By visionary1234
The wild of sky is skimmed by windy cloud
and childhood days are filled with whirling sun,
Each timeless minute with an hour’s endowed
through days and weeks and years our lives are spun.
Inexorably, children feel time’s pull.
We woo, and love, by rose-filled candlelight,
We birth our babes. Our glass of life is full
of days defying time; no thought of night.
But we now see our parents growing old.
These once immortal gods appear so frail,
Their grasp on life and love they cannot hold
Against our Mistress Time they’ll not prevail.
From birth to death, it seems but naught an age
As Time - she laughs, and simply turns the page.
By visionary1234
what lies at the top of the roller coaster
before it all drops away? when I make that stop
as I’m spinning in space
what will the last glimpse be
before racing to roaring
inevitability?
life and death
are
one butterfly breath
apart …
but when my heart
stops beating
do I float feather light to heights of blissful limbo
and sit in glory? is that the story?
and what do I do, drifting in space
with a smile on my face, racing to nowhere
for no reason
except that my season
is over,
but I’m not in clover
‘cause I’m waiting for answers
to the unanswerable?
what’s next?
that’s the vexing question
is anyone keeping the score?
and if so, what for? is there more?
or …
do we all vanish
into ephemeral
butterfly blue?
wish
I
knew ...
don’t you?
| Author Notes | no matter what your views are, it all basically comes down to trust, doesn't it? :))) |
By visionary1234
it makes me happy
when we remember to look into each other’s eyes,
leap deep, and connect with threads
that run red to red, from heart to heart,
drifting quiet along our beating two-way street,
and I say wordlessly, if such a thing is possible,
“I love you, and
by the way, thank you for bringing me coffee in bed this morning
and stroking me alive...”
it makes me happy
when I see
first blast of ocean’s blue
rounding wind’s curve of highway from rock-tumbled fields
as I take my magic child to school each morning
and it dawns on me that
God’s whole world is pulsing in sunlight
scents of salt
cobalt
blue
azure, cyan
cerulean
blue
sapphire
hey you!
how many shades of blue
can there be in one joyous periwinkle day?
with white
clouds
white
birds, in
white flight
light
rainbows descending
in prisms
fizzing
popping
falling
dropping
through gold light
against my skin
and glowing spotted cows
I want to sing
right now
this one second
of present joy
all creation’s miracle
shared
shining
with every
living
thing
today
just
‘cause
it makes me happy, ok?
| Author Notes |
stop running for just a moment ... and look around ...
Written to be performed/read aloud, as always! |
By visionary1234
sometimes sunsets are so intense
I'm possessed
and must participate
in finger-painting the sky
| Author Notes | 24 syllables |
By visionary1234
Oh me! Yes, I’m a wonder
one-off uniquely
imperfect form, me, not the norm
can you see that? can you see me?
I walk outside in bare feet today
to feel the thousand supple, subtle colors of green
burgeoning between my toes, sprouting
sun on my laughing nose, which I suppose
tomorrow will turn pink, I think - no, I don’t think, I know
but I’ll still smile ‘n dial my face up to the sky and highest branches
seeking God in everything
and cheekily, I might add,
finding Him, or Her, hidden
unbidden in every single twinkling wink that makes up this moment
as I key in, right now
to how loud
the hiccupping tick of my old Wal-Mart watch resounds
in the quiet of my gold buttered afternoon
bee-buzzed, and broken
by insistent ridiculously busy chirp of sparrows
or the neighbor’s dogs that bark too much
but have yellow, innocent eyes
the surprised cackle of chickens and
my desire for Earl Grey tea
perhaps with luscious licking of banana bread
sticking to my honey’d tongue
because on the bathroom scales this morning, it dawned on me that
I wasn’t
as fat
as I thought I was, so there!
I’m celebrating!
me!
Oh!
the wonder
of
fun-on-the-run-in-the-sun-honeybun-not-a-nun ME!
| Author Notes |
Ever had one of those days where you just ... stop ... and look around you ... feel and see EVERYTHING?
"one-off" (w n ôf , - f ) Chiefly British. adj. Happening, done, or made only once. n. Something that is not repeated or reproduced. Walt Whitman wrote "Song of Myself" which began thus: 1 I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. |
By visionary1234
You are ...
a flower child
in love
with Beatle'd bliss,
hair, down to there
and curled, not a care
in the JC Superstar World!
raise the bar, burn your bra
set your sights, on equal rights
yellow V-wees,
peace signs,
and rainbows galore,
growing your own ... veggies, kids,
and lots, lots more,
who needs clothes? just
plant those seeds,
'cause you can love till it bleeds,
some flower power jeans,
and some means,
though money's not important,
so long
as you're happy,
'cause -
I've got the beads, baby
I know all the naked beaches, baby
and Free Love is all
that matters
YEAH!
***
45 years later ...
***
Oh you are, are you?
flower child, still? well ...
I wear them in my hair, so yeah
Beatles? sure, I play 'em
hero's still John Lennon,
I've got Hair down to There
(not so my hubbie)
and more cares than my share
which I admit
puts me in a snit,
oh shit, what the hell, I still
grow my own veggies, over the hill,
and yeah,
two kids ... grandkids galore ...
who needs clothes? I do! 'cause
things bounce around a lot more
than before ... and money's quite impor-
tant if you don't have it, dammit Janet,
but hey - I've still got beads, baby,
not many needs, baby,
I know all the naked beaches - butt -
keep my sunglasses on, baby
and get burnt
in places I didn't know
I owned, baby
and maybe, just maybe, I still believe
that love is all that matters -
though it's never truly free,
never was,
ruefully
we now admit, but
you are here with me,
oh yeah ... so ... just let us be
flower powered
Old Age ragers, baby,
it's just a stage, baby
and then
it
gets
WILD!
smile, baby,
far amongst the stars
Jupiter to Mars, baby
Love
is all that matters, maybe
'cause -
I got the beads, baby
yeah
yeah ...
YEAH!
| Author Notes | get cool, tap your foot, (tap tap tap) ... as you read ... baby ... (tap tap tap)get the beat, even when you pause, as you read ... baby ... don't be afraid to (tap) syncopate ... And "butt" isn't spag ... think about it ... Vee-wees are VW's ... and PLEASE - DON'T BOTHER RATING DOWN BECAUSE THERE ARE SOME NAUGHTY "CUSS" WORDS IN IT - move on, and read something else, ok? |
By visionary1234
warm
honey sun
winds
soft scented salty
whisper
trickling
light
tickling my skin
playing
in my hair
ocean
rollers
foaming
lullaby
soothes ...
surging
slides ...
merging
my
world
smoothly
sinking
stippled
upon
dappled
kisses
of sand
into
sweet
sea
sleep
| Author Notes | Guess how I spent my afternoon? |
By visionary1234
There’s a round window
glinting silver
in the sky tonight
Languid,
the full moon
slowly sweeps back
her blowing curtains of soft grey rain
to peer at us
in vast amusement
before she slides them closed again
and slips back into bed of velvet
Like voyeurs,
we wait for her to reappear
so we can wax poetic
| Author Notes | "to wax poetic" - an idiomatic expression simply meaning "to be profusely poetic". The moon through the month is either "waxing" or "waning" - i.e. growing bigger, or growing smaller - so this is where the expression actually came from. |
By visionary1234
Shhhh ...
it's not the wind, it's me
singing just for you, little one ...
feel the music of my breath
wave your hazy curtains
in the shimmers of the moonlight
as you sleep
can you see?
Mother Moon's as bright as day!
can you hear me?
come, play!
You're too young to be
forever in the physical yet ...
your sweet soul is not quite settled in,
so ... feel me? feel US?
we're all around you
see the sparkles?
aah... you smile, eyelashes fluttering
with slight, delighted puzzlement
One more time, come on,
while you can still remember us,
leave your body ...
drift and dream
light and soft as silken smoke ...
leave it there to sleep without you
let your essence
slip
through
the window
to infinite midnight blue,
our soul-stars streaking
to the dark side of the moon
and beyond the edgeless universe
to end of time itself
Soon, you won't remember us
but we will wait for you ...
Last kisses, little one
before we send you
sliding down the satin rainbow
back to the warm safety of your bed,
a whole lifetime ahead,
to play and learn
all about love -
humans are so ... interesting
who or what will you be
this time around?
