Snapped on the day in question.
It’s probably a good thing I walk
through an empty courtyard in the morning.
Nobody hears me as I talk to the sky.
An empty, expectant blue, I say,
“Show me the magic!”
Clouds appear — a long loop of altocumulus,
two layers of cirrus filaments, crosswise.
I set my lunch bag and travel mug of Panamanian
down on a bench and snap
a picture on my phone.
Gathering my stuff, I know
it’s going to be a good day.
Then Harbinger, the crow, flies
over me bare feet above me — laughing.
Ah, yes! I think, this is going to be a better day.
* * *
Sarah is behind the bar at dVerse Poets Pub, hosting Poetics. The magic word tonight is, “Harbinger.”
A steeplejack a-once was I.
And lucky t’was I didn’t die.
I hung from steeples, chimneys
clung quite steeply… dear.
A jack can climb,
for we cannot fly.
Now wander I
deep; my tea nicely….
* * *
It’s Quadrille Night at dVerse Poet’s Pub, and Mish, our barkeep, bids us go “steep.”
Somehow I received
a shed mark —
one side of me that rolls
skyward, down stratified
heavens from a chasmed
My blessed dichotomy, illumined
by the wicked sun and darkens
in the shadowed
love of home-Earth.
“Love that darkens”
sheds bloodlight flowing
down upon castoff
* * *
Lillian is hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. Tonight she asks us to shed our inhibitions — writing a poem that features “shed” as the magic word.
Much like on the water. Leaving awake
a surface turmoil that stirred the deep.
Was it disorder purely for passion’s sake?
Emotion like waves crashing my heart’s keep.
A surface turmoil that stirred. The deep-
rooted belief that faithful love would prevail.
Emotion, like waves, crashing. My heart’s keep,
a false wall erected, destined to fail.
Rooted belief: that faithful love would prevail
caused me to assume a guise detached;
a false wall erected. Destined to fail
(she was passing swiftly), I became attached.
Caused me to presume. A guise, detached;
was it disorder? Purely for passion’s sake
she was passing (swiftly I became attached)
much like on the water, leaving a wake.
* * *
So, Jilly is at the helm at dVerse Poets Pub for Meeting the Bar. She’s raised the bar, bidding us to “…write a Form Poem that makes use of Repetitive Lines.”
No thanatologist, I — nor one cheered
by Sesquipedalians; although certainly warmed
on the breezy excretions of flawed knowledge.
I’ve worked in death; failed “the face of Death” to see.
Emptiness is only empty to those zealous to disbelieve.
Cheers echo from an assumed abyss.
* * *
De is hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets Pub, and she bids us “cheer!” (Actually, she wants us to use “cheer,” but I thought it sounded better the other way. …maybe not.)
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…!
Peter Sellers as Dr. FuManchu as Elvis
Who among you
recall the legend of Yuck Fu?
His real name,
Slavisla (Bud) Crescu,
he was a Norwegian Hindu.
A trickster, true –
sported Fu Manchu,
mustaches, a braid or two,
charmed, bilked a hapless few.
caught by Syn Dee Lu
undercover detective – true!
* * *
Okay, De is hosting Quadrilles at dVerse Poets Pub, and she gave us the poetically-charged prompt, “Yuck.” How could I not go lyrical with a prompt like that?
Should the image offend — remember he was a British actor in a British movie. If my remark about Yuck being a Norwegian — I am a quarter Norwegian, and am allowed to laugh at my own people (in fact, I think it’s mandatory in Scandinavian countries… or at least it is in Minnesota and North Dakota. I’ll have to research the statutes in Florida.) My remarks about mustaches and braided ponytails stand as written. Any resemblance between the drummer and this blogger are purely coincidental — although Paul may be contacted for possible identification of the bugger.
(on Good Friday)
Unloading Spring’s first ships –
children, men, dogs watching.
Valdez Harbor emptied.
to tune of sixty-seven meters.
One hundred thirty-nine perished.
Ring of Fire.
* * *
It’s Quadrille Night at dVerse Poets Pub. The magic word is “Harbor.” …I dunno. It was the first thing that came to mind when I saw the prompt.
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!
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.