Troiku — Night Fire

 

Fire dances at night
crisp air brings out other ghosts
wisps across the moon

Fire dances at night
we hold our sticks to the flames
careful not to burn

Crisp air brings out other ghosts
stories told at night
relived in our dreams

Wisps across the moon
swerving of a hunting bat
adds to the night’s chill

 

This was written in response to Frank J. Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #5.  The challenge word is Hallowe’en.  While technically not one of the ancient and accepted Japanese forms (at least in its totality), the Troiku feeds off the first “stanza,” a traditional Haiku.

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!

Blackout Poem — Like Bookends Our Faces Were Blurs

Written for myself — sharing on dVerse Poets Pub for Meeting the Bar.

Original text is “The Jacket,” by Gary Soto.

Blackout Poem — Spanish Fresno

Written for myself — sharing on dVerse Poets Pub for Meeting the Bar.

Original text is “Seventh Grade,” by Gary Soto.

Masque of the Red Pencil Death

 

The masquerade party commences.

“Another day in paradise!” quotes
the first floor clerk as he shuffles
toward his glassed-in office, he wears
the old man persona from his toes
upward.

The science teacher smiles
as I stride by – I want to comment
on how the smile was a nice touch;
no one will recognize her wearing one.

The custodian who has lived
here twenty-five years, having come
from Colombia as a teenager, forgot
his costume, never remembers his mask.

The party, strangely, happens
in separate rooms, and the costumes
are worn largely for students; not
really much mingling in this menagerie.

As I seek the door, partied out, dragging
my mask behind me, the clerk grumbles
as I pass him, “Another day, another….”

I recall, much too late, why I wear a mask.

 

Written for dVerse Poets Pub.

Renga Challenge — Maserati (Charley/qbit)

YouTube

Neptune is demanding back royalties;
Wants a comped Maserati GranTurismo

Rome burns with news of the deal
The other Gods inflamed with jealousy

They have a pyro-manic-depressive emperor,
Goes from Nero to Legion at the drop of a toga

It’s all maximum circus now,
Romulus pulls a knife on Remus

You know how cubs can be; wolfing-
down competition in the mything world

Drunk and stumbling down the Appian way
Zeus:  “By Jove, I was a Greek God when I was young!”

While Ares is reading a book on Mars
Jupiter’s fowling up the human’s bars

Gods, men and boys,
Tridents of wantonness and toys

Neptune’s drop-top impresses no Nereids;
Arethusa isn’t seeking a Poseidon adventure.

Water Virgins and Juno lawyered up
Another Archaic Triad bites the dust

 

qbit has taken up the challenge!  We are doing a collaborative Renga; alternating couplets.  Gods know where we’ll end up.  Fasten seat belts!

Yep!  I called it!  This was a wild, top-down ride, roam’n along the Appian Way (way!).  It’s a land of allusions….  How could it not be?

Shared on dVerse Poet Pubs Open Link.

Renga Challenge — Maserati

Neptune is demanding back royalties

and a comped Maserati GranTurismo

 

This is a Couplet Renga Challenge for October Casting Bricks.  Care to join in?  Just let me know in a comment below and I will start a post for us.  I propose a total of 10 couplets; 5 each.  Everyone is welcome to give this a go or to stop by Jilly’s October Challenge and join in with any of the Collaborative Challenges.  Presenting a challenge of your own would be awesome, as well.  The more, the merrier!  (Yes, I stole this word-for-word from Jilly’s blog!)

Sans Paddle

BuyCostumes.com

Into the lounge he shuffles,
feet never leaving the floor.

If they’d turn the music down
you’d be able to hear his joints.

You’ve seen his kind before –
shirt open to here, honest-to-god
gold chain – looking for a target.

Even his pick-up lines creak.

 

It’s another Quadrille Night at dVerse Poets Pub.  Forty-Four words (just like the epitath for the Old West gunslinger: “Here lies Lester Moore, Four slugs from a .44, No Les No More”) is what’s required.  And the magic word tonight is, “Creak.” 

All Blues

CBS Boston

On a commuter train –
Track 4 – kind of blue, living in
the rhythm of wheels on the rails,
the muted horn at the crossings.

Heading into the city for the night;
got no money but so what?  I’m going
miles from our last conversation.

The train soothes my angry
nerves.  Thinking back to a ride,
years ago, I took on the Wabash run.

Ate at Eugenia’s, where we met.

You picked up the bill as the pianist
played Blue In Green.

The rhythm soothes my jagged
nerves.  A bebop run soars in my head.

I’ll call when I arrive.

Troiku – Fish Crow

detail from “Fish Crow,” by John James Audubon

Fish Crow gives color
to more and more of the day
my heart says, “Un uh!”

Fish Crow gives color
on a Fall day and I laugh
we are brothers now

To more and more of the day
an urgency comes
speeding to solstice

My heart says, “Un uh!”
as Fall draws toward winter
my mantra, “Come, Spring!”

This was written in response to Frank J. Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #4.  The challenge word is Darkness.  While technically not one of the ancient and accepted Japanese forms (at least in its totality), the Troiku feeds off the first “stanza,” a traditional Haiku.

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!

By the way… the Fish Crow’s call really does sound like he’s saying, “Un uh!”  Contrary bird!

 

Santa Clara & Elsewhere Before the Fires

 

Chaos moved
forward to other fields, leaving
shock, despair, fear and dead-
ended nerves.

Where are those who disappear
in flames; souls of smoke rise
higher than prayers can reach.

In my abandoned pulpit mute
preaching clangs an empty
note.  God lives for me, dies
for another, lives again again
again we are placed upon the pile
overlooking destruction, speechless.

And for the most part our heralds
have remained speechless

mindless

clueless of how to handle a story
that cannot call a clarion bleat,
cannot wrench fear-filled sheep.

‘Tis horror upon horror, terribly
sorry, but it’s not politically charged.

Slowly past the carnage drives
one who knows what must be done;
who does what one must do.

 

It’s Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub.  Write anything that can conceivably be considered poetry, link it to the post, and then read and respond to others posted in the blog.

I would like real, thoughtful feedback on this poem.