All of life falls vaguely under one of these categories. Write your poem with one of these aspects as your inspiration. Be as literal as you wish, or take them to extremes.
It could be a person, pet, a wild beast, Sasquatch...
It might be asparagus, a fern, bread mold...
Possibly something from the periodic table, table salt, or **BLING**
If it grows, breathes or carries its weight, make it rhyme.
Marie’s Sweet Children’s Poem:
NONNA'S CHERRY TREE (A poem for children)
A limb that’s low enough for me,
Lifts me up so I can see
Nonna, picking sugar peas,
Apron blowing in the breeze.
A comfy spot to read my book
Overlooks a lively brook,
Where the water froths and foams,
Tadpoles scurry to their homes.
In a hollowed knot, I spy
Rotting wood, and ants that fly.
Up above, I spot a nest.
Momma bird fights off a pest.
Cherries, juicy-ripe and sweet,
Some for baking; some to eat
Just-picked with my own two hands,
Dropping into metal pans.
Oops! I find a worm in one
That’s when I decide I’m done.
So, I climb down from my spot;
Dump my cache from pans to pot.
Nonna helps me carry them,
Then I help her pit and stem.
Next, I help my Nonna bake
Cherry pie; black forest cake.
Nonna lets me spend the night,
Tucks me in, and says, “Sleep tight!”
Then I dream I’m flying free,
Smiling down on Nonna’s tree.
(Note from Marie Elena: Though this poem is make-believe, it was inspired by my own Nonna's cherry tree, which was quite special to all of us grandchildren.)
Walt’s Elegy:
HEADSTONES
Your place marking time,
I trace your name with a fingerand linger long in thoughts of you all.
I miss you and ache greatly for it.But it is the way life transpires.
I never tire from coming to spenda moment with you; a minute, an hour…
I water the flowers we had planted here,as you had always done for your parents
who lay next to you. And you two together,a forever shared in the embrace of Him who made
us all. He had called you all home. Leaving meto roam between these stones of marble and granite
marking this time; my words marking this placeuntil we are all face-to-face in the renewed Light of Love above.
My heroes all in one spot and a lot of love still remains.(Waltz Notes: I have finally gotten my chapbook, WOOD, into the hands of all my siblings and they were astonished by its honesty, weight and heart – their words, not mine. I visited the cemetery this afternoon and spent time reading it aloud to the people who mattered the most. A nerdy thing to do, I know, but something I needed to do. WOOD lives on, as do my parents and grandparents in these heartfelt words.)
An exceptional piece even for you, Walt. And not "nerdy" at all, but an entirely lovely and heartwarming moment in time. I have to wonder how you made it through your reading. Bless your heart.
ReplyDeleteMatter
ReplyDeleteI have touched mist.
I know that freedom is only as limited
as your perception of freedom.
I too have been told secrets by seashells.
I have been the body inside the coffin
at a viking burial,
the one burned with alcohol
and the one inside the car right before the explosion.
Goodbye again.
It's not the disappearing
but the reappearing that hurts.
Your wrist now clicks.
Up close everything is chaos.
You haven't called the lagoon in years.
It has much less to do with the waterfall
than with how you arrive at the waterfall.
If you concentrate you can taste it.
Some never get there,
some never leave.
I think that's what Carver was trying to say
before he died.
Can you see where we're going?
I chose "animal." Here is my poem:
ReplyDeleteANIMALSPEEK
today i loosened my tongue
to animalspeek
talked in the lingo
of the winged and the pawed
cooed and barked
meowed with kittens
basking in the shade
of a tree birded with sparrows
today i let myself go
into animalspeek
where thoughts came
sparking in a filamented
highway of neurons
voweled and consonanted
far from human lines we tow in our talk
but send animals into hiding
today i said "No words today"
only animalspeek
the growls the caws
the chirps the whistles
the engine feline purrings
the panting canine tongues
i will string no letters into words
no words into human-life sentences
no people voice
today in the yard
dogs and cats and birds
and i gathered
to animalspeek
the time of day
not to gossip or complain
nor curse a way of life
instead in animalspeek
we rooted for the caterpillar
crawling up the stem
to the cup of an opened daisy
#
Love the song in your cherry tree, M;
ReplyDeleteW: you can think it nerdy, but I call it a grand idea, and envy you a depth of connection that excludes time.
