Oh let me be
Stick your key
Twist my lid
Open my tinned herring heart
Other organs comb and part
Tie my feet to the mantle ring
My fingers hang on to the stars
This slide is freshly waxed
The light falls right along
Catgut vibrating
I will make you a violin
Wrapped in baleen
Played by your hair
Bound in sound
Wraptured
Captured
Captained
Tennieled
…
Deal!
D’Verse: https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/13/meet-the-bar-with-narrative-nonsense/ Innonsence!
Really?
No dulcet tones crooning
No soothing melodies?
Even wailings or caterwaulings
Are full of lamentations, have
Their value as
An expression of deep grief
But this, fingernails on a chalk board
This wretched noise
Is all you have for me, my
Muse? ick!
20220110
You all know I hang out at d’Verse, the online poets pub, which inspired today’s quadrille check it out! https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/10/quadrille-143-muse-cues/
Can I just pour my head into this pail?
It’s a bit sore and starting to swell
So I think it would be best
To give my neck a rest
And put my head in this pail for a spell
20211224
Grinch and rona teamed up this year
Threw a big wrench in the Christmas gear
Gifts are wrapped under the tree
But those we hold so dear
Stay away, Don’t dare come near
29211224
What can I do?
Being just one me
Sing a song
Talk of hope
Put tinsel on a tree
Or to reach into the dark pond
At the center of the forest
Pour light on that old unhealed wound
And finally wash it clean
20211213
Come join us over at d’Verse the poets pub https://dversepoets.com/2021/12/13/quadrille-142/ The forbidden forest is inside you. We each have one. All the hope for the world is down there, in you. I’m doing the best I can to get to mine.
For the prompt at https://earthweal.com/2021/12/13/earthweal-weekly-challenge-o-come-advent-poems-for-earth/ and because I needed to write this to earn my sleep:
Tired
Exhausted unsleeping
Like a child too new
To know when to quit
Playing and lay down
Afraid we might miss
An important moment
Oswald’s trigger
Armstrong’s step
Pops last breath
The shaman stays up
All through the longest night
Tending the fire 🔥
So the sun will cease
It’s anger with the tribe
And return to fullness
So the shaman tells them
The tribe accepts his sacrifice
And let’s it be their salve
And lo! The light begins its return
Keep a candle lit in the manger
These words have let slip
Into the night, a smaller turn toward dark.
Into the oblivion of consumption
Amazon deep and wide
It brings all the things
And also sucks them dry
Thus the money is like the rain
Some float in deluge, most
Are parched in drought
This night is deep
And without sleep
Knowing where this road leads
Unable to stop the bleed
Give up! Drop the reigns!
Put your life in a baby’s hands
Give away everything of value
Keep only empty hope
His insides are smiling
As he gravely digs another hole
these unspent letters swirling around in my head
as if my mind was a scrabble sack
the drawstring choking around my neck
my offspring will not escape by that road
20211116
on the feast of St Simeon, we set sail for Flanders
bundles of light wool our good ship held
for the markets there. Celebration in the air
to flanders the wealth of the world wound its way
Our fortunes set on all being fair.
20211115
Upon the prompt today, a quadrille using the word ‘fair’ i found myself wanting to include as many of the miriad meanings as i could cram into a mere 44 words. Hardly able to address each in turn, this picture began to emerge. (emergence being another theme of the day’s work for me). Many of Linda’s definitions originated in the middle ages, of which i have a great love. Fair weather is that which is good for sailing, which lead me to the Oseberg ship, and thence on to Cogs which were necessary to the commerce between England and the continent. And so on. I hope you enjoyed my quadrille. Here is the prompt https://dversepoets.com/2021/11/15/quadrille-140-lets-go-to-the-fair/ Come join us in the pub. and if you fancy the intricacies of the wool trade, look here: https://www.medievalists.net/2011/01/the-wool-trade-in-english-medieval-history/ Please note that the feast day of st simeon would probably not have been a good sail, not line up with the faires in flanders. The alliteration was too juicy to deny.
The flat tyres on the bicycle in the barn
Sugary Burnt marshmallow smoke
Red candy wrappers scattered November second
Rusty basement door paint peeling
Not yet leaking
A year ago tomorrow he found her
Face down on the foyer floor
20211104
https://dversepoets.com/2021/11/02/poetics-concrete-or-abstract/
I did not realize the mat was there
Laid out for me before I cared
So I went across diagonal and higgledy piggledy like a two year old with a coloring book, heedless of lines.
Each new turn was met with that randomness
That chaos (so full of life)
Math was an easy asana
The trumpet not so much
And friendship, forget it.
Even the simple version was too hard
Now I found the edges
And can feel where the mat ends
Welcoming that support shifts
Everything and adds an ease,
A comfort
Still each pose is different
Yet it is the same me
I fall into butterfly easily, completely,
The way I understand maps,
Pidgeon, that’s her, I can’t let go
And break loose tears when I try
20211104
A conceit, for https://dversepoets.com/2021/11/04/meet-bar-with-conceit/
erbiage 