Tag: poem

poetry

Shucking Peas

Sally4 Comments

Pods
In hand
Peas removed
Bowl slowly fills
Mom’s garden harvest
In her lap as she works
Orange-red sunset outside
Head falls forward [snore] then snaps up
“I’m not sleeping — just resting my eyes!”
Pods in hand, peas removed, bowl slowly fills

The W3 challenge this week was to write a Dectina Refrain in honor of Mother’s Day and be sure to include the word “mother” (or a variation of it).

The Dectina Refrain is a 10-line, unrhymed, syllabic poem with a precise structure:

  • Line 1: 1 syllable
  • Line 2: 2 syllables
  • Line 3: 3 syllables
  • Line 4: 4 syllables
  • Line 5: 5 syllables
  • Line 6: 6 syllables
  • Line 7: 7 syllables
  • Line 8: 8 syllables
  • Line 9: 9 syllables
  • Line 10 (Refrain): Combine the exact text of lines 1–4, in order, as a single closing line
Life · poetry

Rhyming Recipe for Ikigai

Sally13 Comments

Think of what you love to do
Jot those things down, one or two

Think of skills where you excel
Not half-bad, but really well

Think of things for which you’re paid
Perhaps in money or in trade

Now think of what the world needs most —
Is something there of which you boast?

Where those things meet is ikigai*
Find that thing; your soul will fly

*ee-kee-guy

This is my response to this week’s W3 prompt, which is to:

Write a poem in rhyming couplets (two lines that rhyme) that gives instructions for making something.

Requirements:

  • Use rhyming couplets throughout
  • Give clear steps or instructions
  • Be creative with what the“recipe” is for

Think of it as turning instructions into something memorable and playful through rhyme.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Ikigai this week. I have a version of that graphic posted in my office.

Too often, I feel that we, as a society, shove people into a job that meets only one or two of those criteria. Find something that meets all four and you’ll find fulfillment and happiness.

poetry

i sing of Alex

Sally10 Comments

i sing of Alex slender and brave
interjected self to save
a woman pushed
pepper-sprayed
oh, if Alex had only stayed
home (and watched the news)
but instead
armed with phone
(and holstered legal gun)
he reached out to help
(as any nurse would
caring
for the
SUFFE-
Ring)
BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM
agents counted bullet holes
as Alex lay dying
(minneapolis crying)

This week’s W3 challenge is to write a poem that is inspired by another poet.

My favorite poet has long been e. e. cummings. His poem, i sing of Olaf glad and big, is a powerful story that leaves me with a knot in my stomach every time I read it.

Do I love that poem? I love its power. I love its grittiness. I love that poetry can produce a knot in my stomach, and still make me want to read it again.

poetry

Words and Seeds

Sally8 Comments

Words are seeds; seeds are words
They are scattered by the breeze
Who knows where they will go, take root
On land or stormy seas

Words, you know, are regional
They similar to seeds
When they emerge from babe or soil
You glimpse the paths life leads

Our world is global in many ways
People, plants, ideas, thoughts
English full of foreign words?
American English is British ersatz!

Even with our deep deep roots
We are fragile. We are frail.
We are NOT in cahoots
Hoping to see others fail.

Let me welcome and embrace
Those who do not sound like me
Or look like me or think like me
We’re still similar at our base

This weeks W3 Challenge was to explore the theme: Beneath the Surface.

Write in any form, but keep your poem to 20 lines or fewer.

I started with one idea for a poem — but then it took me in another direction entirely. Like a seed blown with the wind.

William Shakespeare, in Merchant of Venice, wrote these words spoken by Shylock:

If you prick us, do we not bleed?
if you tickle us, do we not laugh?
if you poison us, do we not die?
and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

I agree up to the last line. I do not want revenge.

There’s a scene in Searching for Bobby Fischer where the chess teacher is telling the boy, Josh, that he has to hate his opponent and Josh says, “But I don’t hate them.” The instructor says, “Well, you’d better start.”

No, no — he had not better start.

