Temptation

Adam and Eve (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Temptation
An Acrostic

(Eve)

Try not to think of how you’ll feel tomorrow,
Even God can’t know the wonder of this fruit.

(Adam)

My dear, don’t you remember words of warning?

(Eve)

Perhaps God’s trying to keep us from the truth.
Take this; come on. Just try a morsel.
A snake told me that we would be just fine.
The Tree of Life has nothing like this apple.
Indeed, it offers neither food nor wine.

(Adam)

Only a tiny bite, only this one time.
No one will ever know. HEY, this one’s mine!

An old one, linked now to dVerse Poetics where Mary tempts us to write about, what else, temptation. Crawl on over and see if you can resist!

Presents–dVerse Poetics

Photo: D. Slotto

i.

sometimes you strain to garner magic
that supposed-to-be-moment
of days set aside to remind
us of this or that but snug
within your core of pretend-this-is-special
simmers a memory, an understanding
that this frou-frou feeling
inauthentic grasping of what-used-to-be
stands for something more.

ii.
down the street at the end of the cul-de-sac
an old woman lives alone
a mostly dark house with tight-closed
shutters and peeling paint
shielded from neighbors’ bright-light-christmas
oh-so-white reindeer on the lawn
rearranged by kids one block over
humping.

iii.
wrapping paper
bows
presents
neglected now in disarray

iv.
in the kitchen an argument ensues
it’s too early to put the turkey
in the oven remember last year
how dry it was

v.
from the den loud snores
emanate
uncle jack drank too much again
same as always

vi.
in here
alone
my thoughts prowl meaning
sun pours through the half-moon
window above the door
that later in the day
will welcome others
we haven’t seen or spoken to
in months

vii.
my dogs relax
cuddled at my side
backlit by rays
content and cared-for
knowing we are present

viii.
i get it then
that’s what today is all about

Linked to dVerse Poetics, so ably hosted by the talented Karin Gustafsen. We are invited to think of presents/presence. I had this poem, which may have been previously posted, that works! BTW, keep in mind…I am a FICTION writer. This is a fictional attempt to encapsulate a truth. I am a die-hard celebrator of Christmas, not the commercialism so much as the Presence, the underlying meaning, the magic and the memories. Merry Christmas–Happy Holidays to you all.

Good-By

It seemed to whisper,

Good-by,
good-by.

Everything that had been a part of her.
Everything bound up
in her deepest roots.

Good-by,
good-by.

Fear fell away, congealed.
Fear, frozen, oddly gentle,
like a baby rabbit in a trap.

Good-by,
good-by.

The air, thick with feathers,
floated softly down.
Suddenly stilled.

Good-by.
Good-by.

Photo: V. Slotto

This is an erasure poem, written as a response to Anna Montgomery’s prompt over at dVerse Form for All. You’ll enjoy learning all about this form and reading what other poets have created. I chose Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind opened to a page at random. The scene in play is that which occurs when the Union invades and sets fire to Tara. I first read this classic as a teen and again about twenty years ago.

The pub opens a 1500 EST…come on over.

Thank you, Anna.

Fall-ing–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Tonight, I will be busy tending the bar at dVerse Poets’ Pub where I’ve mixed things up a bit with prompts dealing with STEAMPUNK and ENJAMBMENT. You are invited to join us, write to either or both of the elements, and sit back to sip poetry and comment on your fellow pub-crawlers. This poem features enjambment. Have fun, every one!

Photo: D. Slotto

Fall-
ing

Tonight—
sluggish cricket songs
falter,
wail a mournful tune,
announce
the demise of summer.

Tomorrow—
season’s final farmers’ market,
offerings
scant, I fear,
squash
green, yellow, orange.

Yesterday—
summer ecstasy
shouting
“taste my intensity,”
flaunting
colors of an artist’s palette.

Two Twenty-Six

Photo Credit: Google Images/www.last.fm

Two twenty-six
(a new moon night)
I stumble to the kitchen.

My flashlight plays
on unfamiliar surfaces,
creates images,

suggests invasion
by artifacts
unknown to me.

I fumble for the kettle.
Blue flames explode,
lick seductively.

Steeping chamomile
shares soothing
sleep-inducing scents

while I peek through
the blinds.
On the cul-de-sac

behind us
a street light spills
across the pavement.

Aside from that
the world lolls
in darkest stillness.

Alone, I sip my tea.
I sip solitude.

Thank you Claudia, at dVerse Meeting the Bar, for the prompt to write a poem in the manner of the Impressionistic Artists. Quick brush strokes, the play of light, and mood…move over Monet.  I hope you will join us at the Poetry Pub and bring along your own masterpiece.

As You Lie Dying

As you lie dying,
the shadow of a palm
outside your window
peeps in, enters,
slips across the comforter,
nestles in its folds,
covers your pain.

In the distance
a couple bats tennis balls
back and forth across the net.
No strain.
An easy volley,
back and forth again.
Like our ideas,
ricocheting back and forth.
Yours, then mine.
Divergent memories.

One fact we both hold true.
The night earth shook Tehachapi,
our lives were rent.
And nothing evermore
would be the same.

Outside the window now
a murder of crows descends to feed.

Submitted to dVerse Poetics  prompt based on the wonderful photography of Tracey Grumbach. Thank you, Tracey. 

Process note: The poem is adapted from an actual experience at my sister’s death bed. The reference to the Tehachapi Earthquake relates to the night of our parents marriage (July 20, 1952) when we were children. Both of our parents had lost their first spouses to death. This was our first night together as “siblings.”

