out of something they want to do.  While the debate has been going on for over a month, I was able to push it off to the side.  Now as I approach the looming "zero hour," I can no longer hold things at bay.  It's decision time.  Still the argument, centered around the definition of "actively," rolls round in my head.  I'm leaning toward pro...fighting my fears...which don't really center around my fear of not being worthy in my own eyes (which is often the case), but being not worthy in the eyes of others.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Meaning (un)Folded

"Air Mail" by Joel Robinson

each poem set free
takes flight

stark white butterflies
perch precariously
on nose tips
waiting on eyes to unfold
the mysteries lying within

each reader dusting truth
with their own color palette
before setting it on its way

sometimes they return adorned
in a single hue
other times they return splashed
in an array of colors

but always they return
each poem set
on setting me free



Inspiration for this piece:  Over at dVerse Poets Pub for Poetics, they introduced the photography of Joel Robinson; the idea being to use his whimsical creations as inspirations.  With so many to choose from, it was not easy.  But in my last post, I explored the idea of interpretation...and somehow, the little white butterflies being set free from the typewriter nagged at this recent pondering.  So, I went with it.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

on interpretation

I know I usually save these for the end, but I'm starting with a ramblings...

A side note:  When I was in high school (and grade school, too, I suppose), I was quiet...shy...preferred sitting toward the back of the class where I might go unnoticed...hoped for others to ask my question and if they didn't...well, lucky for me the usually did.  Anyway, I was not really one for raising my hand.  However, there are two incidents in which I can remember quite clearly doing just that.  The first time was as a freshman in Algebra 1.  The teacher put a problem on the board involving binomial multiplication and asked the class to try to figure out the answer.  After about a half dozen incorrect responses (exactly what the teacher was hoping for), I raised my hand and appropriately multiplied the two binomials.  I recall him not quite expecting this (and why would he from a former basic skills student), but lucky for me I shared study hall with a friend who was in a different class with a different teacher whom she insisted did not teach. So in order to help her, I looked at the examples and taught her things I had yet to learn.  I suppose, in hindsight, that was the beginning of my future career.

The second time I raised my hand was junior year English class.  I am not sure what on earth possessed me to do such a thing (and in English to boot).  We were in a short story unit and were discussing a recent story when the teacher inquired about why the class seemed to have different meanings for the story.  After a few moments of no answers, I unwittingly became the victim of another teacher expecting the wrong answer.  "Interpretation."  I've blocked out most of the memory after that; I'm sure I elaborated on my answer either of my own accord or because I was asked to.  Either way, I was quickly informed that I was wrong...basically there was no such thing as different meanings, but only the meaning the author intended on.  For someone who never raised a hand, who feared being noticed, this was crushing.  Not only that, but I felt (and still do to the core of me) that he was wrong.  I get that there is an intended meaning to every story, but I also believe (especially as a writer) that you have to be open to the fact that everyone brings with them their own experiences and those experiences can make them see things from an unexpected angle.

So why do I bring all this up?

Inspiration for this piece: Well, there were several things at play this past week that had me revisiting this idea of interpretation....

One, my last post did not at all come across the way it was intended.  And while this is not the first time a piece was altered through another's eyes, it was far from the truth I was caught off guard.  Most of the time, I can easily see the way something might sound different, but in this particular piece (while rationally I can understand the different insight) I have a hard time hearing it any other way but how I intended.  Part of me wishes I could hear someone else read it aloud so I might better grasp what they see and maybe even so that I might adjust with spacing, breaks and other word/line adjustments to better relay its true meaning.

The second thing that occurred with a day or so of my last post involved a poem written by another poet.  While reading the comments, I felt a disconnect among the comments which was driven home by the last one I read; it turned the piece completely upside down and upon rereading, I could hear the other (true) meaning of the poem.

The last thing to fall in place was a post at dVerse Poets Pub which had the community exploring the hidden beat in their poetry...the rhythm to which they wrote...how their words sounded in their own head. It didn't technically speak to the idea of interpretation, but still for me, I felt the connection in this idea....  It was all of these things which lead to the piece below.



Tenor (of Interpretation) 

Meaning beats in my words,
a rhythm only I can truly understand
when paper & pencil is my voice;

still I allow them to rage forth,
where eyes instead of ears
awaken fresh & new tempos;

and I'm torn
between wishing my words to beat true
and
dispelling the notion
           the only story
           is the one written
           not the one read.

Sunday, August 10, 2014

If you insist

if not for me,
the world would still be round
and you would not need worry
'bout falling off the face of it.

it may not seem like it,
but
if not for me,
eggshells would be intact
instead of crunching beneath.

it may have been the same regardless,
but
if not for me,
the sun would rise & fall,
the clouds would rumble & pass,
& I would be none the wiser.

if not for me.

