Silent Sunday

 

0315150735d

Advertisements

Ash on the Tongue

Walking Shoes

Flickr.com

 

While I continue
to move
I do not grieve
what of me has died.

The motion of life keeps
me from gathering
dust; from returning
to dust.

My thought
is to completely burn –
a match not safe to hold.

 

 

 

Quadrille: But Who’s Counting?

 

44

 

 

Forty-four.  Just forty-four!

Hyphenated words count as one;

I looked it up.  (Forty-four!)

Forty-four; got to keep that in my head.

Forty-four… although word count helps.

I used to spell it “Fourty-four”

when I was a kid.  Forty-four.

Count them up quick… er, quickly!

 

 

* * *

 

It’s another Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets Pub!  What’s a quadrille?  A poem of only… um, lessee… I used to know this.  Anyway, c’mon over and help tally ’em up!

Franklin, My Dear

Franklin

Wikipedia

 

Saw him in whiteface, crying at the bar –

a stricken mime craves wine.

Like the man at the bottle shop says,

“A good sample is the best bourbon.”

Early to bed, early to rise

and home by three.

Tell me what I forget.

Touch me and I surrender.

Involve me and I turn state’s evidence.

I told old Ben to go flight a kite

and he became an enlightened sage.

 

* * *

 

The king of the adages, Poor Richard was just begging to be twisted.  Jilly brought the prompt, and dVerse Poets Pub had the guts to go with it.  So be it!

 

 

Mot(her)ivator

Mother

Ralph Steadman

 

My mother is the necessity of my intention,
Making me want to do the things I should.
A sloppy boy born of sloth would she shun,
My mother.  Is the necessity of my intention
That in her presence I don’t dawdle but run?
I would please her, be a pleaser if I could.
My mother is the necessity – of my intention –
Making me want.  To do the things I should.

 

* * *

 

Posted at dVerse Poets Pub for Poetics, where Jilly is asking us to write adages with a twist.  I misread the prompt and am now cleaning lemon juice from my keyboard.

Quadrille – Not Earth-bound

 

Covered by earth.
Lord, what a surprise!
Two meters’ worth;
Coins on my eyes –
Bad dream!

Saving the earth,
But what a price.
Love without dearth –
A cruelly hewn device.
Odd scheme!

Sudden rebirth;
The melting of ice –
New earth.
Lazarus’ empty grave…
Paradise!

 

* * *

 

Posted to dVerse Poets Pub, Quadrille night.

 

 

 

Troiku – Basho’s Final Haiku

 

旅に病で
夢は枯野を
かけ廻る

falling sick on a journey
my dream goes wandering
over a field of dried grass

falling sick on a journey
summer has lasted too long
the sun hides in rain

my dream goes wandering
cranes are heading southward
passing the ones who stay

over a field of dried grass
a sudden wind from a storm
whistling my farewell song

* * *

Back in 2012 (or 13?) Chèvrefeuille, the host of Carpe Diem Haiku Kai, introduced the form he called, Troiku.  Follow the link for more information on this form.  It’s an interesting twist on an ancient and revered poetry form.  It’s also a lot of fun!  The first haiku is the last one the master, Matsuo Bashō, wrote before he died.

 

 

Beyond a Shadow

shadow-of-a-doubt

“Shadow of a Doubt,” directed by Alfred Hitchcock

 

It was then when I first saw
your doubt… he was lurking
just around the corner from
the garage.  True, in some way
I, too, brought a doubt along.

How could you doubt, I thought;
but then there he was, dressed
in coldly dubious business casual.

Why stand on formalities
when belief is strained –
like a can of beans?

They didn’t take long to become
acquainted, your doubt and mine.

They shared the time of day,
the weather, and eventually
pictures of the wives and pets
as they rummaged through
the ice box, helping themselves
to your beer.  They took over
the couch and love seat, spilling
ripple chips across the cushions.

Soon they were immersed in some
show they both binged on, using
your Netflix account.  They got
to be absolute nuisances, those
two.

We worked together – the first
time in a long time.  We mustered
all the faith we could.  Eventually
they were out of your house, out
of our hair.

It took us all day to remove all doubt.