Tag Archives: poetry

Come nightfall

(Jul 26 10:32 p.m.)

Come nightfall
The stars shine with a luster
dimmed by distance
telling
of an open sky
and beyond
ancient history

It reminds me
of others
in the fog of memory
who’d seen stars before
and their drive to reach
and go
Grow

I know
they are all far away
So far
the sky appears flat
until the moon catches my eyes
with its awe-inspiring sight, and light
Before the darkness returns again

 

The above photos is, unfortunately, the best the iPhone camera can do as far as capturing the starry night, Wednesday.  It’s also the best I can do as far as polishing the poem for now, lol.

In other things, there will be a total eclipse of the sun on August 21 across all of North America… Have a good Friday!

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Why Do Poets Write of Love

Poets write of love as writers would anything
The attempt to capture the profound in words

The difference though
love is universally profound
as is truth
a necessity
it drives us when we let it
as we make ourselves vulnerable to it

The pain
withstanding without breaking
The pull, desire
the essence or quality of being
In part because
we long
we miss
we are incomplete
until content.

(That is my attempt to answer the question…)

And as Audrey states: “Michael is fighting an illness that may take his life.”  Pray for him.

The Vision of Poets

Spring Beauty 2

Caution:

The words upon the page before you are to be read at your own risk…
What is implied within them is left to the perceptions of the reader…
If you become engulfed enough within them to endure to its finality, I thank you.
Your comments will enlighten us all…

Why Do Poets Write of Love
 
Why do poets write of love?
Do poets possess an extraordinary
Amount of love within,
Requiring them to relinquish
The overflow onto a blank page,
In order to remain within the
Bounds of sanity?
Would withholding that anomalistic
Amount of love within oneself
Thrust the poet
Far beyond the borders
Of those who profess to be
Of normalcy?
 
Does writing of the touch
Of love upon someone’s heart,
Create love within itself?
It is most common of one
Who writes of love to also
Write of sadness…
Of sorrow…
Of lost hope…

View original post 614 more words

Surviving Winter

small leaning tree in snow
In the effort of
exercise
I shovel
to the back of
the house

Along the path
I find
a drooping tree
surviving
in the snow

In the effort of
relieving pressure
I shovel
off the back of
this tree

Fruitless
my efforts
I used my hands
but it would not
stand upright

It is amazing
how plants
weather
the seasons
for generations


This is my attempt at the Gogyohka form, explained in the previous post.
You’re welcome to try this form yourself.

Physical Engagement – Guest Post

I’ve been reading about different poetic forms in my Writer’s Digest. Today, I’d like to explore the Gogyohka form.

Gogyohka literally translates as “five-line poem,” and hails from Japan, developed by Enta Kusakabe. The rules are quite simple. The poem consists of verse written in five lines, but each line is a separate phrase. It is described as “having a different feel to five-line verse commonly found in Western poetry.” 

Here is a sample by the creator of the form, Enta Kusakabe:

What kind of
stained glass
have your
rose-coloured cheeks
passed through

It’s meant to be both concise and free. A compound or complex sentence is probably too long. The phrases may be seen as separate, but connect.

Here is my offering, inspired by a recent workout my coach named, “Fifty Shades of Pain.” Oh, yes!

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Physical Engagement

Standing tall
I drop my head
to curl small
and breathe
easier dead

Aching body
acetaminophen cured
strong enough
to climb mountains
on my mat

Slam down
the medicine
in a ball
rolling around
thrusting it out

Push up
that kettle to
slide against the wall
holding the squat
just a bit more

Fifty shades of pain
reward your body
with sweaty beads
glistening skin
a sea of sparkles

What about you? Do you have lines you’d like to share? Give it a go.

photo credit: ** via photopin (license)


Editor’s note: I asked Amy if she could do a regular gig here, and she was up for something monthly.  You’re all invited to participate, in a comment or ping-back.  If this poetry form, and a few more ahead, sound good for an official Link-Up, let us know.

Falling to the darkness

I spend time away;
it breaks me free from the monotony,
but it breaks me, still.
Delayed drops of silence
and warning bells times three,
out of the loop for years, until…

I find myself loopy,
wild beyond reason,
within closed doors,
for each passing season
neglecting the life.
For what, more?

I reached out my hand, sprained.
I gave another welcome, drained.
I failed to make friends and amends,
exhausted myself toward belated ends.
Here, no matter the public,
the contact fades; it always does.

I’m not looking for fame; I want things to work;
yet the old nonsense and noise
overshadow everything; I regret,
holding myself to the flame,
short of entertaining or entering
the eternal furnace…yet.

I long for respite,
should decline become my middle name.
I don’t want to turn back, now, though
too often looking back with shame.
I can and plan hope for the better
years, anew in bad health.

The new world I feel, it feels like it’s falling apart.
The older fool of thirty years
becomes blind in more ways than just one;
ahead of the curve, he was, and still is
in too many ways wrong to count.
It’s so hard to climb in life, and yet so easy to fall.

And so, I bite my tongue, again;
I chew my lip, and take a sip,
and dip;
I shoot from the hip
in my way, slowly
falling to the darkness that resides before me.

Where the truth hurts

Hadn’t I
turned out this way,
in a heartbeat I would,
as far as I could.
But no further
do the chips land in my favor.
No matter
the chips’ addictive flavor,
as I bend unwritten rules
to fulfill a moment.

The more you speak,
the more you sound
ideal; your words I allow to feel.
But I know.
I hold
to the truth, so far,
and my heart on a leash.
It is there, by itself.
Where the truth hurts.

Long, Ensue

it’s times like these, I long, and ensue
and push as deep as my well can go
until the ugly fear stifles my word
breaks my courage in two

If I’d a million, as some say
suppose it’d solve my day
suppose it’d cure my ills
suppose my insecurity would fall away

but nothing can cure what I am
sometimes the world just is
as cold as ice
even when it’s soft as snow

my heart yearns so much so
sometimes
I believe
but it cannot grow

I squeeze the blood out of life alone.

Once effort falls,
So does the reward.
Lazily,
I hold my breath, but
My tongue moves without better judgment.
The practice shifts,
So the living drifts.
Careless,
I befell to the joke again.

Prey to play,
The wistful fool puts strangers on a growing pedestal.
But for some strange reason, I attracted
Beauty like never before.
She crossed my path,
But no more
Longer than a score of moons.

As days pass, I attempt to light the path
Of wayward lines
Without smudging.
So used to fighting the way,
An admitted coward,
I squeeze the blood out of life alone.
Failing to fail gracefully,
The errant child blames humanity.

My soul is all that’s left.
I found myself
Eight months ago,
Hungry,
Inspired.
Lest a return of the grandeur.
The sweet delusion
Teases without warrant,
Routinely returns nothing in favor.

Should my work pass as art?
Holding close
To self-defined rules and standards,
Catching
Terms never heard before;
These days
My words live
In a realm of free expression
Within the boundaries of a soulless confine.