Friday, August 8, 2014

It all adds up to 40

Inspiration for these pieces:  Over at dVerse Poets Pub, entry into this weeks MeetTheBar is a piece less than or equal to 40 words.  Today I'm surging up three pieces that flow quite well together.  Each is under 40...including their titles and the sum total of words (including titles) is 40.  The first is 16+4=20; the second is 7+3=10; the third is 8+2=10.



Straight to the Heart

thunder rumbles as
darkness thickens the room

lightning clashes in
sharp tongues intent
on striking true.


Bitter (no) Sweet

harsh tones
thicken the air

suffocating love


Edgy Art

patience wanes
brushing hearts
black
with snide
retorts



An aside:  On vacation...wifi is spotty...plus we're keeping ourselves quite busy.  Making the rounds will be tricky, but where there's a will there's a way...it just might take a little longer an normal.



Monday, August 4, 2014

There's no navigating Anxiety's surge

I've stonewalled the tears for as long as I can remember
with no other recourse, they forged another path
tunneling caverns within where they could run rampant
Class VI rapids tearing through me until I vibrate

My insides feel as though they're taking part
in electroshock therapy and someone
has forgotten to turn off the current

Did you know salt water is a perfect
conductor of electricity?



An aside:  I had the second stanza in my head before the first.  Not really sure what possessed me to write the first part and then tack on the second.  As for the question at the end...honestly I was not at all sure where to go after the second stanza.  Kind of got lost...the question popped in my head and well...I went with it and apparently have decided to end with it.  So in the end, I'm not really sure about this piece...it feels like the questions should be the title and the poem should continue in some way shape or form....maybe I'll revisit this...though if I know anything about myself, that is extremely unlikely.

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Memories Fall, Scatter to the Wind



she sleeps peacefully, yet not at all
the world seems to stop, slip away, and fall

had I known
my last goodbye would be greeted by cold hard stone...

beneath lovely boughs
magnolia's first bloom
brings sweet memories of you
                                     pink hues
i watch rain

that last breathing memory
                           etched on my heart

I knead dough
roll / pull / twist / punch
wishing these hands were yours

How long can I tread tears before
    I drown in them?

memories of you seep through my veins

I'm
      lost
and asking for directions
not an option

lost: unarmed.  I stare towards the fray

Is it wrong
for me to hope
your light still shines?

How many times can I wish for the arms
    that will never raise again before
    I crumble within?

How do I
                 continue to gaze into the flames
that sing now
                       for just me?





This is a compilation; the majority of lines are taken directly from another poem.  Each poem focused on the same overarching topic.  I felt I could not allow this day to pass without a piece, but I find myself lacking.  So, to celebrate I have created this piece by pulling from others in the order they were written.  (Since the last thing I wrote was the title it seemed fitting it would come from the most recent piece.)  I think for the most part they flowed well from one to the next, though the "i knead dough" is a little out of place.





Friday, August 1, 2014

Echoes Flicker in Mocking Silence

my shadow flickers in the candle light
    my shadow flickers in the candle light
    mocking me with every breath it steals
mocking me with every breath it steals
    the candle flickers with mocking breath;
in every shadow, it steals me my light.

laughter echoes within my mind
    laughter echoes within my mind
    while pain hides in the silence
while pain hides in the silence
    my laughter hides pain within, while
silence echoes in the mind.

for my silent heart fears each breath it takes
    for my silent heart fears each breath it takes
    while hope tears straight through my head as a scream
while hope tears straight through my head as a scream
    as hope takes a breath each silent scream tears
through my heart while my fears head straight for it.

within the mind mocking laughter hides
    for it echoes in every breath while fear screams
pain flickers straight through me
    as it steals my breath with silent tears
    my shadow takes in the silence while
my head - my heart - my hope - each light a candle



Inspiration for this piece and a note on form:  It started with a prompt from an unexpected individual over at dVerse Poets Pub.  As part of FormForAll, the paradelle was presented...a faux form that became an actual form.  It is a very interesting and if you ask me crazy form.  I'm not really sure what on earth I was thinking in trying it, but I have a tendency to try any form at least once (three times before I really settle on whether I like it or not; I think I'll remain undecided on this form).  While trying to come up with an idea...after scribbling my first thought out...an old piece popped into my head.  It was used as the inspiration for the content of this piece.  Hopefully in the end the poem makes sense.  Not an easy task given the structure of the form.

An aside:  There is a part of me that would love to provide you with the internal rhetoric that occurred while composing the final stanza of this piece–I feel it would be quite entertaining–but I thought I'd save you from my inane ramblings for this post.

Monday, July 28, 2014

On my own two feet

you have been a crutch
something strong & solid
I could lean upon when
the world beneath me
was a turbulent sea

& I used you
      abused you.

