Photo: Victoria Slotto
I will hear the birds—
the calls of crickets and of doves—
and a far-off trill where water flows.
I will hear the moan of loneliness—
the groan of pain
whose voice was quashed so long ago
I will hear the song I’ve yet to sing—
and prayer of breath divine.
This week’s prompt for MTB has Bjorn asking us to consider the need for silence in poetry. There are many ways to demonstrate this ever-so-important tool. It’s coming down to the last few hours to join in, but I’m hoping there is still time.
This Tunnel Has No Light at Its Ending
Black notes hang
in a barren equinox sky,
fade into a cry of
wonder that echoes
as though in a dark tunnel.
You balance the cup
of deep water before
a moment of stolen hope emerges
then abandon yourself
to pure gravity
before ripping apart the
warm core of your being.
Can you taste
the texture of wind,
that carries cries of forgiveness.
The memory of a crowing
cock haunts you
constantly, doesn’t it?
Life ebbs slowly when you
break your promises.
Today, I am hosting for dVerse Meeting the Bar, Critique and Craft. We are playing with symbolism as used in poetry and literature. Can you identify the emotion I am attempting to express in this poem–a very old one that I rewrote?
Photo: racrapopulous” Free Usage
Bring me back the thought of you
as the sun comes to shine,
the grain, also golden,
hair, the color of gold,
the sound of a step
different from all others.
My heart is ready to greet you.
Only with the heart can one see.
But I shall cry.
(I shall cry.)
An Erasure Poem
Taken from the Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry
Written and posted for my prompt at dVerse Meeting the Bar, where I’m offering up a prompt for you to write an erasure poem.
I had chosen one of my all-time favorite inspirational reads: The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and opened it to a page that seemed to offer a fair amount of printed text (as you probably know, the book is illustrated with watercolors.) When I began to cull phrases, somewhat randomly, a theme emerged which is pure serendipity–next Tuesday is the first anniversary of my sweet mother’s death.
Please stop by the pub with a poem of your own, or even just to read. We are a welcoming community.
Photo: David Slotto–Taken in 2011, on the occasion of Mom’s 90th birthday.
The Poet Looks Out the Window
Oh, bless this tree outside my room—
a home, a womb
where words are born,
a page adorned—
These branches beckon many birds
with songs sans words.
They bring us joy,
plaintive cries, too,
to mourn with you.
And there above, I spy a nest.
Perhaps a Jay?
Oh look! Today,
sweet finch I see.
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.
Labeled for non-commercial reuse.
I Must Poem
how the blur of blue and mauve
the melt of orange and red and gold
fold gently into summer skies
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 spindly-legged spiders crawling ‘neath a rock
and birds in flight that soar up to the moon
or human dance that stretches my imagination
its touch, so sensual, immersed in crystal lakes
the battering of rain upon the window pane
or cooling draft upon desert-dry tongue
the roughest touch of eucalyptus bark
or satin-smoothness of a marble slab
and wonder-wrinkle of my weathered life-worn face
the bounding bass of basso-nova beat
or lilting flute that fills the air with joy
and steady cadence of a Requium
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 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.
Now for a bit of whimsy as Frank treats us to a limerick prompt at dVerse MTB. I could go on and on.
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.