may measure time, but there is more to them than the face they show the world.
provided, as they embraced me from birth until my place in the world became clear.
instilled in me as they held me up, prepared me for my responsibilities.
Who I am
as they have made me, and reflected as this clock came to be in my own hands.
These hands are a measure of my gratitude for the good fortune that came my way when I was delivered into loving hands.
This poem is my response to Day 22 at napowrimo.net, where the challenge is to us to write a poem that invokes a specific object as a symbol of a particular time, era, or place. As an anniversary present for my parents, I built a grandfather clock from a kit in 1983, The clock now stands in my living room.
wanting to be green in a world trying to turn green, as a plastic bag floats past in a cool April breeze, a snowy oak stands lifeless yet speaks of change conditions deranged the range of fluctuations absurd, have you heard? dropping butts on the trail, deniers spread the word of normal weather whether or not it’s true they haven’t a clue but you know better as you pick up litter on a trail by a lifeless oak
Being from Western New York, I’m accustomed to seeing an occasional late-April snowfall, and I was reminded of those while walking at Runge Conservation Area in Jefferson City, Missouri, two days ago. Usually, snowfall here at any time of the year is gone within a couple of days or less, as temperature fluctuations are common. This day was no exception, as we’d had 60º days just prior, and 50º the next day – and we’re expecting 80º by next week. As the snow turned to rain, the inch-and-a-half that had fallen was gone within eight hours of the first snowflake. Temperature fluctuations may be common here, but I’m still reminded of how unpredictable weather has become. Okay, science has made short range predictions more reliable, but the patterns certainly have becomes erratic, causing extreme weather conditions at times, a point of note for Earth Day 2021.
Each falling petal leaves spring farther behind.
Each brings a tear to my eyes.
When the last disappears from my view,
no measure of wine brings clear skies.
Kingfishers frequent the hall on the river.
Unicorns lie, resting before the royal sarcophagi.
Joy is the truth when studying nature,are
with no reason to bring sorrow’s sigh.
This poem is my response to Poetics: China – Kingdom of the Poem, the prompt from Laura Bloomsbury at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which asks us to re-interpret one of five given ancient Chinese poems. She gives the option to do so in our own style or the Lüshi style. I have chosen the latter, which differs froarem the style I have used in the many Chinese Interpretations I have done in the past, where I’ve rephrased the raw literal translation given at Chinese Poems in a way that varies only slightly from the “finished” version offered there. Here, I have used the Lüshi style style for Winding River, by Tu Fu. In fact, I re-interpreted this poemWinding River No 1 in that other manner for National Poetry Writing Month in 2017. I look forward to reading the other responses to this prompt.
The Chinese Lüshi style:
• eight lines long of couplets – The first couplet should set-up the poem;
the middle two couplets develop the theme, the final couplet is conclusion
• each line must have the same number of words, either 5, 6, or 7.
• a mono-rhyme is on every even numbered line
• Caesura (a pause) should separate clauses.
Winding River (Tu Fu)
Each piece of flying blossom leaves spring the less,
I grieve as myriad points float in the wind.
I watch the last ones move before my eyes,
And cannot have enough wine pass my lips.
Kingfishers nest by the little hall on the river,
Unicorns lie at the high tomb’s enclosure.
Having studied the world, one must seek joy,
For what use is the trap of passing honour?
Sijo (a Korean verse form related to haiku and tanka)
~ three lines of 14-16 syllables each
~ a total of 44-46 syllables
~ a pause near the middle of each line
~ first half of the line contains six to nine syllables
~ the second half should contain no fewer than five
Originally intended as songs, sijo can treat romantic, metaphysical, or spiritual themes. Whatever the subject, the first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “turn,” and the third provides closure.
Modern Sijo are sometimes printed in six lines.
Neither bother nor regret will enter a mother’s mind, once a child’s call is heard. Mountains will move and the heavens will open with the brightest of lights, until both hearts are free from the faintest of shadows, and they are whole, once again.
This poem is my response to Quadrille #126 – Come “bother” up a poem, the prompt from De Jackson at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use a form of the word bother in a 44-word poem, with no required meter or rhyme.
What’s with the dishes piled in the sink? You think a little water in them is all it takes? What does a half-bowl of water do for cereal or sauce crusted on the rim? Everywhere, actually, since it’s a sink full of week-old dishes fished out of your room. You think I keep a chisel under the sink?
Stop storing dirty dishes in your room. Rinse that crap off and put them in the dishwasher. Yes, that’s what that thing is. And don’t get me started on the dishwasher. Am I the only one who loads the silverware back to front, knives down the center?
And those dishes from your room? You probably want to use the Pots & Pans cycle. By the way, we’re still missing five forks and three bowls.
Listening to our shadow on a night picnic, being visited by words, I dress myself with raining moonbeams that bring me magic with dream sense. Giving them our real names, I sing to the stars of my love for you with controlled abandon. What’s my image? Poems and the body, think of them as being here as one, for poems are alive. These are the nights you love me most, full moon me, most mad and moonly.
This poem is my response to Day 18 at napowrimo.net, where the challenge is write a poem based on the title of one of the chapters from Susan G. Woolridge’s Poem crazy: Freeing Your Life with Words, from the book’s Table of Contents, found here. I’ve included fifteen of those phrases in my poem so it is nearly a cento. The chapter titles I have used are:
• poem sound and song • listening to our shadow • on a night picnic • being visited by words • I dress myself with rain • bring me magic • dream sense • our real names • controlled abandon • what’s my image • poems and the body • being here • poems are alive • full moon me • most mad and moonly
First light arrives with last, and I feel your pull as you near my horizon framed in dusk. Your bare presence brings the first sliver of satisfaction, delivered in a warm light that intensifies with each rising moment. I feel your full embrace in a moment of silver light that lasts through the night. But a night of moments is never enough, and your last light fades as first light arrives.
This poem is my response to Day 17 at napowrimo.net, where the challenge is to write a poem about, or involving, the moon.
Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way Kicking around words until you’ve found just the right sound Then wait for a prompt or something to show you the way Tired of thinking, getting nowhere – write all day and show no gain You realize you’ve gone too long and you’ve killed too much time today Then all at once you find ten hours have got behind you If you don’t get this poem done, you’ll miss out on the fun
With each word spun you hope you’ll get done – that’s your thinking Jot your words down, as you hope somehow they make sense The words sound the same in a relative way, but you soldier On as you write, long, long into the night Every minute getting shorter, hope you don’t run out of time Words that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines Hanging on in quiet desperation – it’s done, come what may The time is gone, the poem is over, thought I’d something more to say
Starting over again. I’ll try to keep up if I can And when I’m done here, cold and tired It’s good to know my computer is wired Far away across the world Other poets write their words Join me to participate In Global Poetry Writing Month
This poem is off prompt for Day 16 at napowrimo.net. I was running out of time as the day wore on, so I wrote this after dinner – with apologies to Roger Waters and Pink Floyd (Time).
~ Day 16 ~
Image source: Wikimedia Commons – cornice of Imperial palace on The Palatine Hill in Rome