Lone Vigil
Oak leaf clinging firmly to its branch
as winter winds swirl about it
wonders when spring will arrive,
when those first buds of green
will finally end
its long vigil,
its patient
waiting
done.
This nonet is my response to the prompt for Waiting for a poem,
from Sarah at dVerse, which is to write a poem about waiting.
Image source: pxhere.com
On Visiting Lost Waters
It was his heart that took him away, but his heart still missed the waters flowing through a canyon of green that would explode with color when the first frost found its home in leaves that could bring light to the grayest day.
Trails that bordered the rim of the majestic gorge and paths that descended to follow the shore of the winding river had called to him often over the years, and many were the times he had answered that call.
But love had taken him to a distant place, and years had passed since last his footsteps had fallen in this forest, since his eyes had seen the splendor of the river’s descent, and his face had felt the mist rising from the falls.
Sadly, with these thoughts on this brief visit, he knew these memories were left here with the trees.
Prosery is a form devised at dVerse, and the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit (144 words, here). Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. With Prosery: Memories with the Trees from Merril, the line to be included is “These memories were left here with the trees” from Joy Harjo’s “How to Write a Poem in a Time of War.” While that poem speaks of the lost or stolen beauty of a homeland, my piece describes Letchworth State Park, a place I often visited when I lived in Western New York (revisited this past week).
Image
Middle and Upper Falls – Genesee River at Letchworth State Park, Portageville, New York
~ left: 09 Sept 2019 & right: 19 Oct 2010 (note the old train bridge in 2010 photo) ~
(click image for larger view in new tab)
This Bitter Pill
That the cure is our demise
lies between hope and fear,
dear though we hold our home.
Are we the plague,
the ague that chills all hope,
the dope that drains all life?
To achieve tranquility,
must we become dust?
Must we be gone?
This second quadrille for the prompt from Lillian at dVerse … the most beautiful words are … (to write a quadrille [a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme] using tranquility) – came to me after Merril’s comment on Till There Is Nothing – “I hope Earth will live as the Blue Planet, even if we make it uninhabitable for ourselves.”
Image source: Wikimedia Commons (Earth seen from Apollo 17)
Till There Is Nothing
Must it be, to find tranquility,
our search must be beyond
the reach of hands that spoil
the land till there is nothing
more than barren waste?
We hasten our demise, the seas
and forests soon like the moon,
little more than a dream.
My mind immediately turned to the Sea of Tranquility when I saw the prompt from Lillian at dVerse … the most beautiful words are … which is to write a quadrille (a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme) using tranquility.
Image: full moon, 22 November 2018
Total Cleansing
Remember when you felt good about yourself, a time when you had no doubts about your abilities, your value to others, or the value of those around you? That part of you is not lost. It lives within you, still, and the time has come for you to recognize that.
Take a moment to breathe. In. Out. Slowly. Now, think about who you are, who you can be. The negative energy that has been feeding into you has poisoned your mind, masking who were. Let it wash away from you so that you may remember who you have been, recognize who you really are, and you will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Remember all of this as you enter the polling place with a clear conscience, determined to remove that toxic presence from the Oval Office. Don’t let yourself be fooled again.
This bit of flash fiction is my response to Prosery #3: Love After Love, presented by Kim at dVerse. 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. For Prosery #3, the line to be included is “You will love again the stranger who was yourself” from Derek Walcott’s “Love After Love.” My flash fiction also meets the additional challenge of hitting the 144-word mark, exactly.
Image source: Tulsa World (Bruce Plante)
Remember
Before you turn away,
remember an island of two
walking amid a sea of people.
Before you turn away,
remember the music
that no one else could hear.
Before you turn away,
remember the waves
that washed over you.
Before you turn away,
remember the heart
that beats as one with yours.
Before you turn away,
ask yourself why
it would hurt so much.
The prompt for Tuesday Poetics: Lost in Translation from Laura at dVerse is to write a poem as an interpretation or impression of one of the three foreign poems (translated) that are offered. I have chosen “Two Bodies,” by Octavio Paz, shown here:
Two Bodies
Two bodies face to face
are at times two waves
and night is an ocean.
Two bodies face to face
are at times two stones
and night a desert.
Two bodies face to face
are at times two roots
laced into night.
Two bodies face to face
are at times two knives
and night strikes sparks.
Two bodies face to face
are two stars falling
in an empty sky.
Different Drummer
You hear the beat,
but do not follow,
your voice your own,
in a world where too many
let others speak without
questioning the merits
of a drumbeat too often
exclusionary, delusion
carried to extremes,
out of step with reality,
right to the end.
This is a response to Quadrille #85 – Raising our Poetic Voices, the prompt from De Jackson at dVerse, which is to use the word voice in a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.
Image source: YouTube (USC Trojan Marching Band performing “Tusk”)