Animal
I, a concept,
hear you, another.
And I have heard music, and anger, tenderness, gaity;
smelled victory, and trouble;
tasted freedom
felt shame and hate, absence, joy;
seen progress, ugliness, grandeur;
possessed and lived in both house and home,
and also lived in sin and poverty.
I have wasted time and opportunity, childhood; lost innocence; known friendship and love.
just getting warmed up with a little silliness. I hope to write another, taking time to polish it. Perhaps a vegetable poem.
ReplyDeleteOkapi
You're like no other, yet try your hand at being a few.
The coloring of your back in a reddish-brown hue
Reminds me of a squirrel or fox or mink.
Is that what you want me to think?
Yet, those black and white striped legs you possess
Resemble a zebra going to the ball in a reddish-brown dress.
I must laugh at that silly thought and wonder if you
Considering yourself the animal comedian of the zoo.
Now, if we overlooked the color and just consider the fur
Perhaps you want us all to falsely concur
That you are some sort of thin, confused polar bear
Since your oily coat repels water from each and every hair
And your tongue is blue like a polar's or chow chow
but much, much longer—and my, oh, my, how!
That sucker is 35 cm long and pointy, too,
Like a chameleon who sharpened his to spear fly stew.
However, the male of your species give you away.
With the ossicones they so proudly display
It's apparent the giraffe is in your family tree.
All your pretending just can't fool me.
Though maybe it is not me who is the fool.
Maybe you really think you are a bear-zebra-mule.
Perhaps the mix and match body parts involved
Give you an identify crisis waiting to be resolved.
Like gargantuan gray yams,
ReplyDeletetapered to a paddle-shaped tail
two flippers in front,
snout that looks like it ran into a brick wall
eyes like two deep holes
a mouth formed in frown,
as if they were once princes and princesses
cursed to drift about underwater
as Manatees.
I Could Never Own a Pig
ReplyDeleteSmoky bacon frying in
its own delicious fat.
Crisping to perfection is
the most important step.
Once the fatty goodness is
rendered down quite well,
it's time to create a fabulous
and oh so scrumptious meal.
Crumble it on salad
or add to Brussels sprouts.
It will make any veggie tastier,
on this I have no doubt.
Pile it high on sliced bread and
add a tomato or two,
or wrap it around some scallops,
your taste buds will be thankful for you.
Eat it plain with breakfast
or dip in maple syrup.
Sprinkle on top of donuts
and your kids will surely adore it.
Dice it, wrap it, eat it alone
the variations never end.
So, I'll never keep a pig for a pet,
I could never eat one of my friends.
Do You Hear the Distant Cry?
ReplyDeleteEmerald is the illusion set before mine eyes
in a field of growing life that sways
to the rhythm of slapping wind.
From this balcony flap is the world’s
closed mind. I observe a game of pantomime
where leaves of willow trees are arms that wave
as celestial spirits preach divine understanding
in this growing void of human disregard
while ominous fertile grounds rejoice
in meditative peace, hope, and love.
Yet pollution jostles the air I breathe
as Mother Earth’s choir sings praise on high
burning incense is the smoke that fills the air
with bones dissolved through war’s endless cry:
why can’t we be this field of green?
The Teacher’s Cat
ReplyDelete-The Teacher’s Cat is an adjective game I play with students based on the old Scottish parlour game “The Minister’s Cat
The teacher’s cat is an adorable cat,
the teacher’s cat is a beautiful cat,
the teacher’s cat is a Charlie cat.
Charlie sat and looked and looked and looked,
all day every day Charlie looked at the outside world,
where he used to live.