Shhhh ... not a sound
we leave you now, but
you'll know
when it's time
to come
Home
| Author Notes |
ever had an out-of-body experience? When he was very small, my son told me he remembered what God looked like, but he was forgetting ...
PLEASE NOTE: USE OF ORIGINAL CONTEST PICTURE IS NOT MANDATORY |
By visionary1234
whirly waves are roaring BIG
with BIG white bubbled curls on top
big
big
bigger
but I’m not scared
I’m not
I’m not
I’m NOT!
whoooooosh … thump!
blue water mountain
whacks my chest
so I can hardly breathe—
TUMBLE
over
under
over
under
over
under
RUMBLE
thunder
dark and rolling
holding me
then
it wants
to suck me
out to sea … FAR
to where a big, huge, giant SHARK
with bigger, huger, gianter TEETH
swims about in circles
just waiting for little, fat, juicy legs
like mine
to dine on
for afternoon tea
just him and me
with scones and jam
BAM!
my mom showed me the pictures
but I’m not scared
I’m not
I’m not
I’m NOT!
‘cos
my dad
is holding
my
hand
| Author Notes | 127 words - this is a photo of me and my Dad, taken from an ancient family album. But feelings never change ... |
By visionary1234
Remember, little one?
where the bubbling blue tide
glides out for miles
and smiling trade winds
stir your curls
to wild honey'd whorls
like God's golden shells?
I was young
thriving, alive
diving salt and loving sun
through my skin,
glorying
in high cry of gulls
and as we splashed and giggled
in jeweled tide pools
we skimmed on-a-whim
flat sand dollars
disguised as coined flowers
and lay cradled warm
by sleepy soft sand,
sighing in the sun
of full content
but
you wriggled free
and there you were
happy clapping,
humming in ecstasy
your small perfect body
entranced
dancing
with
your
shadow
surrounded
by the wind
singing
in
the
spiral
of
the
leaves
| Author Notes | Sand dollars are flat, white and round like a coin - I've always thought the star-fish design looked like a perfect flower! Free verse - read aloud! Minimal punctuation intentional |
By visionary1234
I’m a Big Girl
I'm seven and I go to Sunday School, where there’s a
nice nice
old old lady
who’s my Sunday School teacher
She pats her face
with a white lace
hanky
and she gives out
really really boring
black and white pictures
for me to color
of a smiling man in a dress ...
He’s - the little old lady says I have to use a capital “H” –
He's got long hair and a beard
which I bet is very tickly ‘cos
my daddy has one too
His name is Jesus
no, not my daddy's name silly – Him
Jesus … that’s a funny name, isn’t it?
I wonder if he’s – oops! I mean if He’s
Santa’s little brother … ‘cos
Santa’s got long hair and a tickly beard too … white, not brown
and he's a bit older, and fatter,
but little children sit on His knee too
it's all very
mixed-up, isn't it?
So, I color his long dress red – oops – His long dress red …
but the old lady says
that’s not right, it should be blue
and what’s his – oops – His heart doing
way up in the air like that, out of his body?
and why does He (see, I got it right this time!) –
why does He have a round flying saucer on His head that’s all glowy?
Santa’s little brother has a nice smile
but when I color in his eyes
he looks like a yukky zombie, so I
scribble and scribble round and round ‘cos
I bet Jesus likes circles a LOT.
The old old lady does not look happy
She says only devils are red and Jesus is
definitely blue and
I’m a little devil – even though MY favorite color is yellow!
I just don't understand.
She doesn’t like my picture
and she takes it away
and hands me another
boring old black and white
drawing
and one
Big
Boring
Blue pencil
Just for him – oops!
HIM.
PS: 50 YEARS LATER: I’m still not good at coloring inside other people’s lines! And guess what – I don’t think He - or She - minds at all.
| Author Notes | this is a prose/dialogue poem so please accept the italics for what they are - how a little 7 year old girl talks - have you ever noticed little ones speak italics??? and capital letters too, of COURSE! :) |
By visionary1234
for this last parched month
summer has scorched in early
grass sizzles brown
prickles underfoot
dries and dies
as air's pared to sharp scarcity
instead of abundance
we wait
and
wait
and
wait
watching clouds gather and play
slowly wisp at the top of folded valleys
mist and tease in breezy shadows then
dissipate
before each burned morning
we wait
and yearn
for the silky feel
of rain
I sustain
thirsty ferns by buckets of bath-water
heavy, hand-drawn, emptied
on land
that can hardly gasp a ‘thank you’
Okay, I give up! I cry -
this dry is good at least for painting
let’s rip my house apart
dare to bare it all
to the elements
who cares?
God looks down
and with a mighty chuckle
at me and my bucket
makes
it
POUR
I fall
for the same dusty trick
every year
I laugh
and lick the rain
from willing lips
when will I learn
to
trust?
By visionary1234
I don’t know you
Alone, in Paris
my stumbling French
makes you smile, I know you see me
I look away, before your brown eyes
stop my breathing,
slow my heartbeat
back to
calm
I don’t know you
Alone, in Paris
do please join me
at my table, help me order
in your language ... brush my hand
and fill my glass
zap!
I feel your heat
and draw away
breathe
slow
zap!
You feel it too
I know you do
I don’t know you
Alone, in Paris
the violinist
comes to our table, brings two roses
of scented velvet, drawn by our heat
we laugh, through half-closed eyes
and tell him
to
stay
play the world
for us
to dance to,
breast
to warm breast
I don't know you
Alone, in Paris
you pour champagne
and hold the glass, to my cheek
cool me down
so
wet
you
slowly
stroke
my
lips
and smile
as I stop breathing
I don't know you
Alone, in Paris
as candles sputter
our hands linger, like butterflies
on honey'd flowers, you kiss my fingers
first with lips
then your tongue
just
the tip
I don't know you
Alone, in Paris
I know you're luscious
like chocolate - try this one now
between my teeth
feel me ... taste me
breathe me in
I don't know you
Alone, in Paris
we split a peach
warm and soft, moist and dripping
you lean closer
and
slowly
lick
the
juice
I shudder
knowing
that dessert
is still
to come
Let me know you, I whisper
We're all alone ... in Paris
| Author Notes | looks long, but isn't! go have a cold shower afterwards! |
By visionary1234
From the jitter-bug jungles of torrid Tarzania
I’ll gather, one by one,
cacao beans
from the tallest stands of grandest trees,
swinging by vines if I must
to secure
the purest
wildest
most exquisite
beans for chocolate …
just for you, my sweet
Then I’ll fly by private plane to the far-flung fringes of Hawaii
where sugar-cane
waves
scarlet feathered flowers
set a-flame
at sunset
to lick the sky
into pink and glowing submission
till it begs for laughing mercy
and cedes the finest
powdered, snowy sugar …
just for you, my sweet
Then off to visit the Queen
in England’s Windsor Castle –
her dairy herd is legendary,
and at her behest
I’ll request her special best clotted cream
from her most contented cows
as they crunch on the greenest
of gentle English grasses
in the castle grounds
during the Changing of the Guard …
just for you, my sweet
and while I’m there, perhaps I’ll ask
for a hundred
of her classic red-black-red dew-dropped roses -
enough posies to make
the world giddy
with the most flagrant deep vermilion
one-in-a-million fragrances
you’ve ever breathed …
just for you, my sweet
So now, with cacao and cream and speckled sugar all assembled
I’ll find my warm brown freckled eggs with yolks of marigold suns
and mix and weave all four together
baking
creaming
browning
dreaming
till I’ve discovered
the alchemy of perfect chocolate-covered love …
just for you, my sweet
as
you
lie
in
delicious
wanton wait
swathed
in
red swirls
of Valentine velvet …
just
for
me
| Author Notes |
I have it on best authority that Tarzan lives in Tarzania (no, not Tanzania! or Tasmania! or Transylvania either!).
