Runt of the litter
shoved out of the way,
last in the romping puppy play.
Some day she thought,
I’ll be as big as you.
And if I’m not,
I’ll shine in another way.
It’s Tuesday’s Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Sanaa asks us to consider peer pressure.
Image from Pixabay.com
I promise you, there is beauty somewhere.
Stand quietly outside to hear birdsong.
See stars shine in the ebony of night.
Hear the innocence of a small child’s prayer.
Marvel at harmony in evensong.
Your freedom as a right, shines ever bright.
In our war, even as lives are taken
there is pride, resolve, purpose in the fight.
One newborn who survives shines hope ‘ere long.
The world’s sense of justice shall awaken.
Help us.
First and foremost, the illustration is titled Freedom and is painted by Ukranian artist, Vika Muse. This past Tuesday, she gave permission for dVerse Poets to feature her artwork and write poems inspired by them.
Vika Muse wrote about another of her paintings, The Air of Freedom, “I wish I could have manta rays in the sky…instead of Russian bombs and military airplanes. I’ve noticed that my disturbing paintings didn’t make me happier. They cause even deeper depression. So I’ve tried to draw my future. It is bright and sunny. There are no bombs and war…Only beautiful landscapes and dreamlike sky. I hope I’ll meet such a future some day.”
Vika Muse says this about Freedom, the painting that inspired my poem today: “This artwork was made due to the hope, that we have the light at the end and the name of this light – is the Victory. That we will survive and rebuild our country.”
You can find artwork by Vika Muse at @get.muse and http://www.inprnt.com
And a thank-you to Mish at dVerse for discovering this artist so we can all see and marvel at her wonderful work.
Today’s post was specifically written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 16. We are asked to write a Curtal Sonnet, a poetry form invented by Gerard Manley Hopkins.
A Curtal Sonnet is 11 lines (actually 10.5) which is precisely 3/4 of the structure of a Petrachan sonnet which is 14 lines in length. That is, it is shrunk proportionally. The rhyme scheme is abcabc dcbdc The final line is a tail or half line. Another, what I call, sudoku prompt!
I’ve taken poetic license because of the intensity of the poem, to ignore the final line’s “c” rhyme requirement, but it is the requisite 2 syllables. The other lines are all the requisite 10 syllables.
Society’s expectations?
She doesn’t give two hoots
about being who she’s not.
It’s taken her a while to get there,
seven decades to be exact.
Wrinkle creams and hair dye be damned.
She wears flat shoes on every occasion,
air-dries her hair in all its grey glory
and orders dessert, which is mandatory.
Happily sleeveless when it’s hot,
just stare if you dare at her crepe-like skin
and notice her knees with those very high hems.
Stereotypical sayings are bantered about,
she’s older and wiser and been round the block
but look at her now as she picks her own route.
Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 15.
Today we’re asked to “write a poem about something you have absolutely no interest in.”
We’re invited “to investigate some of the ‘why’ behind resolutely not giving two hoots about something.”
Although my poem is written in third person, this is how I feel at seventy-five.
The second half of joy is shorter than the first.
Emily Dickinson
everyday a gift
wildflowers along the road –
snow falls silently
Written for the NAPOWRIMO prompt given the day before National Poetry Writing Month begins. We are to respond to one of Emily Dickinson’s lines of poetry. Several are provided or we may choose our own.
Also will appear at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is OLN: Open Link Night. Ingrid is hosting and we may post any one poem of our choosing. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time.
NAPOWRIMO begins officially tomorrow. April is National Poetry Writing Month and the challenge is to write a poem every day of the month.
Photo is from our trip to Ireland a number of years ago.
Some days are sum daze.
Blahs drop in
clock ticks on
knees creak
clouds seep in
wallows win.
Sun days are better.
Basking in bright
morning and night.
Safe, sheltered, fed.
Blue veined hands
pick daffodils in spring.
What spirits roam this earth?
