Category: poetry

poetry

Bagpipes — A Love Story

Sally26 Comments

The bagpipes loved the little girl
O skirly, whirly, twirly, sklirl
He hoped that he could catch her eye
As she went traipsing merrily by
She barely slowed, and so he sighed,
O skirly, whirly, sklirl

’twas lonely waiting to be seen
O skirly, whirly, twirly, skleen
The blue-eyed girl was now long gone
Off in the distance he could hear the song
Of bagpipes playing nrrrnn nrrrnn nhawn
O skirly, whirly, skleen

But who should now come into view?
O skirly, whirly, twirly, sklooo
The little girl tugging her mother’s hand,
“Mama, I want to be in the band!
To play these pipes would be so grand!”
O skirly, whirly, skloo0

She picked him up, nestling him dear
O skirly, whirly, twirly, skleeer
“Please, can I take this home with me?”
Mom started to say, “Let’s wait. We’ll see.”
But didn’t. She heard the lassie’s plea.
O skirly, whirly, skleeer

And now the rest is history
O skirly, whirly, twirly, skleee
Each is the other’s sole desire
Scotland the Brave, Mull of Kintyre
Making music all day — a girl-bagpipe choir
O skirly, whirly, skleee


This is in response to the W3 prompt this week: Write a nonsense poem with at least one invented word of your own.

poetry

Tyger…………………………………….. Tyger

Sally24 Comments

Tigers don’t like groups, you know

Company isn’t something they seek
It may seem strange, but it’s not unique

Most animals draw strength from their pack or crew
Being alone is strength that only a few
Understand. For loneliness does not ensue
When aloneness is simply a part of you

Groups of tigers are called Streaks
Or Ambushes. Silly names — and weak

Tigers don’t like groups, you know

This is in response to the Tanka Tuesday prompt to: Select an animal collective noun and write your syllabic poem using the collective noun.

The poetry form that I used is the Symetrelle.

  • It begins and ends with a single subject line that is 7 syllables.
  • It has two mono-rhymed couplets that lead you into and out of the subject with a 9 syllable count.
  • In the middle is a mono-rhymed 4 line quatrain with an 11 syllable count.
poetry

Pantoum for My Child

Sally13 Comments

I wish I could see inside your head
The swirl of thoughts all tangled there
I would take one tiny thread
I’d follow it to who-knows-where

The swirl of thoughts all tangled there
Twisted, matted, snarled, knotted
To follow one to who-knows-where
To open that which has clotted

Twisted, matted, snarled, knotted
Hopes and hurts and harms and healing
I want to open what has clotted
To understand what you’ve been feeling

Hopes and hurts and harms and healing
I wish I could see inside your head
To understand what you’ve been feeling
I would take one tiny thread

Any parent would understand this, but especially parents of older kids, parents of adolescents, parents of introverts, parents of kids who struggle for words.

This is in response to the W3 prompt — write a pantoum with at least four stanzas. A pantoum is a interwoven poem with repeats lines circling through the stanzas. Here’s the rhyme scheme for mine:

ABAB BCBC DCDC DADA

photography · poetry

Dragonfly

Sally16 Comments

Dragonfly
In my hand
Delicate
Fragile and

Beautiful.
I took you 
From the cat —
Still you flew.

I’m awed at
Your mettle.
You shimmer,
You settle,

And then you
Fly away —
The nothing
That you weigh

That fluttered
In my hand
Lingers — so
Fragile, grand

This is my second attempt at a Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire, an Irish poetic form that requires 3 syllable lines in quatrains. The second and fourth lines rhyme.

It is in response to the W3 prompt this week from Sadje —

  • Write: a syllabic poem or: a poem in free verse;
  • Topic: “What inspires you to write?” or: “What inspires you to write poetry?”

It’s funny — but I think what inspires me to write a poem is often something that I can’t put into words. Like holding a dragonfly.

I scoured my photographs for dragonflies. Here are two:

poetry

A Trip to the Museum with a 4 year old

Sally12 Comments

Let’s study some art, okay? Can you count the cows?
One, two, three, four — yes, that’s right! How about the swans?
One, two. Now I see some ducks. Can you count them, too?
I agree — they’re hard to count, but good job looking!

