As the argument unfolded
he sputtered and clanked,
like a cold radiator
cranking up the heat.
Twiglet Prompt #5: “cold radiator.” A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Maybe two. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought. The idea is to create a poem or piece of prose using the twiglet as the jumping off point – the shorter the better! New twiglet prompts appear each Tuesday — join the fun!
Adam and Eve’s tale
created a history.
Two genders. Two roles.
From prehistoric eras
came seminal works,
histrionic characters
assigned to mankind.
Hissy fits to machismo.
Words whimpered wrongly,
like hysterical mis-spelled.
Time now to accept
the herculean tough task.
Too often not heard
unless we are herd, enmasse.
Cherish who we are.
Do not say female or male,
women versus men.
We shall march a million strong,
support each other.
Our bodies, our minds, our love.
Together we can, we will.
Gayle hosts dVerse today and asks us to write a CHOKA: an unrhymed poem with lines that alternate 5 and 7 syllables, ending with two 7 syllable lines. A new form for me…and quite a challenge to make the sense of the poem be the reader’s main focus rather than the framework of the 5-7-5-7-5-etc-7-7 syllable requirement. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time.
Two explanatory notes for the poem: 1) I’ve always been interested in semantics and the power of language; applauding the movement to more inclusive language as in “fire fighter” rather than “fireman” and “work hours” rather than “man hours.” Many changes like these have concretized in our language over the years and, I believe, affected perception. This poem looks at the place of gender specific words within words. Note the italics. There are many many more one could use. I find it an interesting exercise. 2) Jan 21, 2016 is the Women’s March on Washington with simultaneous similar events around the country. My daughter and I shall attend the one in Boston. Hence the reference at the end of the poem. I should add ,persons of both gender/sex are highly encouraged to attend these events!
i.
And you shall ornament this yuletide season,
spread tinseled happiness ’round the world.
ii.
Brooch pinned to frayed prayer shawl,
treasured ornament from days long past.
iii.
Fruit bowl on wormwood kitchen table,
waxed ornaments that never spoil.
iv.
Ornament me
with your smile.
Ms. Quickly asks us to look around, see what grabs our eye. Name it and take that word, create couplets with it. Each couplet should have two lines, about the same length, and “look” at the chosen word from from different angles. Photos: What caught my eye — Two unique ornaments: Lillian – from my kindergarten teacher 64 years ago; and a very fragile bell, given to my mother when she was married. Ornament — an interesting word!
Littered path
fallen leaves like trodden dreams.
Though the way be narrow
quaking aspen still shimmer gold.
Sun shines through tallest trees
as faith dissipates clouds of doubt.
Lean. Push. Persevere.
March through unmarked trail.
Steps may stumble, pace may slow.
Hope shall light your way.
Poem dedicated to my dear friend. Her two year battle with ovarian cancer inspires so many. She reminds us that every day is a new beginning.
It’s Poetics Tuesday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Mish reminds us the New Year means new beginnings. She provides paintings of 8 gifted artists and asks us to choose one or more “and let the words flow.” The pub opens at 3 PM Boston time….stop in and add your thoughts or just enjoy the words of so many.
Painting credit: New Beginnings. “Jennifer Vranes is best know for her large and vibrant paintings of Aspen Forests and European Landscapes. Her trademarked technique of using a pallete knife to ‘sculpt’ in thick textures has become a favorite among collectors and Art Galleries world-wide.” ~ About the Artist-Jennifer Vranes~ jensart.com
curl me softly?
Straight lines do not appeal,
nor pointillist detail.
Giverny blur me
in weeping willow,
mauve wisteria and lupine tendrils.
Soften words with lyrical strokes
lightly touch my lips,
whisper quietly in fading sun.
Hold me,
spoon me
in waning silvered moon.
Welcome back to dVerse! Bjorn opens 2017 with the quadrille prompt to use the word “curl.” dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, opens at 3 PM…come join us…curl up with a cup of coffee or a mimosa, share your take on the word and or read what others have to share in only 44 words (definition of a quadrille)!
script of unlined sheaves
vellum void
must write/right itself
more ad lib seen/scenes
life in present
learn from past-tense
new year
ingenue reborn
disappointments drained
happiness residual clogs sieve
new filter awaits on shelf
ring in the new year
Sweet fawn, framed by forest clearing
breath vapor hangs in air,
eyes wide alert, stare through snow.
Crystal flakes cling to coat,
velvet brown ears quiver
hear soft cries and crooning sounds.
Hooves muted by drifted snow
young woman and man oblivious
as wet nose pushes stable door ajar.
Innocent deer stands quietly,
sees calves lying in tussled straw
lambs nearby, quietly sleep.
And there, wrapped in woolen shawl,
a small babe with contented smile
held close to mother’s breast.
A simple pastoral scene,
Love and Light born this morn.
Photo credit: Benjamin Earwicker. Title from Isaiah 9:6
Poetic license taken (creativity beyond the traditional story).
White crystalline flakes
cascade from dark skies
falling, drifting quietly,
upon the rural scene.
A lowly ass plods slowly
pulled forward by a bearded man.
They lean forward,
tandem force against the wind.
The young woman huddles, sways,
shifted side to side by the animal’s gait.
Feeling movement from within,
she burrows into her woolen shawl.
Talons sunk in frozen bark
feathered body blending into frigid tree,
the snowy owl stares steadily
at the slow motion scene,
watches the couple disappear
over the hill beyond,
unaware, in the darkness,
of the Light that is to come.
Photo in public domain. Poetic license taken (beyond the traditional story).
Splashes of red brighten everyday winter mood.
Cardinal perched ‘top snow laden branch
holly berries ‘mongst waxy green leaves
stocking-capped girl on ice-covered pond.
Cranberry garland round grandma’s tree
foil-wrapped treats with ribbon-tied bows
cinnamon red-hots on gingerbread men.
And then . . . on a star lit night
Old North’s steeple glows tall and bright
draws us to her warmth within.
History fills this sacred space
softly lit by candlelight,
voices lilt from loft above.
Spirits lift and faces shine,
voices raise as all join in
oh come all ye faithful . . .
celebrate that gift of hope.
Love born this very night,
so long long ago.
Old North. Paul Revere’s church where lanterns were waved that infamous night, immortalized in Longfellow’s poem.
We shall walk to Old North on Christmas Eve when the church will be aglow with candles lit in her brass chandeliers and sconces that are 200+ years old.
lillian the home poet 