Tag Archives: literature

Tableaux Present Pictures

Posted on May 15, 2013 by | 2 Comments

African Herd Running

Poetic Bloomings’ In-Form Wednesday—The Tableau: 1+ verses, 6 lines each, 5 beat lines, rhyme optional. Title should contain the “Tableau.” Poem should reflect “picture or representation of the meaning of “tableau.” Picture should come to mind for the reader.

Grace of Form (Tableau)

Within one breath’s space,
Equine flyer soars
Over gates half its height,
Stretched in gleaming
Glory as rider
Seems to lift them both.

Upon a Wing (Tableau)

It rests, sloe wings spread
over leaf, its glowing
teal symbol flashing
its message for all
to take fragile peace,
share liberally.

Butterflies do sooth
cold hearts, pained psyches,
with delicate charm,
Indiscriminate
of those who share
peaceful beauty’s days.

On today’s Poetic Asides, we’re faced with a need for a poem about being “on the run” or “on the loose.” I was listening to African tribal-influenced music at the time and this is what came out. I kept the same form I’d used a couple of hours earlier to write for Poetic Bloomings.

Savanna (Tableau)

Hooves drumbeat forward,
Swerving, flowing, fast–
Running from pride’s threats;
Leaping, flying, blur
To eyes choosing prey
To feed family.

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Next to Last Day of April’s Poetry Challenge

Posted on April 29, 2013 by | 6 Comments

Tomorrow will finish off another Poetry Challenge Month. April will turn into May, leaving behind a broad swath of verse from the international community of poets. It’s been an interesting year for those who write poetry. Life has landed many challenges into the laps of those striving to complete the task.

Some have made it through. Others have struggled and left the field, not because they wanted to, but because circumstances forced the issue. While I have a moment, I want to commend all who have travailed whether to the end or not. The effort is the thing in poetry, not quantity. There is always another day for writing verse, another inspiration waiting to spark the flow of words.

Brava! Bravo!

Now, on to the day’s task. I hope you like the offerings here.

PB week-105-photo-prompt-egg-barbara-youngPoetic Bloomings gave us another prompt for an Ekphrastic poem yesterday. Prompt 105—Ekphrastic poem—image Broken Eggshell. I always enjoy taking a spin through the image-o-dial for a writing prompt, and PB gave us a lovely little catalyst this week.

Remnants

Half an Easter eggshell,
Ju-ju bean left
Hiding under a leaf,
A tiny yellow bead
Fit for little girl’s gem;
Remnants of her
Passing this way on
Her path elsewhere,
Toting her Barbie
Overnight case and
Dora’s explorer jacket,
Making a matched set.

# # # #

Poetic Asides, on the other hand, told us to take a tine from one of the poems we’d written this month and to make that the title for a new poem. This is an old technique, which works beautifully; so well, in fact, that while I was going through to find just the right one for today, I came away with nearly a dozen to be used later for other pieces.

Lost in Time’s Distraction (Prose Poem)

Niggle, squirm, slide into another; a thought seeks escape from corralling attempts to place it with like kind. Who said thinking was easy and follow-through hard? When had that memory formed, lacing its tendrils through countless thoughts come before? Can one have a single thought, a stand-alone, untethered to those previous or or future? How is it a trail shines within shadowed labrynth mind to lead us to beginnings decades past, long forgotten otherwise?

# # # #

We’ve already done a foreign poem this month–a translation of nothing more than form and sound. Today’s stretcher of minds has us writing a poem that includes at least five foreign words. For this I’m fortunate. I studied French. Sister spoke Spanish and German. I have all three to draw on. This is a wild attempt of using three languages to draw from simultaneously. I don’t vouch for translation accuracy, but it was fun to try.

Summer Rain

Der tag slides toward der nacht,
Leaving behind la matineé
With its verde y oro,
Wisking by l’après midi et
Passing through anochecer,
Into night’s shadowed
Les rues d’amour or
Death-stalkers’ many lairs.