Please read it aloud, lingering like luscious chocolate over your favorite words :) and "cacao" (pronounced ka-KOW) is the tree that gives us chocolate |
By visionary1234
sitting on the bench worn silver smooth
by salt 'n sea 'n breezy ocean blues,
he watches her,
as chocolate ice cream drips
in little skips 'n kisses
down the sugar cone,
across her lips 'n
just a little sticky,
lingers tripping on her fingers
but she doesn’t mind at all
for she licks them, one by one
softly smiling, teasing
in the last peach
of burnished beach
sunset afternoon …
she knows
he’s watching
he knows
she’s waiting
he slides
a little closer
as gulls cry high
and glide down
to the shadowed sands of evening, seeking rest,
nested heads tucked warm beneath their wings
he’ll hold out his arm
and she’ll offer him
chocolate double-dappled kisses
sweet lips, and
the first sugared stars
showering the dark of
summer’s
lambent
loving
By visionary1234
take the floor now
please come closer
barely touching
clasp my body
let my heartbeat
pound to meet you
as the music
takes possession
glide me, slide me
feel my heat now
closer, closer
pressed against you
musky scented
hypnotize me
warm and wanting
I’m on fire
breathe my breath now
urgent stirring
arching towards me
we're connected
soft and moist in
secret places
mold me, hold me
to your body
scent of wanting
lunge with pleasure
silken stockings
smooth and dreamy
smoke and mirrors
hot and steamy
scorching, torching
flares desire
take me home now
taut tuxedo
light my loving
in velvet dark
take my shoes off
caress my satin
and piece by piece
seduce
my
heart
| Author Notes | free stylin', 4 syllables per line, each verse has 8 lines ... I've interpreted "fire" as being spoken and heard as 2 syllables, even though it's officially only one. Just go with me on this, ok? The rhythm's a dance rhythm ... think of the ocean ... waves in, and out ... in, and out ... like your breath ... or your heartbeat ... Written to be read aloud. |
By visionary1234
That sinful sax plays low enough
to honeycomb down
your white satin gown, all the way
to tanned brown ankles
and beyond, to your
teasing, scarlet-tipped and polished toes
strapped ‘n wrapped in soft black velvet
melting into diamond bows, buckling
like my knees, kneeling
to please you, but -
not yet, not yet …
Tawdry trumpet muscles in
through gin ‘n smoky haze, riffing now
to laze around you, like a halo
drifting down, surrounding you with sultry light
scent of musk, and husky laughter, but -
not yet, not yet …
Finally, I wet my lips, breathe in deep
and as my clarinet glows
you look up at me
in faint surprise
as my disguise is blown
and notes of black and white
are thrown, like confetti of desire
to cling close and stick to every silken curve you own -
I’ll lick them off, one by one, but -
not yet, not yet ...
At last, you know,
your eyes meet mine and I expose
the music of my soul
for you and only you
I'll play the dark and folded valleys of your body
and take you soaring over white-capped peaks of fire
for tonight’s sublime
and yes -
it’s time
| Author Notes | Think Bogey & Bacall ... |
By visionary1234
By visionary1234
sitting in the post-mortem storm of early morning calm
husband and son dutifully kissed'n dismissed
bustled-hustled-harried out the door, off to work and school
I pour
my second cup of coffee, take a seat for half an hour
on my flower-painted couch
and there
they
are
glaring
sitting, staring balefully beside me
like last night’s unwanted dinner guests
reluctant to go home
optimistically expecting breakfast
and sniffing coffee
eight
odd
socks
last month there were only five,
four the month before, and before that again
it was idyllic -
only two
for the longest time
similar, but different
as life was meant to be
including the possibility
of living with one slightly mismatched pair
but today?
EIGHT
mateless
dateless
each one startling
unique
freaks
holey, or whole
boldly solo
old 'n sole-less
poor, worn-torn-forlorn
See what happens with a second cup of coffee?
great thoughts spring forth
on the meaning of life!
spotted, striped
rich and sassy
all single, intermingled, every one
Noah would have had a nightmare …
light, dark
no room on his ark
but here they sit
on my couch
lying quiet
trying
not to be noticed
sharing coffee
ever-hopeful
of finding
the
perfect
mate
| Author Notes |
minimal punctuation intentional ... see what happens with caffeine? written, as always, to be read aloud :)
With a nod, of course, to our delightful Billy Collins |
By visionary1234
it’s not my feelings that should concern you
but my
complete
dank
black
lack of them,
attacking, tarred
lip-smacking, scarred
wormy
ball
of them
compressed and writhing
in my
gut
ready to cut their way out
to freedom
that’s what you need to be afraid of
'cause I can see
what you’re made of
you have no shame
for you,
it’s all
a
glory game
of
cold
cutting
calculation
ultimate
manipulation
and me?
I’m your puppet
dangling
strangling, at the end
of
your strings
but something
keeps me going ...
knowing
things change -
best think ahead
my king
outside the limits
of your black and white squares
take care tonight
my king
when you creep into my bed
queen takes all
kings fall
when they least
expect it
| Author Notes |
Please see prompt - I interpret this as an opportunity to explore our darkest emotions: anger, hate, cold revenge ... sorry to sound like a sociopath for Valentine's Day! You may rest assured that hubbie is still in one piece! :)
|
By visionary1234
When we met
you said you loved
my light and lightness
and that I made you smile
When we met
I was mired in empty darkness
and doubted my light -
You helped me find it again
But what you didn’t tell me
was that you feed
off the light of others
because you, yourself, have none
You put me in a cardboard box
to savor for later
like one of those horror movies
you find so entertaining
But I’ve figured out
you only watch them and their extremes
because that’s what it takes
to make you feel … anything at all
I must have been putting out
distress signals
like a feeble foolish butterfly
with you, the hungry crow …
Peck a bit, enjoy
give hope, nurture a little,
save some of my life force
as a treat, to be anticipated, played with
I have news for you.
I poked holes in the box,
so light can filter in, and
this
butterfly
is
mutating
Time has healed and warmed me
I’ve been feeding on the light
blood and vitality are flowing again
I’m strong enough
to
fly
alone
Best jump into your own silly movie
and reverse your life light thievery
because,
while you were drooling
over the possibility
of butterfly dessert,
this butterfly has been thinking
that you’d make the perfect appetizer
Careful
when
you
next
open
my
box
By visionary1234
do I love you
or did love wilt long
ago?
we sit, strangers
dead conversation
just … so …
screaming silence
parched, like desert, and
sucked dry
as sand-bleached bone
no tears to scald me,
as I
blindly walk now
through scorched, sun-seared days
alone
without compass,
desiccated heart
of stone -
turn to me … can
we wish for rain? don’t
say no
| Author Notes |
written as an Eleven-7-7: 21 lines - see below:
Eleven77 is a poem form created by an Australian Fanstorian poet: GarthL It consists of seven stanzas each with a specific syllable count of 4, 5, 2. Last word of successive stanzas to rhyme. The last word of the last stanza to rhyme with the last word of the first stanza. Each 3rd line rhyme schemes going from top to bottom of poem should be I.E: a,a,b,b,c,c,a. Each stanza thereby has 11 syllables across 7 stanzas equaling to 77 syllables in total, hence an Eleven77 ! |
By visionary1234
Am I alone in this drone of a world
that needs to unplug?
hear me, hug me, look me in the eye!
wake up, shake up, half-baked
everywhere I walk
drugged out
bugged out
ear-budded
vibrating
resonating
detonating beat so loud
it’ll crap-zap the brain-waves flat!
and people wonder why no one talks to them?
HELLOOO!
IS ANYBODY THERE?
Today, on the way to pick up my son from
his fun super-plugged computer-hugging school
I roll down my car window
tiredly, in over-drive -
I’m decidedly pissy at the hissy-fitted world in general, and
I need some sun and wind to revive me
to remind me of
something … real
And here
she
is
bobbing along the sidewalk
nothing “budding” from her ears
smiling, skipping a little – but,
what’s that she’s holding up to her mouth?
not a phone, please not a phone -
her eyes catch mine
fine eyes, alive
and she holds up to her mouth – nothing
but a sweet stalk
of
fresh
juicy
spring grass
and the music
she skips to
is
her
own
By visionary1234
This is my Beginning, in a latticed old Queensland house
by the muddy brown Brisbane River, sparkling every afternoon
with flowing tide and puffed pink sunset. Learning to read, so
seriously small and goody-two-shoes. My father like a god,
my mother a crazy-woman. Smell of pungent summer grass
and long afternoons of stealing mulberries from neighbor’s trees,
two faded ladies, old maids, who welcome children
and show me silent silkworms in a box. See … this is the moth
burrowing out of saffron spun cocoon, laying eggs for future worms
then dying, as I lie in an island of shade, looking
at my baby sister’s pretend red plastic teapot
on its side nuzzling against the greens. Orange blossoms drift,
soporific buzzing bees in beds of jacaranda bells, snoozing
as river’s tide sweeps in, swoops out.
