Category: poetry

poetry

Erasure Poems

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The W3 challenge is: let’s write erasure poems.

“Erasure poetry, also known as blackout poetry, is a form of found poetry wherein a poet takes an existing text and erases, blacks out, or otherwise obscures a large portion of the text, creating a wholly new work from what remains.

“You might begin with an existing text or poem and shape something new by removing words, or write your own piece and then erase portions of it to reveal another layer. You could even place a poem over a work of art and present it visually as an erasure.”

When my oldest brother passed away, I found a couple of books where he had been doing this — blacking out whole pages and only leaving one or two words. It was fascinating. But, then, my oldest brother was literally a genius.

I don’t know what the heck I’m doing with this. Clearly.

I muddled through books yesterday and today trying to come up with something.

Here’s one:

Al
e
x
pre
tti
fought bravely
Can you see him?
Who is he?

Then I put in this (less than) valiant effort:

I do not know
I do not know
Do you know?
No, said the farmer’s wife

Do you know?
Why yes, I know

I know
Do you know?
I am going away
all alone
Good-by!

What does it all mean? I’m with the farmer’s wife. I do not know.

poetry

True Story

Sally12 Comments

Warm
My lap
Come sit here
Let me stroke you
Let me run my fingers all over you
You nibble on my fingers while I do
Yes, you want more
I feel it
My dear
Cat

This is my response to the W3 prompt and to the JusJoJan prompt which is prompt.

This week’s prompt for W3 is to write a Double Tetractys — a 10-line poem with a fixed syllable pattern.

Theme: something spicy or a little naughty. Keep it suggestive rather than explicit. Let tension, humor, and implication do the work.

A Double Tetractys is made of two Tetractys poems joined together:

  • The first five lines build up
  • The next five lines mirror them in reverse

Syllable pattern (per line):

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 10 / 10 / 4 / 3 / 2 / 1

Yes, I have a friend with a cat that can’t get enough of me. She sits beside me, on me, nibbling at me. It’s love.

Life · poetry

Life’s Labyrinth

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In this labyrinth maze called age
I walk with care
The twists and turns engage? enrage?
No stage seems fair

If I am young I may be strong
In old age wise
Will my next choice be right or wrong?
I agonize

To quickly choose or take my time
Hingeing on what?
Whether I’m young or in my prime
Life’s not clear-cut

This is my response to today JusJoJan prompt: labyrinth. It’s an Irish poetic for called a deachnadh cummaisc:

  • Four-line stanzas.
  • Eight syllables in the first and third lines.
  • Four syllables in the second and fourth lines, which both end rhyme.
  • The final word of line three rhymes with the middle of line four. (<—- I didn’t do this one well)

The photo is my brother walking a labyrinth in Bayeux.

poetry

First Loves in Poetry

Sally14 Comments

The fog comes on little cat feet
Highwayman comes riding
First loves
In poetry become heartbeat
This love is abiding
Because

The moon’s tossed upon cloudy seas
And meanwhile the wild geese
Fly home
i thank you God, for rhymes like trees
That become gentle breeze
Poem

This week’s W3 challenge is to write a Memento — a poetic form created by Emily Romano. A memento poem captures a holiday, anniversary, or meaningful moment held in memory.

The poem is written in two stanzas. Each of the two stanzas follows this syllabic pattern:

  • Line 1: 8 beats
  • Line 2: 6 beats
  • Line 3: 2 beats

This pattern is repeated once per stanza, for a total rhyme scheme of a / b / c / a / b / c in each stanza.

True story: I wrote a Memento poem about what I thought was the first poem that I ever wrote. My mother had saved the paper witten in my blocky large first grade printing. She told me that it was the first poem I wrote. I always thought it was a pretty darn good poem for a six year old.

Then I fact-checked my mother this morning. I did NOT compose that poem. Oh, I wrote it on a piece of paper and got a gold star from my teacher, but it was not my original words. [sad face]

So, I tried to remember when my love affair with poetry began.

It was probably One Fish, Two Fish by Dr. Seuss. He still influences my writing.

But Carl Sandburg’s poem Fog is the first stand-alone, non-nursery rhyme, non-Dr. Seuss poem that I remember loving.

