In Smoky Mist

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #365

Words:  smokes, howls, through, green, rolls, never, hide, tongues, mean, stare, mysteries, mist

In smoky mist,
mysterious howls,
never before heard, echo
through 
the canyon.
What can they mean?
I stare where green
rolling hills are visible
by day. Who is hiding
out there? Tongues
of flame peter out. Time
to leave my campsite,
and make my way home
on shaky legs, and backward
glances.

https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

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Witness, Survivor

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2, #211 – “And I Quote” – Installment 1

Today’s quote:

“If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this
thing is to be remembered.” ~Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe

You are asked to write about something you’ve forgotten. Write of something you wish you could forget. Or write a memory that has stayed with you for a long time that even “without a note,” you’ve remembered.

When September 11th is mentioned,
whether in conversation or in
a segment of news, I see them.
Those buildings. Flames shoot
out at impact of plane crash.
My building first. Watch it
vanish, crumble into dusty
debris. Every man and woman
on this bus watches in horror,
mouths agape. Second building
falls, people jump from windows.
Sand stark as a desert floor.  Only
the beginning of nightmares 
to come.  I wish I could forget; 
I know I never will.

https://poeticbloomings2.wordpress.com/

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Cradle of Comfort

Written for:  The Sunday Muse #17

girl, tree

Out on a limb–
my favorite tree
where Dad used to
take me. Warm
afternoon is fading
as I sit patiently
waiting to reach
a decision. Perhaps,
I hope to glean
some wisdom from
this old tree, which
still holds me
in its boughs,
comfortable and safe.
I do not want my
decision to be made
lightly, as the weight
of it could drastically
change my life. In lap
of my cozy tree, I sit–
out on a limb.

http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/

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Building My Totem Pole

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, “Totems”  (posted by Brendan)

“Does your poetic other root in forest, sky or booming wave? Do your verses run with the wolves, ride a dolphin’s back, birth with the sun, batten on winds, limn dark cracks, take wing in moonlight? If so, who are these beasties which make your poems dance?

What tops your totem pole? How literal, how literate does that configuration of myth and poetry stand in your work—close, far? Evolving, inherent? Lost? Reclaimed?”

Building my totem pole
with care 
of where
the masks fall.  
On the bottom,
tiny seahorse 
that remains
ever small. Riding atop
seahorse, a golden

finch perches, free
to sing, free to flee
on a whim. A puzzle
-pieced giraffe is next,
gentle animal, graceful,
quiet and majestic, above
the hectic world. One
mask remains, saved
for the top of my totem
pole, an enchanting dolphin
to watch over me after
my ashes are scattered
in the sea.

http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/

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House of Confusion

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub – Meeting the Bar:  Critique and Craft – Reverse Poetry (posted by Frank)

“A reverse poem is one that presents a message, story or a viewpoint for a few lines and then stops and rewinds all of it playing the message back, line by line, but in reverse order to present a very different story or viewpoint perhaps even the opposite of the first view. It can be quite powerful especially if the first direction is depressing and the reverse of that is uplifting.”

“Not all of the poem need be a reversal of some other part of the poem. Even the lines that are reversed need not be exactly the same. There is some flexibility here. The reader just needs to sense some kind of reversal.”

“Besides the reversed lines, you may need a transition line or section between the forward and reversed parts. There may also be a part at the beginning or end that is not part of the reversing lines of the poem.”

I sleep.
In my dream of a house

rooms empty and dim
a maze of half walls
nothing leads to a finished place.
Do I still wander and search?
Why would I wander and search?
nothing leads to a finished place–
that maze of half walls
rooms empty and dim,
in my dream of a house

is only a dream.  I wake.

https://dversepoets.com/

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The Real Deal

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads – Micro-Poetry~A Poem As
(posted by Kerry)

Can words convey
that taste
of cold salt
on your lips
fresh
from 
the ocean?

Can words be as lovely
as the rush and tingle
of falling in love?

Can you pen a Monet?

http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/

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Flag of Nepal

Written for:  Poets United Midweek Motif~National Flags  (posted by Susan)
Write a poem about a nation’s flag and what it stands for.  Include description.

Nepal's Flag

Unusually shaped,
Nepal’s flag is a cutout,
points representing
peaks of the Himalayas.
Sun and moon are peaceful
universal symbols. Red
is not blood shed or
bravery, merely the shade
of Rhododendron, flower
of Nepal. I love the blue
outline, like a comfort
of peace surrounding
this country.

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/

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Learning How Hard Life Can Be

Written for:  Poetic Asides #449
“For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Learning (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: “Learning to Love,” “Learning to Forget,” “Learning More Than I Ever Thought I’d Need to Know About…”

Each day age is at
forefront, body
like falling dominos,
old cars when parts
begin to rust. My friends
and family are shrinking–
not just in size,
but in number. I jump
at the sound of a ringing
phone late at night. I worry
that I am not busy
enough, my head stuffed
with Mom’s voice, “You have
to be productive.” Each day
age is at forefront,
and I still wonder
who I am.

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creek soaking

Written for:  The Twiglets #89 – “soaking in a creek”

dirty socks
soaking in a creek
take a peek

Using the creek
as their own private tub,
sparrows soak.

A young man who was well spoken
was appalled to hear his friends jokin’
with language unsavory
’bout his new girlfriend, Amy.
Chokin’ with rage, he pushed them in creek for a soakin’

https://thetwiglets.wordpress.com/

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Boxville

Written for:  dVerse Poets – Quadrille #62
“Thinkin’ Inside the Box”  (posted by WhimsyGizmo)
Today, I want you to craft a poem around the word box.
Go dark. Go deep. Or wrap us up something shiny and beautiful, with a great big bow. Put on your boxing gloves and poem like a butterfly, sing like a bee. Give us some Seussian rhyme time (Would you like them in a box? Or with a fox?)

An ox in a box?
I think nox,
said giraffe
cross-wording squares.

Boxer strolled by
with Pom who looked high
as a kite.

A boxing hyena passed
donning gloves and mask.
Threatened to box ears
of donkey drunk on beers.

Hope eyesight clears!

Quadrille #62 – Thinkin’ Inside the Box 

 

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