The Poet Looks Out the Window

The Poet Looks Out the Window
Minute Poetry

Oh, bless this tree outside my room—
a home, a womb
where words are born,
a page adorned—
poet’s enclave,
creative cave.

These branches beckon many birds
with songs sans words.
They bring us joy,
distress destroy,
plaintive cries, too,
to mourn with you.

And there above, I spy a nest.
Robin Redbreast?
Perhaps a Jay?
Oh look! Today,
sweet finch I see.
Inspire me!

Photo: Victoria Slotto
View from My Office “Treehouse”

Today at dVerse MTB Frank Hubeny invites us to try Minute Poetry. Don’t be afraid of this very fun form. It seemed daunting to me at first, but when I diagrammed it, I found it to be easy enough with the help of Rhymezone.com. My ornamental pear tree looks a bit shabby right now because the harsh winter and severe winds was causing it to damage our house and we had to have it pruned. But when it’s at it best, in autumn, it is truly a delight and the migrating birds love the tiny pears that are just for them, not humans.

Please join us–give it a whirl. BTW, this poem is also inspired by Lillian’s window prompt from Tuesday Poetics.

 

I Must Poem–dVerse MTB

Labeled for non-commercial reuse.

I Must Poem

of color
how the blur of blue and mauve
the melt of orange and red and gold
fold gently into summer skies

of sunshine
the way sun slips above the eastern horizon
pulls himself up on a span of lenticular clouds
to wink-wake me through half drawn shutters

of movement
of spindly-legged spiders crawling ‘neath a rock
and birds in flight that soar up to the moon
or human dance that stretches my imagination

of water
its touch, so sensual, immersed in crystal lakes
the battering of rain upon the window pane
or cooling draft upon desert-dry tongue

of texture
the roughest touch of eucalyptus bark
or satin-smoothness of a marble slab
and wonder-wrinkle of my weathered life-worn face

of music
the bounding bass of basso-nova beat
or lilting flute that fills the air with joy
and steady cadence of a Requium

of silence.
of silence, I must poem.

Today I have the pleasure of returning, after a rather long hiatus, to offer a prompt for dVerse Meeting the Bar/Form for All. I’m going back to a form I first gave in 2013–List Poetry. I hope you will join in today with a list of your own.

Limerick II

Limerick II for dVerse MTB

There once was a damsel from Kerry
who dated a bloke oh-so-hairy
when they kissed she would flinch
leaving him was a cinch
since the hair on his back was quite scary.

I once knew a lad from Killarney
Who had a good buddy named Arnie
In spite of his name
His golf game was a shame
But the scores that he posted: pure blarney.

Couldn’t resist a 2nd one for dVerse MTB. The rhythm gets stuck in your head.

Limericks–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Now for a bit of whimsy as Frank treats us to a limerick prompt at dVerse MTB. I could go on and on.

Limericks

There once was a dragon named Tony
he fell like a rock for a pony
she got such jolt
she took off like a bolt
now poor Tony thinks romance baloney.

There once was a guy who loved money
But could never impress his true honey
‘Cause he spent it on wine
and she saw not a dime
so she left him alone—what a dummy.

Here’s one I posted for one of Madeleine’s prompt:

A woman who always felt free
Burned her bra when she turned twenty-three
Now at age sixty-eight
She is rueing her fate
As her boobies keep knocking her knees.

The Artisan Paints Morn

Photo: Victoria Slotto

The Artisan Paints Dawn

Ensconced upon my chair,
blanket-cocooned from cold,
I wait for Artist to appear.

In the East, first ray of light
peaks over hills,
dabs brushes heavy with pastel hues
upon my water-washed world.

Gold blurs into rose, blurs
into violet, periwinkle, blue
as night blurs into day
and I to wakefulness.

Then, in the distance,
a flash of white
flares ‘cross the lightening sky
and egret alights upon the bank
in prayerful waiting pose.

And I, to life, arise.

Oh, I hope you take a few minutes to visit dVerse Meeting the Bar where Bjorn treats us to an artistic prompt on Impressionism, a school of art that arose in the late 1800’s and endures to this day. He shares the best, most succinct explanation of the art form that I remember, and I used to be a museum docent.

Anger–dVerse MTB

Art: Clyfford Still, on Pinterest

Art: Clyfford Still, on Pinterest

Depression is Anger Turned Inside-Out
A Narrative Poem

She hadn’t touched her paints for a while. In the other room an unfinished canvas lay propped on an easel. Orange and cerulean blue paint danced in cacophonous colors and screamed at her in taunting ecstasy. One evening she’d smeared a palette knife of black paint in a thick wavy line down the middle of the canvas—the result only heightened the drama. She abandoned her work for now—she couldn’t paint and wouldn’t write—not since he told her he wouldn’t see her anymore.

Today, dVerse Poets, hosted by Frank Hubney, invites us to submit a narrative poem–as I see it, a bit of prose that is written poetically. That implies incorporating poetic elements such as metaphor and sensory details, active verbs etc. This is a tiny piece that I adapted from my novel “The Sin of His Father.”

calando–dVerse MTB Music

requiem

watching life slowly
slip away (calando)
as winter skies bear down
as winds disrupt the birds
as clouds hang low
and inch across the mountains

(down the hall the hiss
of oxygen
and ponderous moans)

I slam the door
and crash upon my bed
as elton’s funeral
for a friend
sounds grave

ly of lies
this is no friend
who robbed your child
of innocence

in the tree
outside my window
the branches
have been stripped
of leaves

I wrote this for my prompt at dVerse Meeting the Bar. I’m asking for the incorporation of musical concepts as they apply to poetry. This poem is inspired by stories I’ve read in the paper recently. I extrapolated, imagining the feeling of a mother who allowed a child to be abused by her husband or partner. That part is fiction.