Vas ist dat?

El norte un grito de advertencia
of storm’s violent coming,
Along der strasse òu zappatos
Wait at doors as if for
Entrance to leur maisons.
Will rain’s schnell machen drops
Quitar life’s suciedad
As easily as those shoes.?

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Erasure and Classical Poetry

Posted on April 28, 2013 by | Leave a comment

napofeature2

Day 26 Back in 1977, the poet Ronald Johnson first published RADI OS, an “erasure” of Milton’s Paradise Lost. Basically, Johnson took a copy of Milton’s long poem, and systematically erased whole words and even lines, while maintaining the relative position of the remaining words. You can see a brief excerpt here.

Today, I challenge you to perform an erasure of your own. I have to admit, pulling a classic line from a classic poem to use in a cento form is one thing, but to dissect the entire poem for the sake of eliminating much of it and it’s meaning is another story all together. And an act that is almost beyond me. I can justify erasing some and leaving the internal message of the original and that’s what I’ve done here. I have to gather courage to do more.

Erasure Beginning with Edgar Allan Poe’s A Dream Within A Dream

Life as a Dream

This kiss from you–
you are not wrong.
My days have been a dream;
hope has flown.
All we see or seem
is a dream within a dream.

I, amid the roar
of surf-tormented shore,
within my hand
grains of golden sand;
how they creep
through fingers to the deep.

Can I not grasp them tighter?
Can I not save one from pitiless wave?
Is all we see or seem
a dream within a dream?

 

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Jamming on Triolet and Love

Posted on April 23, 2013 by | 4 Comments
Courtesy of BJ Jones Photography

Courtesy of BJ Jones Photography

NaPoWriMo set us to writing triolets today. A triolet–an eight-line poem–uses iambic tetrameter (for a total of eight syllables per line.) The first, fourth, and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines. This means that the poem begins and ends with the same couplet. Beyond this, there is a tight rhyme scheme (helped along by the repetition of lines) — ABaAabAB.

Triolets were in vogue among the Victorians — all those repetitions can add a sort of melancholy gravitas to a poem, but watch out! They can also make the poem sound oddly gong-like. A playful, satirical poem, on the other hand, can be easily written in the triolet form, especially if you can find a way to make the non-repeating lines slightly change the meaning of the repeated ones.
For the PAD Two-for-Tuesday prompt, we’re given two options.

Write a love poem.
Write an anti-love poem.

I tend to write poems for each option of a challenge. With today’s option, however, I needed to set a different challenge for myself. I chose to write a poem that satisfied all three requirements; a triolet the addressed both love and anti-love. I hope you enjoy it. I do believe this is my first triolet.

When Gone

Will you see me now that I’m gone?
Without your love, I found my joy;
No longer must I play your pawn.
Will you see me now that I’m gone?
Don’t expect me to kneel, to fawn,
Though never to man but to boy.
Will you see me now that I’m gone?
Without your love. I found my joy.

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Sunday’s Best: Poetry

Posted on April 21, 2013 by | 8 Comments

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Today, as on all Sundays and Wednesdays for April, I do three poetry challenges.

Poetic Bloomings, in their Prompt #104, has charged us with writing a poem that shows the passage of time. Part 1 (stanza) centers on something we enjoyed or did as a child. Part 2 (stanza) focuses on our perspective on that activity and how age has changed/enhanced your vision.

High Aspirations

“Stubborn” described me then,
Worn like honor’s badge all day
Riding my little pink bike,
No training wheels; falling off,
Getting up and starting again;
But high-wire work was mine,
Ankle hanging from swing-set’s
Top bar, doing pirouettes on high
While adults watched in horror.

All that training waiting for use
Toward something more important;
A life needful of high aspirations,
Needful of always gaining ground on
Challenges some saw as insurmountable;
Fears would come and do battle for life
Lived in joyous freedom from unwanted
Expectations, vanquished by stubbornness,
To allow adult pirouettes on life’s top bar.