Tanka Tuesday prompt: Write an ekphrastic poem about this work of art by John Constable.

This is another Imayo: 4 12-syllable lines, broken 7-5. Literal, no symbolism or metaphor.

Children are SO literal, don’t you think?

Plus — we had a Slow Art Day talk back in April here with our seniors. We just looked at a painting in silence for 5-10 minutes before sharing what we saw. It was very literal. One lady said to me afterwards, “It’s the first time I’ve felt comfortable talking about art.” Too often people jump into the symbolism which is intimidating for those who are concrete thinkers.

Life · poetry · Stewart

Life happens to all of us

Sally14 Comments

You know this could be you, right? You, too, could
Be buffeted by winds and beat up
By trees and cars and birds and kids.
Life could happen to you in
Mean ways. Your student debt
Insurmountable
When medical
Expenses
Overtake
You.
Bank
Account
Empty. Cards
Maxed. Marriage bro-
Ken. A move. All the
Degrees in the world can’t
Float you high enough to miss
All the brutality of life.
That fatal heart attack was mercy.
Don’t judge. Don’t judge. Don’t judge. This could be you.

This was the prompt from Sadje’s WhatDoYouSee? post this week.

This week, in sorting through papers, I came across a box of unopened mail from my brother’s apartment when we cleaned it out after he died from a heart attack nine years ago. Most of it was bills and debt collections notices. Yes, depressing.

poetry

Red-tailed Hawk

Sally7 Comments

High on a telephone pole, your aerie was built
Stick by stick plucked from the ground and flown clumsily
To its new home with a view – where you can spot prey
A mouse or vole or rabbit, and scream from on high

I’ve been watching this nest while it is being built.

The Tanka Tuesday prompt was to write a Imayo about a bird. An imayo has four lines, each line 12 syllables, but divided into two sections: 7 syllables and then 5 syllables. This is my attempt.

family · poetry

Inheritance

Sally17 Comments

In
Eighteen
Ninety-four
Great-grandmother
Pedersen arrived
In the United States
From Denmark with three dollars
And four children under the age
Of seven to join her husband who
Was a tailor working outside Boston

Her super-power: hospitality
Her home became a hub where Danish
Women gathered to drink coffee
And converse with each other
Without all the mental
Gymnastics that go
With translation
They relaxed
And smiled
[sigh]

My
Mother
Received that
Super-power
Hosting dinners and
Welcoming newcomers
And people in need to our
Home, church, and the community
She made it look so very easy
I thought I had missed that DNA

One day I was sitting at my desk when
A person peeked around the corner
“Can I talk to you?” he asked me
“Of course,” I said, so he came
In the office and told
Me a small story
A wee sliver
Of something
That was
large

I
sat and
I listened
To his words, awed
That he had chosen
Me to share his thoughts with
One day a woman sat down
With me and she started to cry
She told a wee sliver of her story
And I listened, gently holding her tale

They come. I listen. So many people
Some sad, some angry, some joyful, some tired
They all share different stories
“You should get paid for this,”
One man said to me
He doesn’t know
It is my
Super-
Pow’r

This is a double etheree times three. Does that make is a sextuple etheree?

An etheree is a syllabic poem — 10 lines with syllable counts 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. A double etheree has 10 more lines, counting back down 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1.

For the record, I work at a gym and when I’m in the office, I sell memberships.

And listen.

This is in response to this week’s W3 prompt: Write a poem of any style and any length on the topic of “Power.”

poetry

A Day at the Beach

Sally11 Comments

SPF
Thirty-three
Slathered on
Sun, sand, sea

Sound of surf
Hitting land
Whoosh shhh ssss
Sea sun sand

Sinking down
I can’t run
Grit twixt toes
Sand sea sun

Red as beet
Seaweed scent
Sandy feet
Day well spent

Tanka Tuesday prompt was to use this picture as inspiration and concentrate on imagery.

This is a Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire, an Irish poetic form that requires 3 syllable lines in quatrains. The second and fourth lines rhyme.

Haven’t spent a day at the beach in a long, long time.