Oh
So
cold
Immune
ToLoving
RoughTimes
ColdShoulder
HurtMeDeeply
ColdHearts
ColdLike
IceAnd
Dead
To
Me
WP Writing 201: create a CONCRETE/SHAPE poem employing the word/meaning of COLD, and employing the device of ANAPHORA (repetition of same word at the beginning of multiple lines of verse).
Summer by the sea,
two months past.
That sweet-sharp
salty lick of ocean air
gone.
Autumn in the city
dry lips
moistened
by warm apple cider
as eyes celebrate
glorious color.
Do not grasp or fear the sifting sand
savor instead, sweet memories.
Tippee cups and imagined friends
popsicle sticky smiles.
Unabashed big bigger Balooka bubbles
popped on freckled nose.
High pitched yells with a Mary Jane stomp
knock knock jokes giggled silly.
Proscenium now disappeared, curtains askew
props and costumes gone.
Mourn not the little ones of yesteryear,
loose your hand and revel now.
Their roots are strong, let go the sieve
tis time to change the scene
WP Writing 201 prompts: the word “flavor”, enumeratio (listing), and the elegy form. Elegy: usually in couplets, first line longer; can be a longing, loss, mourning, and/or a celebration of life.
There’s a place outside my window
I do not often see,
a million miles across the street
where death decries your plea.
‘Tis a purgatorial place
for the once young at heart,
innocent souls now burned by flame
who thirst for life’s restart.
Red yellow fire once licked their skin
left pain in fissures deep
now loved ones kneel in fervent prayer
their young ones here to keep.
Mine is a neighborhood of hope
for children wrapped in gauze,
doctors, nurses, medical care
united in one cause.
View of Shriners Childrens Hospital in Boston, from my 7th floor deck / my living room window. WP Writing 201 prompt: write in the ballad form, using assonance, and relating to the word “neighborhood.” Ballad: dramatic, emotionally charged, 4 line stanza quatrain, alternating stress lines as in 8 syllables, 6 syllables, 8 syllables, 6 syllables; and using an ABCB rhyme scheme. Assonance: subtle repeat of vowel sounds.
The myth behind the woman loved by many,
richly layered flavors, cultivated to impress.
Miss Popularity, Miss Luther League
years later, a doctor’s wife
mother and choir member too.
Chameleon of many faces.
24 hours. 10 stories.
A runaway drama, no one really knew.
Instability lurked behind her masks
until the show of the week
forever changed her life.
Ripple effect
wider than a tidal pool.
Knife in hand, surge of passion
husband prostrate at her feet.
Murdereress. A new role.
Impromptu, adlib,
shocked by the script.
Prompts from WP Writing 201: faces, found poetry, chiasmus. Found Poetry: scissors and newspaper in hand, cut out words and phrases and arrange them in a poem. Words from THE WEEK, September 18, 2015 edition. Chiasmus: a reversal, an inversion (title to first line).
Winter comes so soon,
red flannel bathrobe mornings
padding through my room.
She was a primary color kind of gal
young at heart, year after year.
Neon chalk streaks adorned her hair
blue moon ice cream colored her tongue.
She wore bright yellow boots to walk in the rain.
Smiley face balloons attached at the wrist,
always her shadow of choice.
Her happy place
was wearing a clown-face red nose
making you laugh, wherever you met
in a car or a train or a bus or a van
or rocking in chairs here at the home.
We missed her after she died.
But the old man now in her room
wakes every day with a smile,
seeing the large crooked rainbow
painted wheel-chair height,
directly across from his bed.
The same white clouds,
the stuff of wispy filaments framed in blue
float o’er my head in quietude.
And soar above bright sunflower fields
flower heads tilted to the sky
in warm rays that beam on me.
And witness from above
far away killing fields
acres of blood with heads askew
eyes frozen grotesque in pain.
These same sentinel clouds,
all seeing
all knowing
how can that be?
Her face, my map, my guide
in this moment of charged silence.
I touch her eyes, feel cool wet lashes
sensation on my fingertips
questions in my heart.
Fingers move quickly to dampened cheeks
trace rivulets of silent tears.
Drops of fear or rejection or what?
Her lips purse together gently
in a bird-peck kiss upon my palm
press deeper, part slightly in a moan.
She leans in and I read her yes
hands grasp mine as we enter
this divine communion called love.
Thank you, God
for this gift of touch
for this woman who lies with me.
For joyful tears, now mine
from sightless orbs that see.
She loves me as I am.
Motivated by WP Writing 201 prompts: map, ode, metaphor
Like a bruise on peach skin
her flushed face was mottled
from too much handling.
He stood across from her
tapping his spit polished
wing tip shoes.
Quiet, festering
until his fist slammed
into the glass table top.
Cornucopia upended
plastic fruits
clattered to the floor
as she stood, silent
eyes cast down
waiting for the barrage
she knew
would come.
WP Writing 201 Prompt for Day Four: Limerick, Imperfection and Enjambment (poetic device where grammatical sentences spill into next verse. It seems I’ve slipped to the “dark side” with this poem, using the idea of imperfection and enjambment. Obviously, this is not a limerick – for that, go to the Humor Category and see the G-tarian poem.
lillian the home poet 