Moon gods no longer constant
fatigued by cloud-strung battles,
wax and wane their beams.
Seasons test the sun,
warmth succumbs to winter gales.
Spirits gone these many years
hover o’er our heads.
Their whispers ride the winds.
Arise my children, each day sublime,
whether warm or cold or dark or light,
reach out, touch hands, and dance.
Smile hope upon your neighbors
be they far or near.
Smile hope upon your loved ones
be they on earth,
or in the heavenly sphere.
All gaze upon the same bright stars.
Love this day together, my children,
for I am with you as they are too.
Greet each day sublime,
hearts flush with gratitude, no fear.
Listen for their whispers
they are always there to hear.
Image by freepik.com
I sit in the early morning
near rain dappled leaves,
contemplating . . .
Even in the midst of showers
or thunder storms,
the sun shines.
It is simply obscured by clouds . . .
but it will reappear.
Video taken last week at our family reunion in Warrenton, VA …. from the porch of our rented farmhouse.
She writes of the sacred land,
red earth cherished by Creek Nation.
Moencopi Rise, Round Rock,
Four Corners, a dreaming place of bears.
Her words are songs of praise
to ochre soil, parched sand,
grey rocks, and dust spattered plants.
Her faith in the whole,
revealed in full and sliver moon
steady and flickering stars.
Prayer is manifest
as horses gallop through hills.
Words written in linear lines
paint images revered by generations.
Her poetic spirit soars.
An eagle spreads its wings,
magnificently embracing
the bluest of skies.
She is those who were before her,
caretakers of Mother Earth all.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Late for the Tuesday Poetics prompt given by Laura. She asks us to consider poems to a poet. I decided to write an ode to poet Joy Harjo.
JOY HARJO is a member of the Creek Nation. She is a screen writer, poet, and teaches creative writing and Native American Literature at the University of Arizona. She has received the New Mexico Governor’s Award for Excellence in the Arts, a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers Circle of the Americas, and the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America. Harjo served as United States poet laureate from 2019-2021, and was the first Native American to serve in the position.
Image from Pixabay.com
No name and no identity.
I was caged, abandoned.
Lived in a shelter,
not really a home.
Rise up . . .
let ’em know my worth.
Look ‘em in the eye
and stand up tall.
Rise up . . .
from obscurity.
Major news story,
I’m staking my claim.
Rise up . . .
just walk on in.
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
DOUS. That’s actually me.
You try it now.
Let ’em see your worth.
Look ‘em in the eye
and stand up tall.
It’s a new day a comin’.
tell the whole world.
I got this now,
so you can too.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Peter from Australia is hosting. He is looking at Poetry of Witness and asks us to go to our local newspaper and find a publicly reported event to write about. IE giving witness to an occurrence. That’s President-Elect Biden above, with his dog Major who he adopted in 2018 from the Delaware Humane Association. He was a shelter dog, abandoned to the shelter by someone for whatever reason. Unwanted. And now Major will be the DUSA (Dog of the United States), moving in to the White House on January 20th!
And the allegorical tail? Major teaches us that any person can stand up tall, look ’em in the eye and ultimately become POUS!
Moonbeams, sunbeams
smile and kindness beams,
prayer beams too.
May we collect and disperse them.
May they touch our hearts
and warm our souls,
as we tiptoe and sometimes hurdle
through these challenging times.
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. In this crazy world today, where the earth seems to have tipped on its axis and thrown us all into a time of “social distancing” and “shelter in place” orders; closed restaurants and pubs and churches and concert venues; challenged hospitals by surges and a lack of protective wear and ventilators, I offer this small prayer today.
And I am thankful for all health care workers, grocery clerks and pharmacists, truck drivers who are the backbone of our supply chain but cannot find a restaurant open on the highways they are traveling. I am thankful for dVerse, one of the few pubs in the world staying open through all of this. Hugs are encouraged in this pub…..so to all my readers and dVerse friends, consider yourself hugged today!
lillian the home poet 