Maiden by the Sea

She was but a young sweet maiden,
smitten by the power of a gifted book.
Mesmerized by words, her only escape,
imprisoned alone on distant shore.
Her appetite for love, like thunder,
battered her soul like a storm at sea.

She met her swashbuckling pirate at sea
in chapter two’s final scene. “My, maiden!
I proclaim my love for thee,
” he thundered.
Eyes smoldering, as described in the book,
he appraised his lover, as if a shore,
seeking soft inlets for future escape.

His character so real, she craved to escape,
clambered from tower, ran to the sea.
Consumed by lust, she scanned the shore.
I know you are real and I am your maiden!
I long for your lips, and not from a book!
Words so loud, they rose above thunder.

Where are you? Emotions roared over thunder.
Reality struck hard. There was no escape.
The man she adored, merely words in a book.
Irrational now, seeking her pirate by sea,
into the water she strode. Love struck maiden,
seeking Neptune’s comfort far from shore.

Distraught by loss, villagers gathered by shore.
News spread quickly, as hooves thundered,
galloping across the land. Where is our maiden?
they cried in despair. How could she escape?
Bereft of her graces, they prayed by the sea.
Swore at the heavens. Damn ill-fated book!

Town wizards scolded the crowd. Burned the book.
Chanted mantras up and down the shore.
Gone. Their locked away lady-by-the-sea.
She had been theirs. Until words like thunder
roused the rabid escape
of their walled-in maiden.

Book but ashes now, repercussions still thunder.
Guilt forever plagues their shore.  No escape.
She haunts their seas. Storms from a once loved maiden.

My first attempt at a Sestina….the most difficult poetic form I’ve ever tried. Thank you dVerse for the challenge!
Sestina: A 12th century form consisting of 6 stanzas, each having 6 lines; followed by one tercet (3 line stanza).  BUT, that’s not all.
The end-words of the first stanza’s six lines, must appear as end words in each line of the following stanzas, in a particular prescribed order:

Stanza 1: End-words: Line 1 – maiden. Line 2 – book. Line 3 – escape. Line 4 – shore.
Line 5 – thunder, Line 6 – sea.

Remaining 5 stanza’s end-words use end-words from stanza 1 as follows:

Stanza 2:
Line 1 – sea (end word for line 6, stanza 1)
Line 2 – maiden (end word for line 1, stanza 1)
Line 3 – thunder (end word for line 5, stanza 1)
Line 4 – book (end word for line 2, stanza 1)
Line 5 – shore (end word for line 4, stanza 1)
Line 6 – escape (end word for line 3, stanza 1)

Stanzas 3 -6 use the end-words of stanza one’s lines as follows:
Stanza 3
:   3, 6, 4, 1, 2, 5

Stanza 4:   5, 3, 2, 6, 1, 4
Stanza 5:   4, 5, 1, 3, 6, 2
Stanza 6:   2, 4, 6, 5, 3,
One can use a bit of poetic license and use a form of the word – hence thundered.

Stanza 7:  is DIFFERENT. It is a tercet-only three lines. It must contain all six of the end- words for the lines in Stanza 1 in the following order:
Line 1: book (line 2’s end-word) somewhere in the line; and line 5’s end-word thunder as the last word of the tercet’s line 1
Line 2: shore (line 4’s end-word) somewhere in the line; and line 3’s end-word  escape as the last word of the tercet’s line 2
Line 3: sea (line 6’s end-word) somewhere in the line; and line 1’s end-word maiden as the last word of the tercet’s line 3

Confused? Add to that: somehow the poem must make sense! It’s a poetry sudoku!!
Image from Pixabay.com

Ode to the Sea

My moon-blown dreams flutter flit.
‘Tis but water-spoken words
afloat in tide-looped waves,
gently wending their way
wave-seeping through my synapses.
Meanderments that mesmerize,
a ringed-sea within my mind.

Eyes sea-scape.
Islands seemingly afloat
shimmer on reflection,
my ‘scape
from dews of storm-clad life.
I seem to levitate
hover somewhere, not here.

No sound but water-softness,
lapping as if heaven-circling.
Eyes stair cross waters,
climb surreal to starry scrim.
Leaning against ship’s rail,
all railings retreat to insignificance.
Serenity lives upon the seas.

For April 16 Poetics….hosted by guest Laura Bloomsbury. Motivated by her prompt and our current journey, cruising through Japan, China and South Korea.

Telltale Signs

Dandelion wisps
tangled in hair,
cooing to butterflies
fingers she flutters.
Turning she runs
ready for flight,
clambers on swing
wishing she might.

Higher she shouts
Daddy push higher!
Smiling, he does,
thankful for fairies.
Their magical gift
a changeling,
the child he adores.

girl-838260_1920

It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, and De asks us to use the word “change” (or a form of the word) within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image from Pixabay.com. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Namrah, Figment of Childhood

Oh why have you deserted me these nights,
your golden wings and glistening silver beak?
We soared through star lit skies to mystic sites
my Namrah, childhood friend, to me unique.

Adulthood now, so taxed by tasks each day
the years have sped, imagination dulled.
My dreams are doors no more, no passage way,
no you. But stress instead, and nightmares mulled.

Oh why have you deserted me these years?
Is there another child who claimed your dreams
whilst I, within the dark, doth shed my tears
for youthful innocence and moonbeam gleams.

