He knows his body knows,
communicates when it states
its intentions, dissension
its main talking point.
Lest he forget, he will soon
regret letting desire trump
prior warning signs. Aches
will wake joints that protest
at his best efforts to continue
as if nothing has changed,
but range of motion is not
what it used to be. See,
Ken is no spring chicken.
You can bet that when
he tends to forget, something
like a six-mile hike will
remind him of what he should
already know. Take it slow.
The prompt from Peter Frankis at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, MTB – Let your words ring out, asks us to write a poem that combines sense with sound. I’ve used alliteration, assonance and internal rhyme to achieve that.
I spent most of yesterday hiking 6 miles through a National Forest. The repeated inclines across ridges, as I followed bluffs above a river, took a toll on my body. After dinner, I made a list of maladies and aches, wondering if I could somehow use them in a poem. Reading the prompt this morning answered that. Maybe I’ll describe my day in a photo blog this afternoon.
In a vigil to rival All Hallows’ Eve,
skulls of saints will scream in agony
at the slime pigments cast upon
election results by the fool
known as The Clown in Chief
as he casts his scepter as a crown.
The pellucid quest that follows
will underscore the truth
buried by the dim accuracy
of his claims of victory,
granting the solitudes wish
of the multitudes upon his soul.
This poem is my response to Poetics: The charms of Samuel Greenberg, the prompt from Laura at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to write a poem using five of these phrases
from Samuel Greenberg’s “The Pale Impromptu”:
Dim Accuracy ~ Candle salve ~ Consumed moon
Eyes jealousy ~ Fouls deviation ~ Grey life
Hearts brow ~ Lucid farrows ~ Nulling marrows
Painted mirth ~ Pale heat ~ Palmed rose
Pearls from tissue ~ Pellucid quest ~ Royal flesh
Skulls of saints ~ Slime pigments ~ Spiritual songs
Solitudes wish ~ Times chant ~ Yellow dreams
I have used dim accuracy, pellucid quest, skulls of saints, slime pigments, and solitudes wish.
Give me a forest trail
beneath radiant amber leaves
that dance playfully in sunlight,
past stony outcrops that speak
of history embraced in layers of time
that seeps to form rivulets of life
that feed streams great and small.
Take me to the banks of those rivers
where the forest’s roots reach to the water.
Just as their thirst is quenched,
let mine be so, that I may know
the beauty of leaves, of water, and of sky.
This poem is my response to Three little words, the prompt from Sarah at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use one of the provided sets of three words in a poem. The sets of words are from “What 3 Words,” a project that divides the entire world into 3-meter squares, giving each square a 3-word designation. From the provided list, I have chosen quench.forest.rivers to use in my poem.
Pen poised above his notepad, the correspondent had stopped taking notes shortly after the president started speaking. He sat at the White House press briefing, confident that little more than inflated accomplishments and no real news would be heard as he thought back on the president’s briefings for the past four years. As he had always done, the president spoke as if campaigning for re-election, loudly proclaiming that nothing that comes from the media is anything more than “fake news,” while little truth could be found in anything that left his own lips.
As the president left the podium and his fellow reporters rose from their chairs, he thought, “From across the room, we look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time. With that telescope reversed, the future will recognize him for the small man that he truly is.”
This bit of flash fiction is my response to Prosery: Telescope of Time, presented by Kim at dVerse ~ Poets Pub. With Prosery, the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit. Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. My flash fiction also meets the additional challenge of hitting the 144-word mark, exactly.
For this prompt, the line to be included is from “Humming Bird,” by D.H. Lawrence. (the complete poem can be found here)
“From across the room, we look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time” – D.H. Lawrence