This is my Middle, learning to drink coffee, but only with sugar
because I don’t really like the taste at all. It’s a grown-up
thing to do. Looking in the mirror, asking my eyes of blue
“Who are you?” and receiving a million possibilities -
my mother, crazily beating on the bathroom door because
she’s found my stash of monthly pills and after all, she waited
five long years for my father, why couldn’t I? River carries me
in the accepted life direction of all living things
without engaging my heart. Puzzlement, with virginal
bridal gown despite a lack of virginity which takes me
by surprise. So that was it then? That’s all? Baby. Husband.
All expected, pre-directed. So this is how it’s meant to be
forever? Happily ever after
before the after
explodes?
And this is my End – laughingly trapped in paradise
by imploded real estate prices, a jeweled cage in a world
of greed with husband #2, baby #2, spiraling upward in
life experience, occasionally meeting my old self on the way,
still puzzled. Haven’t I done all this before? At least
this cage is still clothed in sunshine as I lie naked in Eden
while my mother spirals down, scattering lost words from
upside-down pockets of reality, in search of my father
already gone. And I become more like her every day.
I have time, now, to love, hardly noticing
my own drying up blood-red biology
leaving but a thin-skin shell of bone, beating heart
and brain to pulse now for itself, still puzzling
over each warm breath, seeing circling death
trying to impose a rationale under whispering
coconut fronds and songs of bamboo, generations
move on and I realize we’re all related
to One …
Ours are but ephemeral footprints in the sand
as earth spins, sea surges and wind rearranges
all
those
puzzling
pieces
| Author Notes |
Free verse, with more than a nod to Billy Collins, and another one to fellow Fanstorian, Paul O'Brien who was kind enough to send me Billy's poetry. And thanks, too, to Ritchie, who's talking about "wabi sabi" at the moment ...
I grew up in Queensland, Australia - thus, my Beginning. |
By visionary1234
The world is not enough for me, way too rough for me
I bemoan, phone to ear, as I roam
the smooth-grooved highway in my money-and-planet-saving
funny
banner-waving
holier-than-thou
fuel-efficient car
after spending far too much at Big-Box-Mart
stacking up my cart with feel-good vitamins
and made-cheap-in-China “must have’s”
sewn by children …
I pass
this man, or is it boy?
on the street corner
he’s always there
retarded
open mouth gaping
raped and drooling
dying face
no-one’s home behind those eyes
he’s rumpled, homeless in every way
holding up his scrawled and crumpled cardboard sign:
HUNGRY
he cries
but doesn’t even ask for help -
maybe he can’t spell it
or write it
or
think
it
Every day
I drive right by him
smile ...
and press “disconnect” on my phone
not enough?
this world is far too much for me
| Author Notes | I drive past this guy most days, and I feel myself numbing out ... angry at our wealthy society that doesn't take care for its own, and angry at myself for continuing to drive past ... it's a hard one ... |
By visionary1234
So lucky, so nice
for us to grow our own
sugar-sweet Paradise,
but slice the spikes
then cut and dice from dark to light -
and in a flash, we see that
underbelly trash
of Eden -
look and listen!
Whales glide, glisten swim smooth
skin dark above, light below -
giants hang languidly
singing in blue jelly-fished
world, curled with nurturing babies
'til our good ol' Navy's sharp sonar
makes their senses bleed
juicy red swirls in blue
sinking back in black ...
see the sun receding
towards extinction
white light
black night
what price
Paradise?
Beach towns golden, green and shaded
glad I traded oily city smiling for
beguiling white sands,
not so, the bands of drunk and drugged beside me,
glazed black eyes crazed with crystal
meth and hazy hatred for my sweet white skin -
ideal happy racial melting pot within
Paradise, hmm?
white black
black white
what price
Paradise?
shame we bring
our light dark
death-dealing spark
with
us
and sour every Eden's fruit
but
if
God
is ready
to clean up
our sticky mess,
we could soon see
elemental sparkling quarks
of ingenuity
where gold dreams
spiral
with greens
and
hope
grows
towards
One
Earth
Light
| Author Notes |
I abstracted the qualities of a pineapple from a travel poster ...
For several years, the U.S. Navy insisted on conducting sonar experiments in Hawaiian waters - these experiments had the effect of "exploding" the whales own sonar equipment, so they'd wash up on beaches ... I believe they've since ceased these experiments but it took a great deal of public outcry for them to do so. Shame on them. See note on this contest: "So, pick an object or a place upon which to BASE your free verse poem, but do NOT directly describe your chosen place or thing, instead, abstract it. For example, your words may severely distort the appearance of the thing or place, and/or exaggerate its qualities, and/or use double meanings of words related to it, and/or paint a picture in your readers' minds using the colours of your chosen object, or the emotions you feel in your chosen place, etc... It is up to you. In this way you can tell us what your chosen object or place looks, smells, tastes, sounds, or feels like to YOU... through YOUR senses and as interpreted by the perception filter that is YOUR mind... Or you can turn your object into the ethereal or twist it into the obscure or hellish." So for my chosen object - a pineapple - first of all I abstracted the qualities of rough & spikey exterior v. smooth, sweet interior and from that disorted things to black/white, light/dark ... sweet, juicy, cutting ... abstracted further to pineapple being a symbol of fertility, hospitality, fruitfulness and paradise ... abstracting even further (and incorporating light/dark) that paradise is not what it seems ... sticky ... from there abstracting further qualities of color, gold and greens symbolizing optimism, new growth ... abstracting even further to "plants" which seek the "light" - abstracting even further to "God". Convoluted, hmm? But a VERY interesting exercise! LOTS of fun! |
By visionary1234
it is too easy to condemn
to point the finger and linger
over other people's messing up
not ‘fessing up
deceiving -
and believing Big Money, Big Pharma
their karma will catch up to them
but not soon enough
or rough enough for my liking
Big Corporations in bed with dead weight
hated governments
of gravity and greed
satisfying a need
in us to make sure
it's
not
our
fault
Not Our Responsibility
all too
Big
for unwilling brains to think about
little brains in overwhelm
little actions in underwhelm
nobody’s at the helm
unless you believe in the Big Conspiracy,
like WMD
and George’s Axis of Evil …
I’ve got a solution!
barbed wire, fence my yard
guns for hire, windows barred
and I have a perverse desire
to disinfect the perimeter
and
wall
this
world
out!
but that swimming sleaze crawls, leaking
cracking through my dyke
prising it apart, barb by barb
until I can harbor
nothing
homeless hopeless faces
displace the spaces
in my wall
often not even asking for any help at all
rat-red eyes blank, dead-dank
bled
to the end of their hope
sub-human
they masturbate
intubate
shooting up
into incisor'd rage and frenzy
instant quick-fix climactic satisfaction
the only possible escape from
the
world
of
numb
and though the consequence may be death
the now splattering gratification is
better
than
the
Void
tough times ahead, my friends
as our world of comfortable discomfort ends
and vermin, rich and poor
raise the howl for blood, and herd together
heading for the cliff
no fiercesome viper, no Pied Piper needed
best get out of the way
or be trampled to extinction
but if you’re conscious enough
to make your escape
and re-create,
know that the next time around ...
build your wall, yes,
but
plant
a
garden
pull up
a
Blue
Chair
and ask someone in
just one, to nurture
till he has the strength to take responsibility
for building a garden of his own -
build that wall of flowers
and invite butterflies and bees
quiet movers and shakers
pollinators
initiators
of good things for this earth's
daily revolution
spreading heirloom subtle seeds
of right and responsibility,
rooting to real power
and inspiring perfumed blooms of flame
instead of listless wiry barbs
of mortal blame …
and more
of
the
same
| Author Notes | Election time again - who can feel good about that? but keep reading ... look who holds the real power. This is Slam Poetry - meant to be performed, rap style - loud, fast and angry ... then, dare we hope, slowing down to think. |
By visionary1234
when you hold my hand
bleached beaches burst
with sweet peaches and ice-cream dreams
in a lace white world, bridal bright and
wide with smiling possibilities -
gold banded, laughing, side by side
all bleakness disappears
but bleached beaches are bitter now, peaches soured,
cream congealed, dripping
gold-pitted dreams ripped and
folded, forgotten ... leaving nothing but bleak
naked narrow band
third finger
left hand
hiding from the sun
| Author Notes | 15 lines - please read it aloud! |
By visionary1234
Love? Blissful kisses? Boos and hisses, I say. Don’t want to look.