He purred round the teacher’s legs as he worked,
he snuggled and slept on the teacher’s bed as the teacher slept,
he ate and played with his friend when it suited,
but mostly he looked out the window
and deep down inside the teacher knew.
The teacher’s cat is a delightful cat,
the teacher’s cat is an elegant cat,
the teacher’s cat is a furry cat,
the teacher’s cat is a garden cat.
A simple error with a door
and Charlie was house bound no more,
he went back to the garden where he was young,
he called back now and again but never did enter in,
his wild side had won through,
there was nothing for the teacher to do.
The teacher’s cat is a hopeless cat,
the teacher’s cat is an independent cat,
the teacher’s cat is a jumping cat,
the teacher’s cat is a kindly cat,
the teacher’s cat is a lonely cat,
the teacher’s cat is a magnificent cat.
For many long months he lived alone,
fed each day by a friend in need,
a friend indeed
and plans were made for future times,
twice he was brought home,
only to leave again.
The teacher’s cat is a naughty cat,
the teacher’s cat is an outside cat.
Hope rises as a home is found,
charitable friends of the feline form,
will take the homeless wanderer away,
to foreign climes where he will have a door that opens,
a garden to play in, to laze in and a bed to sleep and dream in:
the teacher’s cat is passported cat.
The teacher’s cat is a quiet cat,
the teacher’s cat is a runaway cat,
the teacher’s cat is a sneaky cat,
the teacher’s cat is a travelling cat.
He boards the van, caged again,
not knowing his fate,
not content in his confinement,
not hoping for freedom,
the teacher’s cat is an unhappy cat.
The teacher’s cat is a vagabond cat,
the teacher’s cat is a wild cat,
the teacher’s cat is xenophobic cat,
the teacher’s cat is a yowling cat,
the teacher’s cat is a Zydeco cat – danse-toi!
And so a new life begins on German soil with doors wide open
and the food bowl full
and a warm bed when he wants it and a garden when he doesn’t,
the teacher’s cat is an absent cat,
but absence makes the heart grow fonder
and still he is missed
and still he is thought of,
but his happiness is paramount
and tears are wiped away with a smile, even though
the teacher’s cat is not a teacher’s cat.
Iain
Midnight Pumpkins
ReplyDeleteOctober in a coffee cup,
spicy sweet scent of cinnamon,
dash of nutmeg, swirl of cream,
taste of cozy fireplaces, colored leaves,
warming taste-buds, infusing hearts,
late night laughter with friends.
November swirled on flaky pastry
crumbling on the lips, savory smooth,
buttery and sweet on the tongue,
bite-size morsels of a harvest moon,
full-bodied cornucopia of flavors,
comfort of family seasoned with love.
Thorny Roses
ReplyDeleteHow can this pastel sweetness,
fragrant as an angel's hair,
tear flesh to shreds and bleed
its admirer of its affections
DIET MASTER, ALPHA DOG
ReplyDeleteMy hands filled with beans and berries,
I march across the mirrored stage
of middle life, obsessed with my
hairless animality. I even project
my vanity on the family dog. Down
the stairs I bolt, convinced that I hear
a plate of eggs scraping across
the kitchen floor.
- David W
This poem is from Jane Shlensky. Great work, Jane!
ReplyDeleteMANGROVE
We can not
live without the Salt
of the earth,
but water
fresh and clear dilutes the tides
of blood’s oceans.
Sea-born but
land-fed, our bodies
don’t forget
the need to
live in both fresh and briny
depths of confluence.
What happy
mangrove miracle
that this tree
sends its long
speared seeds to sprout in saline
swamp, to purge water.
Perhaps, like
mangroves, we must learn
the way to
purify
what would kill us, rendering
all elements good.
Great work from our PBs poets!
ReplyDeleteI love your poem today, Laurie.
ReplyDeleteHe Like Rocks
ReplyDeleteThree feet from the ground
is a perfect vantage point
for spotting, speckled treasures
laying plainly in the dirt.
Thanks, Linda... I love yours... great rhyming!
