Covered by earth.
Lord, what a surprise!
Two meters’ worth;
Coins on my eyes –
Saving the earth,
But what a price.
Love without dearth –
A cruelly hewn device.
The melting of ice –
Lazarus’ empty grave…
* * *
Posted to dVerse Poets Pub, Quadrille night.
“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
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.
…it sometimes goes.) You wake –
up… groggy, because the alarm
you out of a deep,
Your heart is knocking
on your head,
your eyes are filled
with gravel as if your young son was playing
at the beach of your dreams.
* * *
You sleep –
when you least expect
it. (That’s just how…
Posted to dVerse Poets Pub, Meeting the Bar. Björn is asking us to deal with poetic punctuation and enjambment — breaking rules, breaking lines, breaking table lamps if we’re not careful. We are also supposed to spill the beans about what rules we are breaking. But, aw, you know me… I wouldn’t break rules. 🙂
“Happiness is having a scratch for every itch.”
– Ogden Nash
it(ch) alone you’ll only make
It’s what you do.
an itch. You scratch
it(ch). Then it(ch) bleeds.
inside the wound.
Whiskey and Ancho liquor splashes
* * *
Posted to dVerse Poets Pub, Quadrille Monday. Happy Anniversary, dVersers!
“A violent windstorm the night before
– Jim Harrison
“Politics is politics; art is art. If you play a political role, you have to stop being an artist.”
– Youssou N’Dour
We have many different kinds of storms here on Planet Earth – summer plains storms, Pacific coastal storms, Nor’easters, tropical storms, hurricanes (also called typhoons or cyclones), winter storms. For the past few years we’ve been suffering through a crap storm (tempête de merde, scheiß sturm, καταιγίδα, 똥 폭풍, tormenta de mierda… to my English-tuned ears, it sounds better in these other languages!) across the planet. Crap flying here, crap flying there. Everyone flapping gums about the crap in the air. And very few people smart enough to grab shovels and start fertilizing.
hot wind is blowing
storm season calls us to act –
hand out chewing gum!
Day 25 of Jilly’s “Days of Unreason” challenge. Taken primarily from Jim Harrison’s collection of poetry, Songs of Unreason, these prompts are meant to be springboards off which your muse, your id, that irrepressible (and potentially damaged) voice that guides your writing, may do cannonballs, poorly-executed swan dives, or just hold-your-nose-and-go-in-feet-first-ogling-the-lifeguard-stuff. Jim Harrison had an overriding philosophy that guided his efforts: “Unlike a lot of writers, I don’t have any craving to be understood.” That’s really freeing when approaching this challenge!
Posted to dVerse Poets Pub, Haibun Monday. Jilly is hosting and is asking us to write a haibun using an unconventional kigo. I think I managed to do that.
“We all know that Art is not truth.
Art is a lie that makes us realize truth,
at least the truth that is given us to understand.
The artist must know the manner whereby
to convince others of the truthfulness of his lies.”
― Pablo Picasso
Ian Hennes (5 years ago) — “This is a 6 month pinhole photo taken from solstice to solstice, in Medicine Hat, Alberta, Canada. We are one of the sunniest cities in Canada, and this shows it nicely.
Straight on and go blind; or stare
at your shadow, imagine what’s behind.
6:07 this morning, I live in Eastern
time zone; no sun watched a lesser tern.
Clouds all day, and cooler than the four
preceding days; now it’s summer – huh.
* * *
Posted to d’Verse Poets Pub, where Frank Hubeny is hosting Meeting the Bar. Tonight we are asked to write couplets (optionally in response to the Summer Solstice).
(In no way related to Geoffrey C.)
To Cobbler, Tailor, Milner —
Mistress is going to London Town.
She found the gold
After her Lord and Master drown.
To Cobbler, Tailor, Milner —
Mistress is going to Harvest Ball.
She goes it alone.
Her Lord wasn’t kind at all.
Mess not with Mistress!
* * *
“…spring day, too loud for talk
when bones tire of their flesh
and want something better.”
— Jim Harrison
Can you imagine how we
tire of struggling? With old bones
we weary of flesh, you see.
Can you? Imagine! How we
tread down a fixed path, not free –
feel pain as one alone
can. You imagine how we
tire of struggling with old bones!
* * *
So Jilly has unleashed the 28 Days of Unreason (which is like the high-dive platform of poetry prompts). The thing about Jim Harrison’s poetry is that… well, it’s so out there it makes connections in your psyche where you didn’t even know you had psyche. Honestly, I don’t really know what all psyche entails… or if it has tails… but it sounds really intellectual. Like I should be smoking a pipe or something.
The form I used is the Triolet.
Posted to dVerse Poets Pub, Open Link Night.
Write. Why is the DVD drive whirring? Ignore it! Did I leave a movie in it? When was the last time I watched a movie? What would it have been…? Maybe it’s the last thing I listened to as I wrote. When was the last time I wrote? What did I write…? Wonder how my submissions are coming along. Are you going to write? Yeah, give me a minute. Facebook? Are you kidding me? What are you, my muse or my editor? I just need to get into the right frame of— Uh huh. Call me when you’re ready to get serious. Hey! Could you bring me some coffee when you come back?
I saw that!
clueless what to write –
one less voice in my head now
muse-less walk in rain
* * *
Posted to dVerse Poets Pub where Frank Hubney is hosting Haibun Monday. The prompt is “silent sound” — whatever that means to each of us.
I watch you press
into a crook; dry
side of an Oak.
Crimson, you flit
into the rain
for morsels to eat.
Back you fly
up into branches,
wet and hanging.
To a nest
Bored by days of rain.
* * *
Posted to dVerse Poets Pub for Quadrille Monday. The key word is “rain.”