# # # #

Day 21 on Poetic Asides requested that we write a Senryu. A senryu is like a haiku with less restrictions and different subject matter. Three lines with a traditional 5-7-5 syllable or sound pattern. Typically this form deals with the human condition, rather than nature, etc.

(senryu)

You wilt under my
Tempered examination,
Never burning hot.
(senryu)

She explodes with life
As fuel wets her parched throat,
To burst with laughter.

# # # #

NaPoWriMo wanted us to rewrite Frank O’Hara’s poem “Lines for the Fortune Cookies.” He had some great lines in this poem. Please go through the link and enjoy them in their entirety.

The ideal fortune is a one-liner and one-liners thrive on a poetic compactness of expression.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the time or inclination today to do the recreate an already excellent poem. I did write a fortune for each of the next seven days, however. I hope you enjoy those. As usual, mine put on a more serious suit for wearing in public.

My Lines for Fortune Cookies

Your essence flows in graceful movements fueled by kindness.

Take heed of today’s messages; they bring tomorrow’s possibilities.

Give generously to all that you may reap a full harvest at winter’s doorstep.

Life is swallowed easier with a glass of laughter and bowl of nuts.

Your birthday counts only your achievements; age is irrelevant.

Much happiness comes with simple breathing, especially underwater.

Gather for autumn’s frost, but hold nothing back today.

#  #  #  #

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Poetry: To Begin and End with I Am

Posted on April 18, 2013 by | Leave a comment
Circle rainbow

Circle rainbow (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

Day 18 of Poetic Asides PAD challenge handed us this. Take the phrase “I am_____”, fill in the blank and use as the title, and write the poem.

Fill-in-the-blank prompts gives the poet so much possible area to cover that choices sometimes become difficult. This one asks for the personal, and yet within that framework can reside so much of the outer world as leave little of the person inside the verse.

I had one response this afternoon when writing to this prompt, though I’m not sure why. Enjoy.

I Am Growing

Slipping, sliding through
Passages meant for no one,
Tracks made from places
Long abandoned, are revisited
Only to give witness to how
Far I’ve come since beginning.

Words stuck in my throat,
Willing themselves to appear
Before this audience of one,
In challenged verse so unlike
What I would place on paper
And still allow others to read.

If I can pursue a trail of ghost
Images to their lair within a
Mind taught to distrust the light,
Can I not claim growth for myself,
As well as for my abilities to perceive,
Feel and express in ways lyrical?

# # # #

For NaPoWriMo’s Day 18 our instruction was to write a poem that begins and ends with the same word. Again, the possibilities are endless. This was my effort.

Circles

Scholars in Math tell us
That primary shapes all
Exist within a single circle.

Circles describe most things
Within our world, giving us
Continuity for fixing life.

Solutions often circle around
Taking problems by surprise,
Simplicity often the result.

Conversations can circle back
Onto themselves when new
Speakers join the group.

Double speak entertains those
Involved, while circling ‘round
Two meanings for phrases.

The circle of life, from beginning
To end, has kept man’s interest
And created a reason for scholars.

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Poetry Translation’s Always a Tricky Thing

Posted on April 16, 2013 by | Leave a comment
Ewa Lipska, Polish poet

Ewa Lipska, Polish poet (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

NaPoWirMo tells us today, to write a “translation” of a poem in a language you don’t actually know. We must go to the Poetry International Language List, pick a language, and then follow it to a poet and a poem.

So far, I’m not feeling very confident in my response to the prompt. It might end up only good as work of extreme humor. But I’ll try to bear up under the pressure.

We’re told that “Generally the Poetry International website will present a poem in its original language on the left, and any translation on the right. Cut and paste the original into the text-editing program of your choice (and try not to peek too much at the translation). Now, use the sound and shape of the words and lines to guide you, without worrying too much about whether your translation makes sense.”