Today, if you ask about love, I’ll dismiss you without much thought,
which is what I ought to do, because who in their right mind
dives and thrashes into pain, splashing shame? I’d rather laugh, shuffle,
dissemble, fumble with discomfort, and armor-plate my heart.
I love my sons, for sure. I’ll call that love – with fierceness
death can never challenge. I love my home, too.
No, not mere paint and bricks, but the faintest tricks
of light upon the shrouded wildness of salt-spun air, where
frigate-birds climb high up to clouds, then plunge,
warm and gliding, side by side, dropping down to find the line
where blue of sky and ocean meet, teetering on earth’s edge.
But that would be a mere distraction from the fact
that I come home to quiet now. Not just quiet, but Silence.
Endless, sighing, trying to fill the space you’ve left me … bereft
of silly skyscrapers of congealing dishes in the sink
or piles of papers in improbable places. Your filing system
always left much to be desired. Usually, just sticky-notes
on the wall, scrawled here and there, and occasionally
just one beautiful, doodled heart, scripted with “I love you” -
something to challenge my breathless boundaries.
Today, just the wind wanders, singing through our
sacred grove of Norfolk pines, glittering with rain. Nothing
in the sink. Nothing precarious. All precise, present and correct
in geometric perfection. Papers filed, beds made, both
sides smoothed, pillows plumped and straightened, awaiting
you ... but those pillows stay unruffled, unwrinkled, and music
echoes empty, as sticky-notes confetti to the floor
in silent
slow
motion
No one’s at the door, as I contemplate
my bare
creamy
heartless
walls
| Author Notes |
free verse, formed
"Sticky notes" = "Post-its" |
By visionary1234
Today, instead of scribbling about sunlight, I’ll loiter
in a gold pool of it, lingering, to contemplate the tumult
of clouds, eyes shrouded under fingers, as warmth sinks
and trickles through my skin, prickles it to orange glow
while winds oh-so-slowly spread their flowing peace
behind my eyes, flowering and flourishing downward
to seed my heart, sore in need of nourishment and constancy.
You’ve made it clear that you probably won’t return.
Heart still beats. Lungs still move. Expand. Contract.
In. Out. Tick. Tock. In shock. So why do I feel numb?
Fear of being alone? Unknown? Or simply ... excitement,
trembling at the thought that I might finally be free?
By visionary1234
all cried empty
in this land of plenty
sand-bleached bone lonely
I stay soul cold
alone, wind-blown
half a whole
no one knows me
or cares to hold me
on this dry grit beach so far from home
I could so easily become
a singing salt-water Ophelia
crazed and sinking to ocean’s deep
to sleep forever
it doesn’t come
more down-and-out
than this
but then I hear on ocean’s frigid air
someone singing joy
high and pure enough
to crack the classic chandelier,
like a finger running round the rim
of sparkling crystal glass
in sunlight, and as those notes float
around me, I know
happiness
is not a myth,
it's music
in the mists
and I can find it
I close my tired eyes
and feel the sun's nurture
soaking through my skin
and traveling
through the miracle
that’s me
and where I saw before
a beach of empty skulls
screaming gulls and madness,
now I see a strand of warm
golds, high skies, treasured birds
of white grace, and blues
so deep and luscious pleasured
I can plunge my hands in, never measured,
and come out overflowing
in all five senses
feel again
heal again
all because
of
one
pure
note
sung
in
exultation
| Author Notes |
to be read aloud!
"Uplifting" is way more powerful if it follows despair - and so much more appreciated, yes? |
By visionary1234
giant moon
peers
through
gold hole
black
sky
W
h
y ?
star shards
spiral
round
earth sleeps
shhh …
no sound
God’s
looking
down
| Author Notes | thought I'd reserved a space but must have had a brain short ... |
By visionary1234
As tradewinds sing through silken air
and palm fronds whisper softest prayer,
by ocean’s pounding, frothy blue
on soft-spun sand, I smile at you,
and slide my fingers through your hair.
We dive down deep for corals rare;
fluorescent fish are hiding there
and sea-weed sways like tall bamboo
as tradewinds sing.
We play, as children … such a pair.
Like ocean’s deep - our love affair
sustains us till this day’s adieu.
I cast your ashes high into
the swirling skies, and two hearts tear -
as tradewinds sing.
| Author Notes |
please pronounce "adieu" in the Westernized version, i.e. ad-YOO, not the French language pronunciation. :)
The rondeau is a 15 line poem in three verses. The first verse is composed of five 8 syllable lines with a rhyme scheme of AABBA. The second verse is composed of three 8 syllable lines with rhyme scheme of AAB followed by a shorter refrain line composed of the first words of the first line of verse 1. The third verse is composed of five 8 syllable lines with a rhyme scheme of AABBA followed by the same shorter refrain line. This is my first attempt at a Rondeau! |
By visionary1234
A small cardboard box, not even the original,
but tucked away, snug, safe, vaguely protecting
something. Today, I find it, long forgotten -
open it, and there ... is ... my dad.
Not literally, of course, though I know that idea
would give him a chuckle. No - it’s a box
of earrings, delicate, carved, mother-of-pearl,
all tear-drops, like the shapes of the memories themselves.
Tear-drop flowers, enclosing a curved shell garden,
tear-drop half-moons, both bold and abstract, and last,
intricacy of tiny tear-drop Spanish galleons, reminding me
of how my father loves ... loved – ships, sails, and all things oceanic.
These, I bought more for him to enjoy, rather than for me to wear.
I was seventeen, finished school, and he’d taken me
on a special trip to the wilds of North Queensland coral reefs,
and sprawl of unspoiled jungle vastness we both loved.
That year, we stopped at the end of the sealed road, Port Douglas,
before the tourist glitz had emptied its identity, and
the only restaurant in town was a converted living-room,
the dream of a retired Austrian couple, whose chocolate-raspberry
Nautilus cake was worth a journey of a thousand miles or more,
long before Bill & Hilary made it famously desirable.
There was one bakery for Aussie meat pies'n peas that I would have
crossed more than seven seas for, just to share in the shadow of the light-house,
with only the windsong, and the chorused blowing of grasses
and my dad for company. Celebration enough.
I close the box, softly, after extracting the Spanish galleons,
and smiling, I acknowledge the seventeen-year-old in the mirror.
Wrestling with the old-fashioned clasp, I give her a wink
as she embarks upon the search for buried treasure
mapped by her father, whose ship has long since sailed. She
sniffs the winds of the unknown, wondering ... about the journey ahead.
| Author Notes | free verse/ prose poem with a salute to Billy Collins :) |
By visionary1234
Tonight at the gym
surrounded by hunky young bodies,
including that of my sixteen-year-old son,
preoccupied with pouting
and posing in giant mirrors -
I decide, instead of the treadmill,
I’ll row
as I did
as a kid
on the river
easy
rhythmic, oiled strokes
back and forth
back
and
forth
now ... rowing ...
beside me
is
my father
as a young man,
skimming
in skiff’s glassy hull,
sculling
through
early morning mangrove mists
of old, brown, slow-moving
Brisbane River, where I grew up
and he did too
we're connected
by
our
fluid
thread
of
time
young,
laughing
blue eyes crinkled against the sun
as his oar slices the water just so,
blade curving
clean with liquid speed
frictionless for morning miles
back and forth
back
and
forth
smiling with freedom as he races
and trains to win
river water
drips
from tips
of his oars
and shatters
into spinning sunlight
Reluctantly, I reach my own bend
in the river
and I’m
dripping too
I smile,
quietly
say farewell,
and he rows on
disappearing into the distance
around another bend
temporarily out of sight
back and forth,
back
and
forth
till tomorrow
or perhaps the day after -
I wish my son could see him
By visionary1234
She screams
obscene dreams
drools, blinking,
fools us into thinking
she’s compliant
then spews blood and half masticated pills
across my white dress …
like fluid red pearls
swirling
in milk coffee
stirred by filigreed
gold spoons, a delicate reminder
that she was not always
this creature
whose fragile skull bones
shine through hollow eyes
where I see maggots poised
howling, twisting, growling,
wanting to feed.