We need to look for commonalities, not ways to win.

poetry

Cuppa

Sally10 Comments

Cuppa
Hands curve around mug
Smell of java, swirl of cream [sigh]
Pink sunrise
One warm sip, this new day begins
The breakfast of champions:
Coffee

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

Write a Cameo poem—a tiny, distilled moment—on any theme you choose.

Form:

  • 7 lines;
  • Syllable count: 2 / 5 / 8 / 3 / 8 / 7 / 2;
  • Imagery is essential;
  • Minimalism is encouraged
Life · people · poetry

Overheard

Sally15 Comments

Overheard
Malicious whispers
Between two
Co-workers
My heart grew cold at their words
Squeezing in my chest

Breathing stopped
Blackness obscured sight
My fists clenched
And unclenched
Thoughts swirled like a tornado
Unholy and wild

Office chair
Calmed me in this storm
I held on
Took a breath
Straightened my back and went out
“I heard what you said”

This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge: to write shadorma poems.

The shadorma is a compact Spanish syllabic form built from a six-line stanza with a strict syllable pattern: 3 / 5 / 3 / 3 / 7 / 5 (26 syllables total). It is typically unrhymed, and a poem may consist of a single stanza or a series of stanzas.

For this challenge, the theme is Sensory Details.

Write a close-up study of a single inanimate object or a very specific moment. Think small and focused rather than narrative or expansive. The power of the poem should come from sensory observation—what can be seen, heard, touched, smelled, or felt.

Yes, this actually happened. It was a specific moment and I tried to write the sensory details of it.

Life

Playing Chess with Amelia

Sally2 Comments

Amelia’s knights neighed
Her black pawn had tea with my white
Our bishops talked
“What are they talking about?” I asked
“Hello,” she said, bobbing one up and down
“How are you?” she said, bobbing the other similarly
She giggled
“This is more fun than checkers,” she said
Amelia is in third grade
“The pieces are people,” she stated
“Can our queens be friends?” she asked
I paused
“That’s not how the game works,” I told her
She pressed her lips together
Then she reached over and touched her pawn
The one that was head to head with my pawn
“But they can still have tea, right?” she asked

family · poetry

First Kitten

Sally16 Comments

“Can I have a kitty?” itty-
bitty me asked my father — rather,
my mom put me up to it. It
seems that she knew new
kitten would equal no. No,
unless she rigged the odds. Odds
are he would say yes to me, mea-
ning I asked, pleading, “Yes?” — “Yes.”

Ichibon — Ichi + bon — Japanese for Number One — our first cat

We were on an army base at the time. The family with the kittens had recently come back from Japan.

How could my father say no?

This is my attempt at an Echo Poem, this week’s W3 Challenge. An echo poem repeats the ending syllable (or syllables) of each line. That’s it. No strict rules about meter or length.

Life · poetry

Never Assume?

Sally7 Comments

This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge: write an alphabet poem

We had two options: 26 words (which I did) or 26 lines.

Assume
Question
Guess
Look
Notice
Unearth
Examine
Scrutinize
Ponder
Weigh
X-ray
Open, Close, Test
Build
Zero in
Deliberate
Know
Verify
Judge
Misjudge
Reconsider
Hope
Yield
Forgive

Never assume, because it makes an ass out of ‘u’ and ‘me

poetry

Time Change

Sally2 Comments

The next time change is two weeks away! GAH!!! On March 8, we must turn our clocks ahead and lose an hour. I’m not a fan.

In Val’s Seasonal Scavenger Hunt, prompt #3 is to write a Dizain describing your personal journey into the new season. A dizain is a ten-line French poetic form, popular in the 15th-16th centuries, featuring 10 lines of 10 syllables each (or iambic pentameter) and a strict ababbccdcd rhyme scheme.

Here’s a dizain bemoaning the upcoming time change.

I bristle when it’s time to change the clocks
It seems to me that time is time is time
The change of seasons we cannot outfox
Circadian rhythms are somewhat sublime
To muck with them just seems to be a crime
C’mon, old body, you can re-adjust!
It’s not a choice — in fact, you must! You must!
In the fall, then once again in spring
I’ll do it, but I’ll do it with disgust
The brittleness of age dislikes the swing