Mag #46 - Riding

Riding:
Black leather gloves
Wrap around my fingers
My fingers wrap around the reins
I am drawn to the dangerous, dark horse
On top and in control of all
That power beneath me
Oh, the thrill of
Riding

I have used the Rictameter form here, which is composed of 9 lines. The lines have a set number of syllables, 2-4-6-8-10-8-6-4-2, and the first and last word are the same.

Sunday Scribblings #257 - Manifesto

Presto: Manifesto

My manifesto for 2010 was this blog. It was actually inspired by watching Julie and Julia at my sister-in-law’s Christmas-ish gathering. The goal was a poem a week – 50 poems by year’s end (two weeks off). I have both kept and broken that resolution. There were times when I only had one entry in a month. But looking back I have written 51 new poems this year. And maybe 52, if I can come up with something now, so watch below:

Twenty-eleven
Write more, love more and give more-
My manifesto

For me that is a successful resolution! Yay me!

Merry Christmas!


I heard the bells on Christmas Day.
Their old familiar carols play.
And wild and sweet the words repeat.
Of peace on earth goodwill to men.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thank you all for reading and commenting - you're great!

Winter Solstice

On the first day of winter,
the earth awakens to the cold touch of itself.
Snow knows no other recourse except
this falling, this sudden letting go...

-Laura Lush

Dark December - Sunday Scribblings #246

This is a poem I wrote awhile back, but it fits today's topic for Sunday Scribblings, so here it is:


Dark December

In her holy dance
Earth turns away,
From light
From warmth
From life

With each inspiration
Of cold, sharp air
Our lungs ache

Visible breath,
Ghost at our lips,
Dissipates
Leaving jewels of condensation
On all it touches

The austere landscape
Is covered by
A night sky
Of extravagant beauty.
Hung with precious diamonds
Pulsing with joy

As we run
Tears freeze in our eyes
Cold burns our ears
We taste darkness;
No light
No warmth
No life

Yet this is the dark of hope-
The cold that sets the bulbs-
The death that brings forth resurrection-

What are we running from?
Grace surrounds us.

Come Away - Octain,

Ok, I'm trying another new poetic form. This one was invented by Luke Prater from http://lukepraterswordsalad.wordpress.com/2010/12/14/breathe/ The form is called an Octain, and is 8 lines with iambac tetrameter (that's 8 syllables, four units of unstressed, stressed) or trochaic tetrameter (that's 8 syllables, four units of stressed, unstressed per line) and the rhyme scheme is rather intricate:
A
B
B

A
C/C (an internal rhyme)
A

B
C

I used the iambic tetrameter, but..er...with a little lattitude. If you read both, you will notice they are exatly the same except for the placement of two words in the final line. Note what a big change in meaning that little change in typing makes. 

#1
Oh, won’t you come away with me?
Just take my hand and squeeze it tight
We’ll jump a train; we'll ride all night

Your life is locked – I have the key
The paradox is fortune knocks
At times when we are least ready

But in your heart you know it’s right
Oh, won’t you come away with me?

#2
Oh, won’t you come away with me
Just take my hand and squeeze it tight
We’ll jump a train; we'll ride all night

Your life is locked – I have the key
The paradox is fortune knocks
At times when we are least ready

But in your heart you know I’m right
Oh, you won’t come away with me.

Just a final observation: When writing in any very structured format, I feel less in control of what comes out of my pen (or keyboard). Sometimes the poem I end up with surprises me, which can be fun! Thank you Luke.
Also linked to One Stop Poetry just click the title.

Mag #45a (as in again)

Ok, I couldn't resist that last Magpie take on the pic; I'm obviously counting on God having a sense of humor. She must, just look at congress...but I digress. Here is a slightly more serious take on the it.



It is the light
Within the temple
Shining out
Which is the
Source
Of
Miraculous beauty

Mag #45

Hey everyone - it's a GIRL!

Sunday Scribblings - Limits

Limits:
When do I reach
The line I dare not cross
Teetering on the edge - will I
Risk it all and fall into the abyss
Or will I pull back from the ledge
Just in time to live a
Smaller life of
Limits

I need to give credit here. I came across the information on this poetic form called Rictameter at a blog called Wordsalad by Luke Prater which can be found here:
http://lukepraterswordsalad.wordpress.com/2010/10/21/let-me/
He explains it as well, but the format is dictated by the number of syllables per line: 2-4-6-8-10-8-6-4-2 and the first and last lines are the same. Thanks Luke.

Potluck Poetry #14 - The Chess Game

This is one I wrote earlier, but I'm doing a rerun for Potluck. My first Petrarchan sonnet.

Set up the board and choose a side - you're white
And I am black. Let's start this game of chess.
So as your pawn moves out I must confess,
My mind grows dim, although my eyes shine bright,
And then I send my troops in to the fight.
I look and plan and move then feel the stress,
Of knowing I will soon be in a mess,
And I'm unable to avoid this plight.
You are superior to me by far,
Your nimble brain is way ahead of mine
In planning moves so far across the board.
Confused, I'm falling like a shooting star;
You calculate, and wear a hapless guise,
Then pierce my king through with your mighty sword.

First Snow

Last night we had a blizzard here in western Wisconsin. The entire state was advised not to travel, so we sat inside all cozy and warm watching the snow swirl and listening to the wind wail. This morning we awoke to about a foot of snow glistening in the bright morning sun. I have always felt this time of year approaching the solstice is special, whether you observe the return of the Son or the Sun. And it also brings to mind one of my favorite witer quotes:


I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything. - Anne Sexton

Wild Ride - Magpie Tales #44

We start at the top -
One great push
And we’re off!
Gathering momentum
We sail through
A chaos of cold
With the rope
Twisted ‘round your frozen fingers
My feet push
One way then another
Steering together
Through crazy twists and turns
Over wild bumps and humps
Until the end when we fall apart
Breathless and laughing
---
Darling, let’s go again!

Bedtime Stories - Jingle Poetry Potluck

Somewhere out in Nowhere Land a songbird waits for me,
And sings of things that never were, and that will never be.
I’m smitten with the music that he warbles sweet and clear.
He’s in the treetops high above, and yet he sounds so near;
And if I close my eyes and rest
I feel wings flutter in my chest
And magic places far away in space and time seem near,
Like they’re more real than my home, and what’s around me here.

Princes bright and dragons bold fight battles round my bed,
And giant ogres want to grind my bones to make their bread.
Witches cackle, donkeys bray and cats wear leather boots,
Children run through forests, and play tunes on magic flutes.
Then knights and trolls and goats come out to skip across the floor,
And Irish women selling clams clap hands and call for more.
So bears and pigs and wolves join paws and dance ‘round in a ring,
And mermaids swim up to the shore to hear the sirens sing.
Old men grow young, and strong and straight,
Whilst black birds argue and debate.

And it does not seem strange to me; I do not feel perplexed.
I shake my head and laugh and wait, to see what happens next.
Then the moon smiles down at me and asks me to come swim.
The stars agree. ”The air is fine,” they say, ”so come on in.”
I dip my toe into the sky, and it does feel just right
And so I close my eyes and dive head-long in to the night.

Mag #43

Kiss me quick
Before someone
Answers the door