Not yet.
Red pearls curling
in oceans down her nightgown
crowning glory
yellowing teeth
gold fillings gleaming
scheming to bite,
gashing her once lovely mouth
this … creature
plucks the air, worrying the sheets
tearing her hair
body reeks
of blood in seas
fished out years ago …
But flood won’t stop
soaks white sheets
with shocking scarlet flowers …
Red pearls
White bone
Let me go home!
Wailing, keening, flailing,
finally captured
wrestled down,
black bats flying
pinging in her head
sucking red
feeding on fermented seed
of madness,
Magic silver needle
bringing peace …
Should be gold – she loves gold
loves cold,
Kiss
the abyss
in black sweet seeded silence
shipwrecked
she sleeps.
For now, the creature is dormant.
I am your Mother, your blood, child,
Love me, cover me in roses and
may you, pray you not inherit
my necklace
of crazed
red
pearls.
| Author Notes | My mother was diagnosed with dementia - she's always been a brilliant, sharp woman - so the sight of her raving craziness is unthinkable. BUT, I'm happy to tell you, this story has an unusually happy ending. She was misdiagnosed! She'd had a huge nose bleed/haemorrhage - terrifying enough in itself - but in rare cases patients go into "shock" and completely lose it. This is what happened to her. After sedation and about 48 hours, she woke up - LUCID! But I will never forget what she went through, and my heart goes out to all who go through this with aging parents. It's like watching them die by inches in front of your eyes. For all who have asked and extended their good wishes, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. This experience has given me a whole new understanding of the fleetingness of our reality. |
By visionary1234
green graveyards
this day
are alive
with flowered splashes
over acres of memory
white crosses
angels
smiling
young ones
oblivious in sunlight
we visit
our mothers
and stay a while
in the warm gold
of this summer-come-early afternoon
and
I
whisper
wondering ...
can they feel us?
do they love the trees?
and can they hear them breathe?
By visionary1234
In old and overstuffed, worn
but oh-so-comfy
cushy armchair
I sit, in the still of first light
orchid sky intricately latticed
by rustling coconut palms
smelling yesterday's fresh-mown grass
after last night’s
drenching rain
admiring my spiked bromeliads
absurd dry-loving exotica
thriving in nature’s paradoxical jungle
only the birds stir
wings whir, dipping in and out
of quiet violet ocean horizon
they swoop in stomach-clenching
full throttled loop-the-loops
as cold winter drafts
sweep over the back of my neck –
having rolled all the way down the mountain
like frigid tumbleweeds
to fly, invisibly, through my open door
I sigh
pour my carefully allotted
second cup of coffee -
with real cream, not the powdery pretend stuff,
watch my grass grow greener
till next week’s mow
and the early morning rooster
shepherding his harem into the future
I leave my door open
By visionary1234
Love: this one cares for others, defenceless
without condition, and more than life itself
the fierce love of a mother
nurturing her child, a love that never leaves
though that child may grow up
and flee the safety net of protection,
that gossamer thread of connection
always runs, implanted deep, from heart to heart
no matter what
Till death do part.
Love: this one cares for one other, yet
is more of a two way beat, where we meet
and stroll, arm in arm, along Trust Street
I look up with adoration into the depths of your green eyes
breath of my breath, I disappear, cast fear aside,
and the whole wide world becomes part of our aura
let's bide warm there a while, and reside in
the coral glow of candles which line that moss soft street
our bubble of love-light sensually entwined with roses’ richness, heart in heart
Till death do us part.
Love: this Love cares for All, and All for Love
each being connected by nanosecond orbs and trails of white light
the ultimate journey to which we all aspire
a'fire with dreaming phosphorescent glory, the story
of spirit, all encompassing, and encompassing All
humanity, way beyond the stars and
fourth dimension of imagination
even the universe as we know it
mere drops sparkling in All-that-is ... Time and Space, so far beyond the heart
that unimportant death will never, ever part.
By visionary1234
They don’t make chairs like this anymore
embracing me in sunlight
softly, sinking down
sighing as day’s frowns subside
now, taste-buds tingle
with a mingling of cranberry goat cheese
a perfect buttery avocado
fresh picked from my kind neighbor’s tree,
warm new bread, and
a glass of red ...
flavors laze and tease my tongue
as I lift pen to ruffled pad of yellow paper
in the last savored shaft of this day’s light
glowing gold through my afternoon window
captive beam dances my words straight to God -
and
you
are
here
what more could I need, my love?
By visionary1234
this quiet night
trade wind drops to silence
sea’s sighing
over sand-stranded rocks
where fishermen stand
knee-deep, netting
blue phosphorescence
cold air
rolls down
the ancient mountain
stirring crickets’ constant chorus
to crescendo
ocean’s white noise
drifts like wisps of cloud
up through sentinels of pines
across the slim sharp saber of the moon's calm
palm fronds rustle, glisten
listen ...
barks
the stray dog
swoops
the white owl
stirs
the cow, searching for her calf
an errant rooster forgets what time it is
ticks
the clock
crows
tocks
mere seconds apart
I sip
sweet ‘n soothing
hot chocolate
and
wait
for you
to slip
in beside me
hip to hip
and breathe my breath
in midnight blue
By visionary1234
The wisps of morning clouds now disappear,
And tropic trade wind plays through careless hair,
As care-less, too, we step on new-sunned sand,
To see the first of winter’s ocean swells.
Along the coast, the rolling thunder roars
Delight of adolescent glory boys
who seize their boards, swim out to meet the surf,
Brown backs and biceps ripple with intent
to carve those curls of power without fear,
and think for just a moment they can win
the splendor of the thirty second thrill.
Anticipation – inspiration’s breath –
As hills of aqua waters build and crest
across horizon now – the perfect ride?
All turn their boards in order to align,
As peaks of blue are building bravely higher,
They tackle breakers' force with whoops of joy,
Then thrust and turn and burn through tunneled waves,
And crash and spin in speedy exaltation,
They laugh and slide down milk’n’cream-laced foam
So, fluid … flying - slide and skim to shore
With spirits lifted up to brilliant sky,
And we, the peaceful watchers, feel the joy
of time when life was wild as ocean wave,
and every breath had possibilities.
My love, come with me, gently take my hand
Let's vow to live this way, from now to end.
| Author Notes |
Please note: blank verse is regular iambic pentameter, with ends of lines not rhyming in any regular pattern - which means an occasional ending word which rhymes with another occasional ending word is just fine, as is internal rhyme. It's not written in any kind of regular "stanza" form either.
Do also please note lines ending with "higher" and "exaltation" have an extra feminine (unstressed syllable) ending, so the foot is an amphibrach, not an iamb ... but guess what? Iamb leaving it like that because I like it :) and: "When such feminine words occur in the final foot of a line, they may be scanned as a tag, a light stress, which in the scansion is not counted." --Mary Oliver, Rules for the Dance An example from rhymed verse: The winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers --William Wordsworth This is not "free verse", which has no regular rhythm. |
By visionary1234
you are a little tattered
battered at the edges these days, dear
peer into the mirror now ...
more each day, your mother looks back at you -
remember when you were almost as tall as she was?
then, the glory-glee of fast surpassing her?
you are sometimes too busy to notice,
but your deep-voiced son is six-foot-one
and left you behind long ago -
big enough to eat you for breakfast
eternally hungry
taking life
in huge famished gulps
and wanting more
you are
a long, long way
from those days now
soft and constantly amazed
that pleasures, hidden treasures
abound in small things, found
in angel-wing clouds
shrouded in perfect blue
glowing greens of trees
reaching for heaven –
just like
you
are
coming to be
at One, peacefully
not a bad place to be
you’ll agree
feasting on life now
savoring
each flavor
in small
dreamy
exquisitely creamy
bites
of
delight
| Author Notes | growing older has some compensations, yes? |
By visionary1234
The world was once so painted, pulsing, live
with roses, rainbows, splashes, colors wild
as height of sky, with senses more than five,
and every love’s dimension so beguiled
us that the earth revolved in time and space
at our command, and dolphins danced upon
the ocean’s glory-blues in all their grace
against a sky of softest peach chiffon.
