dissonance
changing times
veins frozen still
warm love disappeared
vapid space adrift
begging please
alone here
Poem inspired by personifying the huge, monolith icebergs we recently saw in Antarctica. It seems to me that sometimes people feel like this.
deep within the soil
perennial seed lies dormant
safe from winter’s scorn –
would that I could sleep as sound
oblivious to my pain.
Frank is hosting today at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. He’s asked us to write a poem about sleep or to use the word itself. My post today is a Tanka: 5 lines with a 5, 7, 5, 7, 7 syllabic content. A Tanka should include a shift in tone after line 3 or 4. Here, line 4 shifts from nature to the personal. Added note: written in the voice of another.
He lost his head that day.
Disappeared into green lush woods,
the gardens of his mind.
Some nurturing space of his own design
between the borders of insanity and reason.
City engineer.
Day in and day out
he plotted and planned.
Highways, byways
throughways and roundabouts.
Traffic control,
exit ramps and entry lanes.
Cement road-snakes for autopilot mannequins.
Metal caskets on wheels,
rushing here and there and everywhere.
Head full, he just stopped.
Could not cope.
Could not recognize
patterns, directions,
escape routes from today
into the morrows.
And so he stared,
that morning at his desk.
Never moved.
Retreated into a nowhere,
his forest of nothingness.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today, Grace is hosting and asks us to use the word “border” within the poem or in the title. And, extra credit if we write somehow about a mental state.
Sculptur is in the de Cordova Sculpture Park and Museum in Lincoln Massachusetts. Eternal Presence by John Wilson, 1987; a study for the full size, seven-foot tall sculpture which stands outside the National Center for Afro-American Artists in Boston.
still standing
standing still
both feet bolted
fear clamped
desperate
to flee
A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Maybe two. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought. The shorter the better. Misky posts Twiglet prompts every Tuesday. Anxiety uses twiglets 32 (with both feet) and 33 (still standing). Photo in public domain at Pixabay.
I was a flower
dew drop petals waving to the sun.
I was tall. Hopscotched on chalk
balanced one foot, then two.
I am brittle sans bloom.
Seed scattered.
Roots slowly rot,
losing ground to this horrible disease.
Stripped naked of hope
she sat hugging knees to chest
sole embrace,
soul distraught,
done with dreams.
Photo in public domain. Misky’s Tuesday Twiglet prompt #6 : “done with dreams.” A twiglet is a short phrase. Or a word. Maybe two. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. A thought.
Like a magnificent crystal chandelier
in the wake of a coarse wind.
Swaying erratically. Shards of glass colliding.
Each piece hitting, pinging,
clinking cacophonously.
She felt like this.
Except she was enclosed. Caged.
Stifled in some cold garment.
Arms wrapped around her torso
in comfortless embrace.
And the ceiling was bare.
And the walls were bare.
But she was that fixture,
except without light.
—————————-
Sia – Chandelier (Official Video) – YouTube
Sharing with dVerse for OLN where Bjorn is hosting from Sweden.
THANKS to Bjorn for pointing me to this video after my poem was posted with the photo below. Bjorn’s poem written on October 2015 was inspired by the video. I wasn’t aware of dVerse at that time and never heard the song or saw the video until Bjorn mentioned it. The video does uncannily fit Misfit which is very eerie! Stop by dVerse to post your own poem (the more the merrier) or to imbibe/read other posts. Tis an amazing place!
you loved me
as I was you said
then dismembered me
your hands, your will
debased my sense of self
erased my core
left me sightless
looking for me
Hosting dVerse for Tuesday Poetics — a virtual pub for those who enjoy working with words and creating poetry. Today, I’m asking folks to find a sculpture that inspires them — and then to write in the voice of that sculpture — become either the artist who created the piece, or the subject of the sculpture. Don’t tell us about the sculpture, rather take on its voice. Come on over and see what others do — or how about joining us and lending your voice too?
I am afloat
no eyes, no touch
in this senseless world.
This cadaver cavernous world
dreams dissipated, despair afloat
you see me, but do not touch.
Ignored. Here, not. Not for touch.
Gasping in your fragile world,
I am no one, simply afloat,
afloat, a glass shard, in your no-touch world.
Tritina written for Day 7, NaPoWriMo. The Tritina: three, three line stanzas and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA and all three words must appear in the final line. Another poetry sudoku! Photo Credit: Pickled 2, 2009 by Antoine A. R. Hunt, Bermudian, 1967: in the Collection of the Bermuda National Gallery.
Holograph, barely here.
I talk like a moth flitters to light,
shadow boxing.
Grin and bear it.
Buck up.
It’ll get better.
Pearls of wisdom faintly heard.
Like oil bubbles’ thinly veiled colors,
disappear in darkness.
Skim me not.
Help find the me.
Please.
Quadrille (44 words) written, including the word grin, as prompted by Bjorn for dVerse.