For those who speak, read, and write Polish, let me begin by apologizing for this very poor attempt at translation. I know that mine doesn’t make sense, so I have that item covered. And here is my masterpiece. (Note: Tongue in cheek is mandatory here.)

DRZAZGA (Polish by poet Ewa Lipska)

Lubię panią pisze do mnie dwudziestoletni poeta.
Początkujący cieśla słów.

Jego list pachnie tarcicą.
Jego muza drzemie jeszcze w różanym drewnie.

W literackim tartaku ambitny hałas.
Czeladnicy okładają łatwowierny język fornirem.

Przycinają nieśmiałe sklejki zdań.
Wystrugane heblem haiku.

Problemy zaczynają się
z wbitą w pamięć drzazgą.

Trudno ją wyjąć
jeszcze trudniej opisać.

Lecą wióry. Ogryzki aniołów.
Pył do samego nieba.
Daggers by Ewa Lipska (my amateur translation)

Lucy, patience please my one desperate poet,
Potential ceases slow.

Lego list pacman target,
Lego music soothing jazz with resonating dreams.

With literature targeting amber hellos.
Celebrations occur laterally jerk forceful.

Presenting nighttime skeleton dance.
Listening, heightened haiku.

Problems zap me silly
And bite with teeth like daggers.

Truly your wisdom
Jazzes truth’s opposite.

At last, victory. Organs sing aloud.
We’ll do the same someday.

 

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Poetry Off the Cuff

Posted on April 16, 2013 by | 5 Comments
National Poetry Month Display @ Forest Hills

National Poetry Month Display @ Forest Hills (Photo credit: mySAPL)

When Meena Rose and I get together for a chat, nigh on to anything can happen. It so happened that last evening we found time to talk poetry. She has some of her own separate poetry challenges, as do I. One of the continuing challenges that she’s involved in is writing 14-word poems of inspiration, philosophy, etc.

I admit to being one of Meena Rose’s biggest fans. She showed me one of her recent small poems, and that’s when it started; a small chat on philosophy, just a few lines at a time done in 14-word poems.

I’d like to include you all in that little bit of impromptu verse because we’ve decided to do this on a quasi-regular basis. In a matter of a few moments we created the following verse, beginning with her original poem shared with me.

Meena Rose:

A celebration interrupted;
Innocence lost – this cannot
Be Milton’s Paradise Lost,
Paradise within me!

# # # #

Meena Rose:

Mind over matter, they say;
Days like these cast doubt -
The fallacy of control.

# # # #

Meena Rose:

Holding light – convinced
It will not be for naught;
It flickers today.
Still on.

# # # #

Claudsy:

While counting miracles,
While counting miracles
Earth spins on a tilted axis,
Waiting for proof of man.

# # # #

Meena Rose:

My candle lit along with yours,
Burns brighter, gathering Light;
Radiating. Transmitting. Transforming. Restoring.

# # # #

Claudsy:

Rectifying sins of those before
Gathered to see hope’s light
within children’s eyes alight.

# # # #

Meena Rose:

One World. One Love. One reality.
True possibility.
Peace within our ability.
My belief.

# # # #

Claudsy:

With belief comes thought
that takes control of one’s life,
excluding all outside influences.

 

#  #  #  #

I thoroughly enjoyed myself doing this quick interpretation of a theme, as did Meena. That’s why we’re going to continue doing these. Aside from keeping the poetic mind flexed and fast off the mark, it allows for a conversation that we might otherwise not have had.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that subject has no bearing on performing this type of chat. In fact, if the brain is a muscle, different subjects would flex different portions of the brain, memory, and vocabulary functions.

Try this yourself and find a poet partner to have fun with. Only a few minutes are required and 14 words at a time. Surely you have that many words floating around behind your forehead in any one second. See how many of these wee pieces of yours you can use to have a conversation. Help start a poetry conversation in a chat room near you.

