Inspiration, Post Haste

Dear St. Cecilia,

I could really use some help here.

My muse took off

with a two-bit musician and a bottle of hooch,

and here I am just a week and a day

into Poem-a-Day month.

I’m desperate!

Could you sprinkle a little

magic dust from an old thesaurus,

whisper sweet nothings

(or bitter, sarcastic anythings)

in my ear?

Please, do something!

Desperately and Uninspiredly Yours,

-Other Mary

P.S. If I don’t hear back from you soon my next letter will be to Bacchus. 


Abhra over at dVerse Poets Pub has asked us to write a letter.  Oh, and in case you're wondering, St. Cecilia is the patron saint of poets, writers, muscians and artists in general.  And I'll bet you know Bacchus is the Roman god of wine.

Phases of the Moon

Under the full moon

come join the party.

Dancing, singing, glittering

laugh and toast the company

But as the moon wanes

shed the mask,

leave the fete,

run

into new-moon dark

This is for Victoria's prompt at dVerse to use an active voice with more verbs and fewer flowery descriptions.  As she suggested, I went back to a piece I wrote earlier (2010) and pared it down.  A lot.  I will post it below, but honestly it's a bit embarrassing, so feel free to skip it (please!).

So here's that old version:

I  have been out with the full moon,
Out among the revelers:
We dance and sing-
Cavorting beasties
On a microscope slide,
Bright and shining;

The sounds of clinking glasses,
And Laughter –
Silly, flirtatious and hearty-
Fill my head with ‘other’
It is great fun.

But now, as the moon wanes
And empties itself of light,
I too, shed the lights of society.
Donned to impress, attract,
The glittering mask,
Of my social self,
Is left at the door
To the party.

I run into new-moon dark,
No longer held by the
Bright silver circle of society
But free to explore the vast heavens,
I delve deep
Into the spaces between
The stars

The moon does not diminish,
When no longer circumscribed
By sun’s reflected light.
Matter mingles with spirit,
Flows out
Into the night-
And so do I.

Walking Back

     Photo by Mary Bach

Snow steps carry me home,

not just the mile or two back to my house,

but all the way home

back to where Grandma waited

with warm hugs and hot chocolate,

back to the little, stone house

on the edge of town

surrounded by fields of corn,

back to my climbing tree

that reached across

the path toward the hen house,

back to my childhood.

This is for dVerse where Marina Sofia asked us to write about some aspect of the snowy weather.

A Path Appears

    Photo by Mary Bach

A path appears

beneath your feet so move along
my darling dears.

A path appears,

though you've been stuck for many years

and wonder if it’s right or wrong.
my darling dears

your time has come, move from the throng –

a path appears.

Over at dVerse we were asked to try breaking bad, sort of.  Actually, Brian asked us to try taking form poetry and "breaking" or changing it in some way to make it uniquely our own.  For this I've chosen the form called Rondelet.  This consists of seven lines.  Lines 1, 3 and 7 are a refrain, in the traditional French form this consists of four syllables, in English it's usually two iambs.  The remaining four lines all consist of eight syllables, or four iambs. Line four rhymes with the refrain while the other lines all rhyme with one another. This gives us a rhyme scheme of:  AbAabbA.  I have broken it by adding two more lines of two iambs that rhyme with the refrain.  This changes the form to something like this: A1,b,A2,A1,a,b,A2,b,A1

tenWord Winter

    Photo by Mary Bach

Tracking my grief

through winter woods

this all looks familiar

       ~ ~ ~

Time stops

in the winter temple

drifting at the door

       ~ ~ ~

We shiver

in the winter room

while dreaming of green

       ~ ~ ~

As dusk curls

around my shoulders

stars beckon me, "Come!"

These are ten word poems about winter, sort of.  The tenWord from is in response to Victoria's dVerse prompt.  The form itself is from another member, Brian, who (rightly) stated,     "...after ten words no one is listening anyway." The subject of winter is from Fireblossom at Real Garden with Imaginary Toads.  I'm not sure if I quite captured the human emotion she asked for but, oh well!

Black Holes

What are our chances?

We could look

for the primordial lifetime.

Although far away,

we observe such intensity,

frequency,

as if

there were

positive evidence.

Tell us

there can be more.

Make one source,

draw toward common times-

even if…

   Image by Mary Bach

Over at dVerse Bjorn asked us to try Blackout Poetry.  The idea is to find poetry in others’ words.  Simply select a book-page, print it and black out everything you don’t want. Copy down the text (keeping it in order). Add line-breaks and or punctuation marks as you want.  In keeping with the title I chose for my source A Brief History of Time (page 113) by Steven Hawking.  Here he talks about, among other things, black holes!  

Election Angle

What convenient conviction

will you wear today?

Which way will you tell

the facts?

Which way will you sell

your acts?

What convenient conviction

will you swear today?

Mary, over at dVerse Poets' Pub asked us to write about some aspect of news.  It seems that all I'm hearing is campaign rhetoric.  Click on the link and see what news everyone else is sharing.

Wondering

Where are you going and

what will you do on a

windy Wednesday evening,

without your slippers or

wand or beans?  Can you still

whisper the stars to sing?

Will you order the waves?

Over at dVerse Poets' Pub Vandana Sharma has introduced us to a for called Pleiades.  It is a seven line poem with each line beginning with the same letter as the title and having six syllables in each line. The title must be of one word only.  Follow the link for more.

Skipping Past Time

     Image by Mike Worrall

Next year,

when we were children

we loved

skipping time:

double Dutch forward,

peppers back,

criss-cross applesauce 
back and forth again.

Who could keep track

of when we are?

Not the jumper,

or swingers,

or those in line

waiting their turn.

This is for Grace in the Imaginary Garden.  She asked us to write about one of the many, delightful paintingsof Mike Worrall.  And it's also for Mary's prompt involving childhood toys or games over at dVerse Poets Pub.  Click on each of the links for more responses.  

A Grey Triolet

    Image by freefoto.com

When layers of grey define the day

and all around the clouds press down

I find myself in disarray.

When layers of grey define the day

My scattered thoughts float faraway

Upon a ship of thistledown.

Then layers of grey define the day

and all around the clouds press down.

Another Triolet (A-B-a-A-a-b-A-B) for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night and Day #9 of  NaPoWriMo.  At the eleventh hour.  Again.  

dVerse Poets

grey skies

threaten to fall

so heavy with regret,

dark clouds seeded with betrayal

rain stinging, bitterness

soaking through to

the bone


Image: flickr, unknown photographer