As wrinkles steep and footsteps slow my gait,
I see the light in death’s dawn – tis there you wait.

bird_of_paradise_kagaya

Written for dVerse MTB where Bjorn hosts and asks us to write a sonnet. Sonnets can take a number of forms. I’ve chosen a Shakespearean Sonnet: 14 lines with the following rhyme scheme in iambic pentameter: ABAB, CDCD, EFEF, GG.  I find this form extremely difficult and find myself counting out syllables etc on my fingers. So this is my go at it. A Shakespeare I’m not! PS:  Over the years I’ve written a number of poems about Namrah. Many folks have childhood imaginary friends. I did not – but I’ve created Namrah in a number of poems, speaking in the first person, as if this beautiful mythcal bird is just that. 

Wish Goddess

Wish Granter,
goddess of ages.
Utopia, her realm.

. . . if I could travel in time
. . . bring him back
make me young again . . .
. . . let her be well

Wish upon wish upon wish
year upon year upon year,
until she finally understood.

Hour glass, her tool of destiny.
Sand granules within,
moments in time.
What was, what is,
what may be.

Today, a crack in time.
Crystal orb wrought asunder,
sand grains burst forth.
Wish halos given light,
scattered among the stars.
All wishes granted.
From days gone by,
today’s dreams
and yours tomorrow.
Present eternally.

Wish Granter,
goddess of ages,
finally at rest.
Need erased for all time.
Alpha and omega.
finis

gothic-2910057_1920

Amaya hosts Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today she asks us to consider the idea of utopia. Image from pixabay.com

Related to Wee Willie Winkie . . .

Tiny Tina Twinkle
flit about the pumpkin patch.
Her little voice like merry bells
she readied for the snatch.

Magic dust in her wee hand
she sought out Peter’s wife.
Took her from that horrid shell
to share her fairy’s life.

tree-3285761_1920

In response to Misky’s Twiglet # 85, “voice like merry bells.” A Twiglet is a short phrase or a word. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. In a whimsical mood today 🙂 And posted, although rather late, to dVerse OLN with Kim hosting.

The Cat and the Elephant

Tis not the end of the world, my friend.
Nine lives I have
and don’t you see?
I’ve really only been through three.

Tsk, tsk, so you say.
These tusks did push us off the land
but sails they’re not,
without the wind.

Then I shall cat-call to the moon,
plead to lunar-up a breeze.
But you so heavy at the knees,
we’ll still be deadweight in the seas.

Your kitty croons, so pitiful and small,
my BAALOOs shall loudly do the trick.
I’ll proudly call up mighty Orca
and she will surely solve our plight.

—–

Suddenly their boat was perched
atop a dorsal fin
as waves did froth and start to spin,
and winds did help them soar. . .

beyond the land of different,
one so big and one so wee.
She looked up and he looked out
to navigate the troubled seas.

————

Readers heed this little tale
as you doth scan my words.
An elephant and a cat at sea,
sealed their fate successfully.

He did this and she did that
with moon and stars
and wind and whales.
Absolutely no buts allowed.

And thus they sailed,
the elephant and the cat,
into a new and verdant land ~
designed to house the everyone and all.

Silent-Night-Catrin-Welz-Stein-Acrylic-Glass-Print

This is my second post for dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets, where I’m hosting and asking folks to choose one of four images from talented artist Catrin Welz-Stein.

The first post, with another image, is Primitive Folk Tale.

Some fabulous poems have been posted using Catrin’s images. Thank you again, Catrin, for letting us be inspired by your artwork!

Primitive Folk Tale

She, the earliest of living things.
Her strength, serenity.
Eternal for the ages.

Birthed ‘neath a solar scrim
stars and silver moons afloat,
heavenly aura ’round her soul.

In her hand she held thee, wren.
Firstborn feathered creature
created from wisps of love.

Genesis of multiples
winged in soaring flight,
traversing through her skies.

Red blossoms, thorned and not,
suckled from her bosom soft
kindness sipped by every bloom.

Life seeded within her mind
begat entangled branches,
generations of humankind.

Earthly homes imagined
crowned forth upon her head
’til eyelids softly closed,

whispered words escaped her lips.
‘Tis done.
Now they must live.

Catrin Welz-Stein - German Surrealist Graphic Designer - Tutt'Art@ (24)

I’m hosting dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets, asking folks to chose one of four images that I’ve provided, from talented artist Catrin Welz-Stein.  

I also published The Cat and the Elephant, using another of her images.

I love the serenity of this image. If you click on her name, you’ll get to her website which includes much more of her artwork. Thank you, Catrin, for letting us use your beautiful images for motivation today! Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop by and be inspired!

Still Love

Namra, spinner of tales, weaved her way into his naivety. Vulnerable, unaware of her guile, he pledged his love, earthly possessions, and his soul. In dark of night, she promised nirvana whilst leading him to the place of angels. Unbeknownst to him, a destination not where spirits soar; rather where they stand in frozen state. Cold stone in the midst of searing heat. Those who dared to fly, minus forearms or bent with ravaged wings. Some forever with fingertip to lips, hushing final cries of hope. Angels, sentinels of death, where living bow their heads.

He followed, unaware that she is a collector. Unaware she lures the unsuspecting to a marble bed. Lies with them but for a moment until the aphrodisiac of her silken ways, overcomes their senses. Seers say his body awakened in the cold to emptiness. That he lies now through the ages, eyes open, awaiting her return. Unaware that silken threads forever lace round a rusted metal lock. A comfortless duvet of intricacy, barely moving in the languid breath of summer winds. He is forever unaware that she continually seeks new prey. Promising an ecstasy of love to rival the ages, but caring not for the soul.

Photos from Recoleta, an amazing cemetery in Buenos Aires, where Evita is buried. We had a wonderful private tour of the city with Ceri of Buenos Tours, which culminated at Recoleta. A word of explanation: I’ve been on back-to-back cruises to South America and now heading to Antarctica, hence have not been able to post often (very limited internet access). I’m scheduling this so it will post for OLN. Consider this prose poetry.