Moonshine Like a Fever ~ magnetic poetry

Moonshine Like a Fever

Silver shadows bring spirited wishes
only your deepest thoughts
would know, reminding you
of dreams long held
but never brought to life. offers five different sets of tiles that can be used to create poetry online, with tiles that can be moved on the screen with a mouse cursor. The site also sells more than 100 sets of themed magnet sets that can be used on a fridge or a white board.
The latest is “Moon Poet.”

Word lists are available as free PDF files, so I downloaded the Moon Poet list and wrote this poem using those words. I also conducted an experiment in which I copied that list into a document and highlighted the words so I could make tiles from a screenshot. I burned a lot of hours working on it, but I guess I just wanted to see if it could be done. Once.

I like the idea of using the variety of magnetic tile lists that are available, so I’m sure I’ll try that again. Without the graphics!

If you want to try magnetic poetry with the standard movable magnets,
you can do it online, here.

The background image is the full moon on 22 December 2018.
(Click the image to see a larger view of the photo with tiles in a new tab.)

The following image is a copy of the Moon Poet” list with the words I used in bold italics.

New Sunrise

New Sunrise

Restless, this sleep that comes,
then doesn’t, these trying times when
memories flow like a river, then briefly,
and I feel his touch, then don’t.

That sun set long ago. Everything changed
with his extinguished light, no eyes
to flash his broad smile as darkness
seemed to close in around me.

It’s now my turn to go, knowing that,
as our hands touch once again, at last,
we will greet our first new sunrise.

The prompt for Meet the Bar by changing your perspective, from Björn at dVerse, offers this prompt: “…go out of your comfort zone and change the perspective. You can either start from a poem you’ve written before and change its perspective, or simply write from a perspective you are not used to.”

On October 29th, I wrote Last Light in response to “Tears in rain – using our senses,” from Sarah at dVerse. For this prompt, I’ve rewritten that poem and made it from the perspective of the subject of the first poem.  My father died 15 years before my mother, and she was quiet, almost absent, in the last few years of her life. I tried to imagine that, with this. Please read the original, here.

Last Light

Last Light

A trying day, its outcome pressing closer
with each moment of your restless sleep,
brings me to the river for a brief respite,
the warm summer breeze like a mother’s caress.

The sun will not rise again in a manner unchanged
by this setting, the last of its dazzling light upon the waves
becoming a sheen before being muted forever
in the final moments of its darkness.

I turn to go and return to your side, knowing
that, as I hold your hand through the night,
this sunset will be your last.

The prompt for Tears in rain – using our senses, from Sarah at dVerse, is to write a poem that tells a story or shows a character in the things they’ve sensed.

Image: sunset on the Niagara River
(click image for larger view in new tab)

Sounds of Silence

Sounds of Silence

Gone, and sorely missed.
Since that first day of instability,
inability to navigate
a straight line, and its week-long
recovery. Everything spinning,
until inner ear cleared. Silence,
once held dear, replaced
by constant ringing, bringing
this listener to his knees.
He’s not known a quiet moment, since.

OctPoWriMo 2019 offers Silence as a prompt for Day 11.  Around 1990, an inner ear infection had me laid up for a week, my equilibrium totally shot.  Since then, I have had non-stop tinnitus in my left ear, some days worse than others.  This week has been particularly bad.

Waiting, Impatiently

Waiting, Impatiently

Will a wet summer mean a burst of color
for Ozark hills familiar with drab autumns?

Clouds more frequent, but blue skies,
still, in these shorter days of lower sun.

The sycamores seem to measure
the light, their yellow the first to show.

Without a frost to say otherwise, green
clings to maple, oak, and hickory.

No monarchs in sight as the milkweed
goes to seed, but the season will not be rushed.

Back in Buffalo, I’d be taking photos of peak fall foliage around Columbus Day. A week later could be too late, with colors fading. There’s nothing here yet, in Missouri, but our first frost of the season is in this weekend’s forecast. Fingers crossed.

Images (top to bottom)
Sycamore starting to change on Moreau River (04 Oct 2019)
Milkweed, bank-side of pond in Runge Conservation Center (09 Oct 2019)
Common buckeye feeding on aster at Runge (09 Oct 2019)
(click each for larger view in new tab)