collage · poetry

Sunflowers

Sally22 Comments

A photograph of a sunflower was the prompt for Tanka Tuesday. I immediately thought of the sunflower field near us. People constantly stop to photograph it — it’s so lovely. Recently, on Facebook however, there were a number of nasty comments about the people stopping to look at the sunflowers. It’s dangerous, they said — and they were probably right.

But doggone-it, the sunflowers are so pretty.

I wrote a poem about the controversy (kind of) and shaped each stanza like a petal, using syllable counts 1-2-3-4-5-4-3-2-1. Then I cut them out and put them in a collage.

Below, the poem in text form. Below that is my collage.

some
people
see the field
of sunflowers
and are in awe of
their beauty but
others see
the cars
that

pull 
over
to the side
haphazardly
because somebody
in the car caught
sight of the
flowers
and

could
not help
but to slam
on the brakes and
climb out of their car
to draw closer
to the gold-
en beaut-
y

they
are drawn
by flowers
and more flowers.
they’re intoxicated
by the beauty
and don’t see
danger
to 

self
or to
others – the
ones who are just
on their way to work
and don’t have time
for flowers
or they
are

weighed
down by
too many
cares — so they don’t
care or remember 
to care, to see.
this world is
so so
rich

rich,
I say,
in beauty
golden yellow
living miracles
that came from seeds
and grew taller
than even
you or
me

poetry

Olaf the Cat

Sally21 Comments

I
Don’t sing.
My cat of
many years, Olaf,
Is always glad
To sing, to meow and yowl and
act like he is big

The W3 prompt for the week is to write a poem based on the piece of artwork show above, and, if possible, make it a Golden Shovel poem.

In a “Golden Shovel” poem, the last words in each line are, in order, words from a line of another poem. I chose an e.e. cummings poem. And struggled. Or should I say, i struggled

be-
causeif
ever
there was a poet
whos(tyl)e
set him
a- – – -part
it
was

eecummings

I wrote about an entirely fictional cat. I’m not really happy with it –the poem, that is. About as happy as I would be if I had a cat that yowled all the time. But I wanted to participate. [sigh]

The poetry form is called a Cadence. The rules are that it be written in 7 lines, that the lines follow this syllabic pattern 1-2-3-4-4-8-5, and that the end words be strong (no articles or prepositions). Well, two out of three ain’t bad, right?

poetry

Emotions

Sally10 Comments

Door half-open
Door half-closed
Shadow – light
All transposed

Cup half-full
Cup half-empty
Is it lacking?
Is there plenty?

It’s too hot
It’s just right
It’s too cold
What a plight!

Close one door
New one opens
Toying with
My emotions

Happy, sad
Frightened, brave
Peaceful, mad
Giddy, grave

Rarely I
Am only one
I’m a mix
Shadow-sun

This is my response to Sadje’s “What Do You See?” photo (above)

I spend way too much time with my counselor talking about emotions. At one point, she gave me a list of emotion words to help me identify what I’m feeling. It’s not that I don’t have feelings — it’s that I have trouble naming them. Well, I take that back — when I was going through a particularly challenging time, I shut down my feelings, and, as they have come back, they’ve sometimes re-emerge in a tangle.



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.
Life

Three Dog Night

Sally8 Comments

“One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
it’s the loneliest number since the number one…”

written by Henry Nilsson

“Pick a number” — the prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday.

Immediately, Three Dog Night was playing in my mind.

But here’s the thing:

  • One is strong. Okay, two is stronger — collaboration and all that. But one is okay. One stands.
  • One is responsible for one, and isn’t pointing fingers of blame at anyone else.
  • One is decisive.
  • One makes progress. One doesn’t get bogged down wondering what two or three would want or do. One moves forward.

Honestly, two can be far lonelier than one.

And crowds can be downright desolate.

Other notable ones this week:

One bottle of Chardonnay purchased this week. Today, actually. Chilled. The glass I had tonight — alone — was so good.

One dinner out — with one son. One of my children invited me out to dinner with him last night. AND he picked up the tab. So nice!

One Otto the Orange appearance — for my one granddaughter’s birthday. My granddaughter is quite smitten with Otto the Orange, so when my son mentioned that they were going to be attending a semi-local Otto the Orange appearance, of course I went.

One really good night’s sleep — I woke up this morning at 5:30am. Unheard of! I’m typically at work at this hour.

A few more numbers:

Two workouts in the Fitness Center this week.

Two days driving down to the house we’re selling so I can pack things ups and get them out.

Three mini-ciabatta rolls with sprouts and tomato that became my dinner tonight.

One disappointment.

One unsettling conversation.

One delightful conversation setting up a talk called “Farming With Dynamite.”

Seven days of goodness.

I think that pretty much sums up my week. In numbers.

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

Blather · Life

One

Sally2 Comments

I’ve been focusing so much on trying to write poems that I almost forgot to blather write a prose-y stream-of-consciousness post. (By the way, did you know that prose as a verb means writing in a tedious, dull way? Hmm — I’ll have to save that for an appropriate occasion.)

The prompt is one/won. Well, I haven’t won anything this week so that narrows it down. Here are some ones, though.

Number of dragonflies that I rescued from the cat: One.

I thought for sure that the dragonfly was a goner, but when I took it away from the cat, I could see that it was still alive. It flew away. Seriously. And I was left with amazement and questions and wonder and all sorts of feelings that are so hard to describe.

Number of operas that I attended: One.

On a bit of a whim, I went to Candide yesterday. I know it’s not really an opera; it’s musical theater. But it was at the opera house. I loved my seats — cheap seats that allowed me to see the orchestra — except I couldn’t see the French horns or the timpani. Ah well.

IMG_6284

Earlier in the summer, I had met the actor who played Candide. Now, mind you, I knew literally nothing about the show, the story, the music — nothing. This guy came into my office to purchase a short term membership at the gym. For the summer. He was with the opera.

“Which show are you in?” I asked, trying to sound like I knew something about it.

“I’m Candide,” he said.

“You’re in Candide?” I replied.

“No,” he said, “I am Candide.”

Silly me, I thought Candide sounded like a female role.

But let me say this — that same wide-eyed cheerful attitude that he brought to the stage sat in my office that day. I highly recommend the show.

Number of times that I swam in the lake: One.

Actually, that’s the number of times for the whole summer. Friday was hot, humid, and miserable. I jumped in the lake and swam back and forth along the rope at far side of the swim area. It was so refreshing.

And those are the ‘one’s that stand out to me.

But then, there was the one time that I got drenched because the heavens let loose and I hadn’t an umbrella and I had to get to my car.

And the one time that fruit flies took over the kitchen because I hadn’t emptied the compost bucket.

The one earring I lost.

The one earring I found.

The one guy who got under my skin in a 20 minute complain-y phone call. I can listen to people, but when you’re calling to complain, please understand that I don’t make the policies.

The one former neighbor who moved back to the area and came in to get a membership at the gym and I couldn’t place him in my mind until two hours after he left.

The one turkey reuben that “hit the spot” as my mother used to say.

The one young man from Romania who tried to teach me how to pronounce his name and I couldn’t.

The one woman from Russia who told me that the rolling hills of upstate New York remind her of home.

This could go on forever.

Must. Stop. Now.

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: