Fire from heaven he kept
in the suit-coat pocket, folded
notes in leaves
of the combat bible — sweating
as he climbed
the dais. His gaze
the rows. The agitated
ones, his targeted
at their throats. Convicting
in mind. Grace tied
Thirty minutes became
an hour under the weight
of his tongue. Choruses sung
coercively. Brimstone smoldered.
End of story — much smoke, no light.
* * *
Victoria is hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub and she has us all hot under the (clerical) collar with a call for poets to bring “Fire.” Sheesh! Doesn’t she realize how dangerous that could be?!?
Borrowed from the internet somewhere — Dunno. But this is author/poet Jim Harrison. The one in front. The meaner looking one.
Don’t bite the chain.
Be like the wild-wise ones. Do
what they do — measure
the links, feel when it tenses.
it back — then run
just at that point. Make
the chain break
itself. Don’t settle
for civilizing kibbles. Range
free, and eat
Be the dog the rancher won’t let near her cattle!
* * *
Written in response to reading Jim Harrison’s poem, “Tethered.”
“Jesters do oft prove prophets.”
― William Shakespeare, King Lear
Should I a jest upon our nature make
and slight the finer aspects of our love
a cad more I should be. A goof for sake
of laughter’s compensation. O, above
all else I’d be a fool who lives for wit,
cavorts across the stage’d heart — who sees
an open door for quip — be swept in it;
but laughing hard I’d lose your love. No pleas
my honor would restore, nor passions fire.
Away I would see my dearest depart
to never return, all love would expire.
And fool I’d be, a jester sans a heart.
Then thus I here now take a pledge, for true.
No jest will come between my lips — and you.
* * *
No prompt. No challenge. I just felt the desire to attempt wrestling the bears — Sonnet form and Iambic Pentameter.
Tongue-bound, can’t roll
my Rs. Minnesotan, I slip
Ds where THs s’posed to
B. Can’t read a poem
I’ve written allowed,
s’rong wid me? When
young I stuggled with
ESSes… came out ETHHes.
Given “LispOils,”a balmy
stuff to stuff twixt numbed
lips and gums.
* * *
Lillian is hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets Pub. Her prompt word is “spoil.”
I gave it my best shot…!
Come the morrow dawn was lifting; dreams were melting, thoughts were sifting.
In the sunlight thoughts of Lenore; tears alight my bedroom floor.
Then I thought my nighttime dreaming was a nightmare too true seeming;
Then I thought my nightmare’s dreaming took its power from Lenore.
And my soul leapt from the shadow as I heard my love, Lenore:
she who’d bust a buzz-saw snore.
* * *
Well, I mean… why not?!? Write a final stanza of a classic (The Raven), and change the overriding tone of the poem. But keep the meter and rhyme — including the internal rhyme — scheme.