Roadsigns to a Better Day — a poem

sky magic

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.”

 

 

Quadrille: Better a Stroll Through That Lonesome Valley Than a Fall From Grace — a poem

steeplejack

Pinterest

 

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,

climb,

climb

and
carefully,
so
carefully
descend –
for we cannot fly.

Now wander I
through steeplebush
deep; my tea nicely….

 

* * *

It’s Quadrille Night at dVerse Poet’s Pub, and Mish, our barkeep, bids us go “steep.”

Taking It to the Shed — a poem


Somehow I received
a shed mark —
one side of me that rolls
skyward, down stratified
heavens from a chasmed
pinnacle.

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
stars.

* * *

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.

Pantoum: Leaving a Wake — a Poem




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.”

Quadrille: Cracks Among the Fireweed — a Poem


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.)

Quadrille: Dislangled, to Tell the Trood — a Poem

 

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…!

 

 

Quadrille: The Truly Horrible Tale of Yuck — a Poem

fumanchu

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?

Disclaimers:

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.

 

 

Quadrille: No Safe Harbor

Valdez

sitnews.com

 

Five thirty-six.
Afternoon.
March twenty-seven
(on Good Friday)
nineteen sixty-four.

Unloading Spring’s first ships –
children, men, dogs watching.

Plug pulled.
Nine-point-two quake.
Valdez Harbor emptied.
Refilled.

Tsunami flood
to tune of sixty-seven meters.
One hundred thirty-nine perished.

Ring of Fire.

Tectonics, y’all!

Shift happens.

 

* * *

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.