I memorized The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes a few years later. That was the beginning of my love affair with story poems. We had a book of story poems that included Casey at the Bat and The Cremation of Sam McGee, but I loved the melodrama of The Highwayman.

I found that story-poem book in a box recently. It was in sad shape. Such is the fate of much-loved books.

So what was the first poem I ever wrote? I have no idea.

poetry

The Cave

Sally13 Comments

The shadows flicker on the walls

Distorted images, truths, faces, facts
They grow, shrink, grow again, moving all the while

What am I seeing?
What is true?
I must escape this cave…

This song, The Cave by Mumford and Sons, has long been a favorite of mine. When it was in its auto-repeat phase for me, I was fascinated by the lyrics.

What does it mean to “Come out of the cave walking on your hands”? I looked it up. Those lyrics are a reference to both Plato and St. Francis of Assisi, who both sought to understand life.

The song challenges us to look at the world differently.

While not using the word “philosophy”, it IS a response to Sadje’s JusJoJan prompt: philosophy.

It’s also my attempt at a Cherita, the W3 challenge for this week. Cherita is the Malay word for story or tale.

A traditional cherita unfolds in three verses, each growing in length:
Verse 1: one line
Verse 2: two lines
Verse 3: three lines

poetry

Getting Published is Tough

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A man named Harry McBubbish
Wrote a novel he wanted to publish
But all those who read it
Suggested no edit
But said, “This book is rubbish!”

Spinster/publisher Mary Contrary
Read the book that was written by Harry
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed
“Make me your bride
And I’ll publish The Blueberry Fairy.”

The JusJoJan prompt for the day: rubbish

poetry

Growing Old

Sally9 Comments

Aging is not an illness, a tragedy, or a problem awaiting a solution; aging is the price we pay for life which is a greater gift than we deserve.

Will Willimon, Aging: Growing Old in Church

I can’t remember names very well
But faces stick with me. And voices.
I’m still mobile and active.
As Monty Python said,
“I’m not dead yet” — so
Today I will
Celebrate —
Life is
Good!

Yes, I’m a senior citizen. No, I’m not old.

True story: I DO recognize people better by their voice than their face. And I remember their face better than their name.

Celebrate was the prompt for JusJoJan today. The nonet was just for fun.

poetry

The Old Homestead

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I grew up in this old famhouse. Here
I stumble over memories
Stub my toe on them even
Sorting is quite daunting
This house is haunting
Daily I try
To get one
More box
Done

This is my response to TWO prompts!

The JusJoJan prompt for the day is stumble.

The W3 prompt is: Write a Nonet about the new year — 2026. How does this year feel to you so far? Are you hopeful, uncertain, energized, reflective? Have you set any goals or intentions? Are there resolutions you’re excited (or nervous) about? My goal for the new year is to wrap up dealing with my parents’ estate.

poetry

Brrr…

Sally8 Comments

But —
But what?
But you’re wrong
Yeah? And I’m King Kong
That doesn’t make you right
You wanna fight?
Ok, tell me how you figure
That minus five is bigger
Than minus two
That’s easy to do!
You think you’re smarter ‘cuz you’re older
But minus five is clearly colder

This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge:

“Write a poem (up to 20 lines) as a conversation, text thread, or inner dialogue. Let the two voices go back and forth — negotiating, hesitating, contradicting — but never quite landing on a plan. Play with repetition and everyday details to build tension and show who these people are. Slip in small observations that make the moment feel real. And when you get to the end… leave it unresolved.”

poetry

Traveling Woes

Sally16 Comments

“I know it’s in here somewhere,”
She said as she dug through her pocket
She pulled out some coins, some random keys
A gold chain and her grandmother’s locket

She set in the dish a wadded up tissue
A hair clip, a Swiss army knife
“I know I didn’t forget it,” she said
As she pulled out a drum and a fife

“Could I offer you this?” she said to the man
As she pulled out a cup of iced tea
The TSA agent sighed a big sigh–
“Ma-am, I just need your Real ID”

This week’s W3 Challenge:

Let’s send 2025 off with a giggle!

Write a poem of 10 lines or fewer that places someone—or something—in a delightfully improbable location. Think sharks in a bathtub, a dragon in a bar, or any unexpected presence where it clearly doesn’t belong.

I know, I know — it’s 12 lines, not 10 — but I was on a roll.