But then one day I woke, and looked at you
and wondered who you were, and who was I?
And are we done with love, no longer new?
Our children gone – my doubts I can’t deny.
Let's find our hearts again, with joyous breath,
and ride those wildest rainbows ... unto death.
| Author Notes |
A Shakespearean Sonnet
A traditional sonnet is a poem of 14 lines. It follows a strict rhyme scheme. It is often about love. A Shakespearean, or English, sonnet consists of 14 lines, each line containing ten syllables and written in iambic pentameter, in which a pattern of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable is repeated five times. The rhyme scheme in a Shakespearean sonnet is a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g; the last two lines are a rhyming couplet. If you're writing the most familiar kind of sonnet, the Shakespearean, the rhyme scheme is this: A B A B C D C D E F E F G G Every A rhymes with every A, every B rhymes with every B, and so forth. This type of sonnet has of three quatrains (so, four consecutive lines of verse that make up a stanza) and one couplet (two consecutive rhyming lines of verse). The structure is important. But it is not everything. A sonnet is also an argument that builds up a certain way. And how it builds up is related to its metaphors and how it moves from one metaphor to the next. In a Shakespearean sonnet, the argument builds up like this: 1st quatrain: premise/ idea is introduced 2nd quatrain: premise/ idea is expanded upon, perhaps an example given 3rd quatrain: is the 'turn' or volta, a "twist" if you will Concluding couplet: is the "so what does it all mean" summary (That's my take on Shakespearean sonnet form - first part is from Poetry Dances, last bit is mine as Evil Editor Eddie keeps having a good time with the notes) For new poets, let me please explain "run on lines", which simply means the sense runs continuously from one line to the next. I've even used this between lines four and five, so it "links" the first two quatrains. |
By visionary1234
I hear my feathered, quav’ring voice
I know I’ll not be here for long
For very soon I’ll make that choice -
To seek the light, and sing stars’ song
So iron-willed, my whole life force
So sparkling, brilliant, ever strong
But now it’s time to find the Source -
To seek the light, and sing stars’ song
For I am frail, with hollow bones
My agony I’ll not prolong
I want to answer all unknowns,
To seek the light, and sing stars’ song
So let me go, while wisdom’s bright
Please take me home, where I belong
And let me blaze, in blue, tonight
To seek the light, and sing stars’ song
| Author Notes |
A kyrielle is made of quatrains that rhyme. Each stanza (that is a quatrain) has a line that repeats, so a line from a previous stanza. That line usually (but does not necessarily have to) be the last line in the stanza.
Each line in the poem has eight syllables. There is no limit to the number of stanzas. Usually there are three or more stanzas. Any type of rhyme scheme can be used. |
By visionary1234
my friend just died
no one cried, for no one even noticed -
we were talking in another room
when he slipped away
as he lay
skin blue tinged, mouth open, head to one side
the end
of ten years dying,
faded red dream-catcher on his wall,
his dreams caught and killed, long gone,
now just cobwebs, contemplating death
he felt cold, I didn't know
so I pulled up his blanket
old, frayed
gold with afternoon sunlight
catching eddies of dusty silence
distant shrieks of playing kids
laughing, unaware
chirp of swooping sparrows
so suburban
and distant roar of the sea
his passing
happened against a backdrop
of tired blue paint, chipped and peeling from the walls
television still softly on, as white noise,
and a broken garden fence, staring lop-sidedly through the window
streaked with time and years of grime
and, sitting there, observing, was one old, mangy cat
my friend’s dying shadow
a daughter, like a vulture, would visit,
to pick the house clean, bare
of all signs
that my friend
had ever
existed
now the dream-catcher
is laced by cobwebs
enticing flies
dreaming the next dream
my friend, Bobby, died today
and no one noticed
except his cat
| Author Notes | My friend died last month from lung cancer. I'd watched him deteriorate for the last ten years. His long-time lovely lady-friend had nursed him faithfully - he was given 12 months to live when he was diagnosed and the doctor was spot on. I've never been around death. I knew the time was close and was talking softly to his lady-friend in the next room, after visiting. I went in to say good-bye, to find he'd already gone - and I remember being surprised by death's subtlety. Bobby just slipped away, unnoticed, while we were chatting a few feet away. He had a pretty lousy life - lousy kids - but he always had a smile for me. And he was not unloved. |
By visionary1234
Rose, I wish that I could say
all is easy, with no pain.
How long can you keep death at bay?
Let me sing to you again.
Keeping watch, we’re waiting here.
Earth is turning round the sun.
I’ll sing to you, so you can hear -
hush now, sweet, your work's all done.
Love stays strong, like ocean’s roll.
Hold my hand and seek the light.
As time draws near to meet your soul,
spirit’s free now to take flight.
Rose, your life’s been long and deep,
Years in circles, seasons spinning,
So let me sing you now to sleep,
Spiral now, to new beginning.
| Author Notes |
abab rhyme scheme
lines 1,2 and 4 in trochaic meter, ending with one strong stress - so, 7 syllables line 3 in iambic tetrameter (8 syllables) last verse, lines 2 and 4 with feminine ending, so 8 syllables My mother-in-law, Rose, is 95 and sleeping this week, moving towards death. It is not easy. She will be missed. She has always been "bigger than life". I can't be there with her, but my husband and his family are there. He asked me to sing to her, as she can hear but can't speak. Rose is Jewish, so I sang something from one of her favorite shows, "Sunrise, Sunset" from "Fiddler on the Roof". It was hard to get through it. But I know she heard it, and her sleep deepened. Sunday morning: today - Rose passed away, very peacefully, while no one was in the room. Blessings. |
By visionary1234
Memorial Day
is …
blue-sky barbecues
preferably at the beach, but
always in the sun
carefree families
bouncing a Big Red Ball
bubbling
with lots of laughter
and …
oh … yes … I guess
the cemeteries are filled with flags
flying
lined up just so
lying
lonely
in the summer breezes
on
far
too many
graves
of
far
too many
young
men
who'll never bounce a ball
or see the sun
again
By visionary1234
All day it gnaws ...
claws ... at my guts ...
I must be bloody nuts!
No “ifs” or “buts”, baby!
tonight’s your night, of
bright-lights, baby!
Night-of-delight, maybe –
Night-of-fright, maybe!
shoot! what made me think
I could really do this thing?
they’ll hate ‘n castigate me
fall flat on my face in disgrace maybe
Oh God, I feel ill - what the f--k
I’ll upchuck, for sure
face-plant on the floor ‘n
I’ll be boring – they’ll all be
looking at their watches'n -
Snoring? Only if you botch it, baby!
Now get your dress on, and maybe –
I gotta pee! Can’t see!
Feel the crowd, baby
nice ‘n loud, plenty of ‘em, smell the smells
just gel, you’ll be swell ‘n
break a leg, baby!
Oh what the hell ... shhh ...
last bell ...
House-lights dim, cold skin
heart’s beatin’ fast ‘n
I could pass
out
cold
Don’t you dare!
How’s my hair?
Murmurs! coughing! giggle!
here ‘n there a sneeze, a wriggle,
shhh! places please!
Then the magic fiddle plays
cries soft, and chases away
all my day’s
doubt and fear, no, the TERROR oh
God, what was that about?
Hushhh!
center stage
red dress,
follow spot
fades
in, hear a pin
drop,
take a breath
of
red
velvet
moment
The fiddler smiles
meets my eyes, now it’s
just me an' the light
tonight
on wings …
we sing
flying higher
than the stars
and taking
all
these
people
on joy's journey
loving
them,
wrapping
them
in
red
velvet
song
| Author Notes |
How about exploring terror and ecstasy?
Looks long but isn't - pillar style, quick read - read it FAST - slam style poetry, so tap your foot (tap tap tap) start to read (tap tap tap) ... get the idea? (tap tap tap) an' syncopate it, baby! an' you'll know ... when to slow ... down ... and listen to the competing voices inside your head ... |
By visionary1234
What have I done?
I'm forty-four. You're not supposed to happen. I'm too old. But you do. You come zooming, screaming into my world. Echoes pounding, primal. Triumph of the Feminine.