That’s all for now. Later today we’ll have more regular poetry challenge efforts. Hope you’ve enjoyed this diversion.

Claudsy

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Closing in with Tankas

Posted on April 11, 2013 by | 11 Comments
wintertime tanka

wintertime tanka (Photo credit: giuliomarziale)

Today PAD advised us to take the phrase “In Case of _____”, fill in blank, make that the title, and write the poem. I see this sign in all public places and decided to take it and do a twist. I hope you like it.

In Case of Accident

That A word takes on
Many meanings in life;
Involving a vehicle,
Involving a broken plate,
Involving a broken heart.
We carry mental signs
To give instruction to our
Days and our circumstance;
In case of accident, call 911;
In case of accident, use broom;
In case of accident, eat chocolate.
What if, instead, we said;
In case of accident, find blessing;
In case of accident, find humor;
In case of accident, know peace.
Could we not create harmony
Just in case of accident?

#  #  #  #

With NaPoWriMo, we were handed the task of writing a Tanka. Tanka is a poem based on syllables 5-7-5-7-7, which work best when the last two 7 syllable lines contain a turn/surprise that the first 3 lines might not anticipate. You can use a few Tanka strung together to make a multi-stanza poem as well.

I hope you enjoy these two that I did this morning.

Nature’s Fashion Dilemma

Wardrobe malfunction
Unacceptable today,
Must go to storage
And find my extinguisher
To set for broad storm patterns.

 
Annual Reprieve

Water rising fills
Spring’s lake with run-off from hills;
One stands atop bluff
Watching ribbons of color
Flood the winter‘s skeleton.

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2013 Poetry Month–Day 9

Posted on April 9, 2013 by | 1 Comment
Poetry is an...

Poetry is an… (Photo credit: liber(the poet);)

 

Day 9 started out for me with poetic asides. Two for Tuesday comes around each week with opposites usually, and today’s prompt held true to the pattern. Write a hunter poem. Write a hunted poem. Here goes with two poems that each take liberties with humor. I don’t often do humor poetry, but Muse had other ideas this morning. Enjoy!

 

Stalking (Hunter Poem)

 

She slipped between ferns
a shadow among shadows,
one stealthy foot ahead,
one matching step behind,
knowing prey’s habits would
bring her success this day,
for habits become patterns
within shadow’s movements,
until she pounces.
“Gotcha! Tag, you’re it!”

 

# # # #

 

Inkling (Hunted Poem)

 

I am a tiny inkling
Clever as can be,
People chase their tails all day,
Just looking for me.

 

If I’m ever so wily,
I will be hidden;
when, at last, they go away,
I leap unbidden.

 

# # # #

 

For NaPoWriMo, writing turned to the dark side. “Slowly she turned…“ We’re told by the challenge’s leader, “I’m a sucker for a good mystery novel, especially the hard-boiled noir novels of the thirties and forties. There’s always a two-timing blonde, a city that keeps its secrets, and stuck in the middle, a man who just can’t help but rabbit after truth.”

 

Today’s challenge is to write a poem inspired by noir — it could be in the voice of a detective, or unravel a mystery, or just describe the long shadows of the skyscrapers in the ever-swirling smog.

 

Given this kind of prompt, my mind immediately goes to “write a story in verse” command mode. So I did, and here it is. I hope you enjoy a mystery.

 

Delicate (Noir)

 

Bizarre held sway
within this place
of black and white
edges and corners,
reaching out to impress
themselves upon unwary
types who goggle the
early morning show.

 

Cloying sweetness hung
in air inhaled,
covering death’s scent,
while he lay prostrate,
a testament to pain
and suddenness;
violent ends seldom
remain tidy for long.

 

Obvious explanation hides
within sight–a vase of
purity’s bells; white and sweet.

 

 

 

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