 

Remembering Now

Cassin's Finch (Male), Carpodacus cassinii, Cabin Lake Viewing Blinds, Deschutes National Forest, Near Fort Rock, Oregon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Remembering Now

The way that birdsong bids its welcome to the rising sun,
breaks bonds of night
and shatters silence—

The way the early morning breeze fragments the satin surface of the water,
ruffles the palm fronds,
infuses breaths of dawn with pungent fragrance—

The way the flow of water feels upon my skin,
cleanses the chimera of dreams,
the tastes of kisses—

These are the ways
I shall remember now.

Submitted to dVerse Poets’ Pub, Meeting the Bar   I have the honor of hosting today. The theme is living in the moment. I hope you’ll stop by and share a poem.  I am dealing with a family issue for the next few days, but will do my best to comment when I can. Because of this, I am not able to post Write2Day this week, so I hope the prompt at dVerse will serve that purpose. Thank you, my poet friends.

Photo: Wikipedia. “Copyrighted, but free for any use.”

Reflection

Submitted to James Rainsford’s prompt over at dVerse Poetics. James has written an inspiring post on photography as art. Stop over for a drink, good company, incredible poetry and a look at some superb photography. Chose one and write your own poem! 

Don’t forget, I write fiction, too. My poem is inspired by the photo, not my experience (at least not recently).

Photo Copyright: James Rainsford. Used with Permission

Reflection

The day you chose to walk away, nature conspired.
She wore a shroud of darkness, foretold change in bronzing leaves,
teased hope with gauzy breaths of mist.

Standing alone beneath a canopy of leaves
I watched
a colony of ants that labored to dislodge a shard,
I watched
a spider weave her dinner plate,

I listened to
the call of doves and jays.
But our songbirds withheld their song,
Swallowed joy.

As you walked toward your future, I crouched alone in shadows,
mulling all that might have been had you not walked away.

Addiction

Image via Wikipedia

I wrote this poem for Open Link Night and decided to use it as a kickstart for Write2Day as well.

Addiction
A Sestina

Alone, I settle in to nurse the night,
to venerate these saints I should despise.
Bow down before these gods who leach my spirit,
accept the chalice filled with certain death.
I hide the truth from those concerned I’m lost;
prevarication’s now my way of life.

Within my room, I hide, consuming life.
A shaft of light breaks through and rapes the night.
I tape the curtains shut, so sunshine’s lost,
for brightness violates all I despise.
My thoughts attend to naught but this pure death,
her promise tears apart my fragile spirit.

A new god I adore, not born of spirit,
who brings ecstatic joy now to my life.
No sacrament—communion with this death.
It promises to guide me into night,
to teach to me all others to despise,
to mingle now my life with all those lost.

I grasp the cup, hold tight to all I’ve lost,
deny all those who speak to me of spirit,
and wallow like the swine, to be despised,
embrace illusions that erase my life,
hold fast unto the wine I drink at night,
content to find my joy imbibing death.

Within my hands I hold the key to death,
I wander on this path, knowing I’m lost.
Each day becomes another endless night,
Each night consumes me like an evil spirit.
Without a hope of saving wretched life—
anomalous creation I despise.

Swallow the night—this moment I despise.
Let go of spirit, hugging hopes of death.
Are you, too, lost? Or will you cherish life?

At last, I’ve satisfied my poetry addiction. I’ve been experiencing withdrawal as different challenges have absorbed my time.

Poets and writers of all genres turn to angst-filled topics for inspiration. I would venture a guess that many of us have experienced addiction, either personally or second-hand, through the lives of those we’ve loved. As you most likely know, there are many types of addiction besides those like alcohol or drugs, the ones that immediately come to mind.  There are two types of addiction: substance and process. Examples of process-addiction include such things as shopping, work, sex, gambling and exercise. Drugs, alcohol, food, caffeine and smoking are samples of Substance addiction.

For today’ prompt, dip into an addiction or a few of your choice, or enter the mind of an addict, and see what happens. Don’t forget; we welcome prose as well as poetry.

If you are able to participate, here’s how:

• Write your poem, short fiction or essay and post it on your personal blog.
• Access Mr. Linky at the bottom of this post.
• Add your name and the direct URL to your post.
• Come back and pay a visit to other addicts poets and comment on their work.
• Have fun and enjoy the process.

I hope to see you back here, and above all at dVerse Poets’ Pub for Open Link Night where the company’s great, the drinks are abundant and the poetry, without equal.

Photo: License unknown (from Wikipedia)

Potters

Potters

Earth Elephant (Photo credit: Caro's Lines)

The day wind felled a weary oak,
we donned work aprons, boots,
took pails and spades in hand
and ventured out into the brumy cold
to scoop red clay, harvesting Earth.

That night we sat around a fire.
Flickering flames of warmth dispelled
the cold that seeped through dense
gray stone—walls caching sacred
secrets of a century and more.

We worked the clay that night, extracting
grit and stones, Gaia’s grainy
cells that would, ignored, destroy
our own creative efforts. Each night
thereafter, tediously, we toiled for perfection.

And when the day arrived to mold
and fashion terra-cotta worlds,
figures formed of toil and imagination,
clods of mud clung to our hands
that we discarded as extraneous.

Yet now and then we’d find a pebble.
Another proof that life eludes
the quest for flawless execution.

I apologise for re-posting an older poem. Time has not been generous with me lately! I’m linking this to the theme of sculpture at dVerse Poetics which I’ve had the honor of hosting. Hope to see you there.

Process Note: this took place in Brittany, France in the early 70′s when I was living in a “mostly-monastic” setting.

Photo: License Creative Commons, Non-Commercial Share-Alike