No more! Please! I can’t do this any more!
Breathe.
Knock me out! Anything!
Breathe.
slipping in softly
down the birth canal you come,
still bathed in fluid
Hello, little one. I hold your perfect, miniature, wrinkled fingers in mine. Pain subsides. Can’t remember. Hormones induce forgetting. Bless'em.
blue eyes open wide
taking in world’s mystery
innocent wonder
My heart’s smitten. Pain? What pain?
You grow. Watching you become you is hard. I fight for you. You can’t read. Can’t behave. Can’t focus. Not like other kids. God I wish I had one of those!
My love, like marriage, never falters. But faith is shaken. Trust, too. Years fly. Hard years.
sometimes you’re ugly
boiling with teen angst and rage
what did I do wrong?
Can’t you see it? Feel it? Feel my love’s warm cushion? It’s huge, unconditional.
Tired. Pointless.
You’re mine, but I don’t know you. I’m ashamed.
Afraid of you.
Afraid for you.
Can my love withstand this?
What have I done?
God help me.
| Author Notes |
205 words - though this contest had no word limit - and the "haiku" are more "5-7-5"s than true haiku. I was hesitant to label it as "haibun" but it's closer than anything else and I think it's in the spirit of the prompt. I've taken the liberty of adding a picture, using -ing words etc. The title by necessity is in past tense - again, all in the generous spirit of the prompt.
Officially, a haibun is a combination of title, haiku (one or more) and prose in present tense, terse and fragmented. A haibun has a syntax that is dominated by images. It should be unaccompanied by pictures, allowing the images to be created wholly by the writing. It should feel as if the event is unfolding before the reader. The haiku must have a kigo (seasonal reference), a kire (cutting line) two juxtaposed, concrete images that are grammatically connected and must consist of no more than seventeen syllables. These syllables do not have to follow a 5-7-5 or 3-5-3 format. Words ending in "ing" are generally frowned upon in haibun. A haibun is usually somewhere between 100 and 300 words in length. |
By visionary1234
One Summer’s gone, so we'll take two,
Is that so selfish, to want more?
As white gulls cry, and lovers woo,
Let's softly dance on sun-splashed shore.
Time vanishes at double speed,
One Summer’s gone, so we'll take two,
No Winters please, we have agreed,
That Summer stays, for me and you.
Warm days ablaze, let's not "adieu",
But breathe life's velvet green and gold,
One Summer’s gone, so we'll take two,
Warm days keep love from growing cold.
Now let’s fly south, out-run the sun,
To swim all year in turquoise blue,
And please tell Winter we're not done,
One Summer’s gone, so we'll take two!
| Author Notes |
Why not?
The quatern is a classic French repeating form consisting of 16 lines in 4 stanzas. There are 8 SYLLABLES PER LINE. The rhyme scheme to be used is abab. The distinguishing characteristic of the form is the presence of a repeating, descending line that starts out as line one of stanza one, then becomes line two of stanza two, line three of stanza three, and finally, line four of stanza four. In this particular quatern, the prompt requests that the word "summer" appear in that repeating line. |
By visionary1234
Now, when we were small we were totally sure
the stars wouldn’t move as we scanned the great sky,
and we knew enough, with no need to know more.
Did we ever question, or think to ask why?
We lay on our backs and could feel the earth move,
so why should we need to know why the sky’s blue?
The grass was all tickly, we’d nothing to prove.
Our tastes were quite simple, essentials so few.
But now that I’m older, I ask what’s my place?
And life goes around in birth, marriage and death.
I look in the mirror now, look at my face,
And wonder what happens ‘tween first and last breath.
We circle and spin in perpetual motion
and outgoing tides are the tides of all men,
the incoming tides just the breath of the ocean
and these tides will turn, and then turn once again.
So what is this life? Is it all love or lust?
And why are we here on this merry-go-round?
Is life only ashes, then dust into dust?
Am I just a clock that’s been too tightly wound?
I know that in circles we'll spiral tonight,
as we in our universe grow and expand,
where love’s all that matters and we bask in light-
in all of creation we’ll feel Spirit’s Hand.
So, gyred and whorling, we’re here by Design,
we're helixes, vortexes, one giant wheel,
created as humans, with purpose divine -
beginnings and endings will never be real.
| Author Notes |
abab rhyme scheme of course - meter is one iambic, followed by three anapestic feet - one variation with a feminine ending, lines 1 and 3 in Verse 5 (but I love an occasional feminine ending and I hope you do to!) I've written this one to be put to music - a waltz - the 4th verse would be used as the refrain and be used as a last verse as well, but I didn't want to wear out my welcome!
gyre 1. A circular or spiral form; a vortex: "rain swirling the night into tunnels and gyres" (Anthony Hyde). 2. A circular or spiral motion, especially a circular ocean current. intr.v. gyred, gyr·ing, gyres To whirl. [Latin grus, from Greek gros.] ----------------------------------------------------------- whorl. whorling 1. A form that coils or spirals; a curl or swirl: spread the icing in peaks and whorls. 2. Botany An arrangement of three or more leaves, petals, or other organs radiating from a single node. 3. Zoology A single turn or volution of a spiral shell. 4. One of the circular ridges or convolutions of a fingerprint. 5. Architecture An ornamental device, as in stonework or weaving, consisting of stylized vine leaves and tendrils. 6. A small flywheel that regulates the speed of a spinning wheel. ----------------------------------------------------------- vortex: In fluid dynamics, a vortex is a region within a fluid where the flow is mostly a spinning motion about an imaginary axis, straight or curved A small note on sure/more as rhymes - in Australia they're pronounced as perfect rhymes, right down to the same vowel and final 'r' (not pronounced) - so think shaw/maw, ok? Now, if you want to sing the waltz, don't forget the first strong beat will be on the SECOND syllable of each line, the first beat either being a 'hold' note (musically) or a small quickie note. Good to bear this in mind when reading aloud, too - you'll have to take it a bit on BIRTH marr iage DEATH :) |
By visionary1234
Wow! we’ve been
“Together Twenty-five Wonderful Years!”
says the Wal-Mart card – kiss kiss kiss!
Twenty-five years of Wedded Bliss!
well … we are together, yes … but
we walk parallel lives, eyes
straight ahead
dead
we never look at each other, really look at each other
we never sigh with pleasure at each other’s touch - we never touch
come to think of it, we just achieve, all the while believing
that this is how it’s meant to be - ha ha ha
we’re too old, we laugh, for True Love, candles, flowers, chocolate hearts
True Love’s just for kids - this is Real Life!
There’s no Wal-Mart card for the truth
By visionary1234
| Author Notes | Freestyle, with some rhyme, regular syllable count for the first 3 verses 3 4 6 7 3 2, 1 1 - then free-wheeling from there. |
By visionary1234
By visionary1234
Shawl of sunlight’s dappled ocean,
Look! Birds of white - they spiral free,
Sunrise, sunset, rainbows riot
Shhh ... nature’s dancing, just for me.
Spinning dolphins, leaping, joyous,
Wait! Take your time, I have the key!
Close your eyes, just breathe with breezes,
Shhh ... nature’s dancing, just for me.
Smell the damp of green things growing,
Look! Scarlet flowers in that tree!
All of earth’s in perfect glory,
Shhh ... nature’s dancing, just for me.
Why, my love, will you not feel it?
Wait! Fight your darkness, hear my plea!
All of earth is celebrating,
Shhh ... nature’s dancing, just for me.
You will not destroy my pleasure,
No, you won’t steal my harmony,
Choose the raging if you must, but
Shhh ... nature’s dancing ... just for me.
| Author Notes |
abcb rhyme scheme, mostly in trochaic tetrameter, but each second and fourth lines of every verse starting with a spondee, then reverting to trochaic, with an extra feminie ending - but still 8 syllables per line, as per the prompt's request.
Slightly modified refrain line in last verse |
By visionary1234
Our house is empty, sons are grown,
We’ll see each other in new light,
No children’s laughter - we’re alone,
Our house is empty, sons are grown,
Can we still love … here, on our own?
Breathe deep, my sweet, because tonight
Our house is empty, sons are grown,
We’ll see each other in new light.
| Author Notes | well, what do YOU think it's about? children are gone ... house is all yours ... hmmm ... |
|
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