I was a grain of sand
and you were a clam
with the magic touch
to make me feel like
the pearl I longed to be

& I clung to you
       hung on you

but I will work harder
to tether myself
in this turbulent sea

     I will strive harder
to showcase myself
as who I long to be

& I thank you
    for being my ground
      thank you
    for helping me shine

& I'm sorry
    for taking advantage of
    your generous heart
          sorry 
    for allowing my selfishness
    to overstay
    my welcome


Sunday, July 27, 2014

Zero-Zero

I stare at the two googly eyes
   & wait

slowly the right blinks one
    then two
    then three
creeping (ever so slowly) one-by-one to the next number

but the left remains - a worm hole
boring into my chest cavity
sucking in my fragile mind

Is it me?  Am I doing something wrong?
Or is it just me hoping for a connection
    that will never be?

I'm the first to ring
      the first to knock
I fight tooth&nail to step through the doors
                           to engage with others

It's exhausting &
I can count on my left pinky toe (& sometime my right)
the number that will initiate first-contact

I stare at the zero ogling me
who in my mind's eye is reflecting
my worth

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Sick–ular

Darkness
Bleakness
Sickness
Blackness
Consuming darkness feeds the bleakness
driving my sickness into blackness.



A note on form:  This is my second exploration of the tyburn.  Its complexity lies in its simplicity...at least that is the case form.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Bewitched

the witching hour lies betwixt dusk and dawn

and the sunrise is the blush of a young
girl experiencing love's first kiss;

and a baby's first cry is a rosy bloom
opening its eyes to the budding light;

and her laugh is an onslaught of
fireworks spreading across my heart;

and his freckles are constellations
guiding her to the safety of home;

and every time you look at me, my heart
is a butterfly dancing on the wind;

and the sunset is rainbow sherbert
my eyes cannot wait to devour;

and the moon is a shifting sail drifting
through a bioluminescent sea

in the witching hour betwixt dusk and dawn.



Inspiration for this piece:  Over at dVerse Poets Pub, they are exploring metaphors.  I, myself, am quite partial to "like" (not so much "as")...okay I'm not necessarily partial to it, I just tend to use it without thinking.  Anyway, as you can see, this piece is a metaphor's dream.   

A note on form:  As mentioned in a previous post....  "At the moment, to my knowledge, there is no official name for this form (for the purpose of being able to label this post, I have temporarily dubbed it toria indirectly after its inventor).  It along with a handful of others was developed by one of the dVerse Poet Pub community members for a prompt where participants were asked to develop their own form (or a variation of an existing form).  This form was developed by Victoria C. Slotto."

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Floating (in Time)

(9:27 pm)

She hits the breaks
                              and listens to
                              the smell of rubber
                              on asphalt.

(9:28 pm)

nothingness and more nothingness

(9:45 pm)
She tastes pennies
                              and listens to
                              the feel of metal
                              crushing metal.

(9:47 pm) 
She sits in the movie theater shoveling popcorn into her mouth.  The woman on the screen is a younger version of herself.  She watches as the woman runs, constantly looking over her shoulder and laughing.  Just as a hand reaches grabbing her movie-self, she feels a hand from the seat next her clasp hers.  She turns.

(10:11 pm)
She hears her name
                              and listens to
                              the static of
                              light
                              ---
                              light
                              ---
                              light
                              ---
                              light
                              ---
                              light
                              ---
                              hovering face

(10:23 pm) 
She feels the strength of familiar arms wrapped around her.  He pulls her around so they're face-to-face and cuts off her laughter with a searing kiss.  As he release her, her smile mirrored on his face, he takes her hand and they walk.

A soft gentle breeze rustles the leaves as the last remnants of fall float lazily to the ground.  They make their way to a small bridge that spans the creek.  The silence between them is as comfortable as a warm blanket.  When they reach the center of the bridge, they stop and gaze out toward the setting sun.  "I'm not ready," he says, his voice an odd echo.  "I need more time."

(1:55 am)
I need more time
we *sigh*
                we need more time
more time to laugh
more time to cry
                to fight and make up
more time to gaze into each others eyes
                to buy you flowers
                to slam the door
more time to talk of nothing
                to talk of having a family
                to have a family
more time to make a family
                to hold your hand
                to make you breakfast in bed
                to cuddle under the cover
more time to watch movies together
                to have you eat all the popcorn
more time to wake up next you
more time
                just more

It's not time for you to go
You're not done.
I'm not done.
We're not done.

(2:02 am)
She squeezes his hand
                              and listens to
                              the warmth of his heart
                              beating in time
                              with hers.



Inspiration for this piece:  Over at dVerse Poets Pub, the Poetics topic is time.  After pushing aside the array of sayings and songs that came to mind, I thought about writing the piece noting the time of events throughout, yet had no idea the topic.  The first set of line came to me from out of no where and there was just something about "listens to the smell of rubber painting asphalt" that I just couldn't quite let go of.  So after pondering, unsuccessfully, I wondered back to these lines and the story I felt would unfold from it.  I think I finally settled on writing this piece once the idea of her being pulled back came from "him" asking for more time...time, of course, being the key to the prompt.  If you get a chance, you should check out how some wonderfully talented pub-goers took on the challenge of time.