ReplyDeleteWater
ReplyDeleted
r
i
p
s
and flows
and fills
t
u
b
e
s
flow
which over/
then
d
r
i
p
and flow
and fill flasks,
then bulbs
as the rhythm of time
moved forward,
relentlessly forward
until it is full.
Then it drains
and begins to fill
itself again.
* The water clock in this piece is at the Indianapolis Children's Museum, which we visited last week. If you'd like to see a photo of the clock, I'll post one, along with this poem, at my blog (http://gerald-walraven.blogspot.com/2011/07/water-clock.html).
I wrote this for the Sunday Whirl wordle prompt, and Paula suggested I post it here since it fit this prompt as well:
ReplyDeleteHummingbird
Emerald
wings flap
in divine rhythm,
tiny bones propelling
jeweltone body into
the celestial void
above bouganvillea’d balcony,
wing wind jostling blossoms,
tiny flier observing
neverending pantomime illusion
of overcoming ominous
extinction.
© 2011 Traci Bonney
July 17, 2011
mini marshmallows
ReplyDeleteatop baked sweet potatoes
made me smile today
: )
~Paula
Nice work, Traci.
ReplyDeleteExcellent poems all, and such a diversity of responses to the prompt. Bravo and brava!
ReplyDeleteYou got me rhyming about cat gut...
ReplyDeleteThe red priest goes on the tiles
As Paganini stumbled
Through the ancient stable door
His haughty countenance crumbled
Before the congregation on that floor.
A dozen stallions strong and fleet
Were breathing on his nose
While all around his trembling feet
Stood arching rows…
Of cats! Their green eyes blinking
With a look so fierce and bright
That Paganini started thinking
They were spoiling for a fight.
The atmosphere grew bolder
As a Siamese stalked near
And jumped up on his shoulder
To whisper in his ear,
“It’s come to our august attention
That your musical career
Has caused too much pain to mention
To the members gathered here.
The bow you boast is magical
For spinning music without fail
Is only fully functional
At the cost of a flowing tail
While the singing strings you love to stroke
To drive the ladies nuts
Can only really be baroque
Thanks to someone’s mother’s guts!”
A noisy chorus raised the roof
Of that bucolic dive
Presenting him the awful proof
He’d not escape alive
The violinist trembled
And sank down to his knees
Before all those assembled
Crying pitifully, “Please!...”
But the angry crowd came forth in packs
With cries of “hiss!” and “neigh!”
And on a hundred hairy backs
They carried him away
Ten miles before they cut him loose
With a note clear and nefarious
“Leave off your animal abuse,
Or we’ll bust your Stradivarius!”
Next morning he awakened
In an empty country lane
His night had left him shaken
He swore he’d never drink again
But just as a matter of careful course
After this nocturnal spat
He lavished sugar on his horse
And was nice to every cat.
Rabbit
ReplyDeleteplaying
Statues hiding
in the street:
I see you.
Beautiful work all! Sal I especially connected with yours. I've been living that one lately it seems. Thank you and smiles all @!
ReplyDeleteBLTs
ReplyDeleteFresh garden
greens,
red tomatoes
and
sometimes pets
end
up as bacon;
that's
the golden
way
of farm living.
2011-07-18
P. Wanken
Happy blooming, everyone. :)
~Paula
A TRI-COUPLED SESTET
ReplyDeleteBuy the Store
A student, green and gold galore.
She shouldn’t want to buy the store.
No money tree to grow another dime.
He wouldn’t see her anymore.
Yet couldn’t close the open door.
Her dog was there for her and for all time.
By Michael Grove
Copyright 7/19/2011
Jerry, I enjoyed the rhythm and flow of your piece.
ReplyDeleteLoving the interaction out here. Makes me smile!
ReplyDeleteMarie Elena
Testing Mozilla Firefox
ReplyDeleteThis week is no less than those of the past. There is such a range of perspective and talent here. I've had such fun reading all the poems so far. Good job, everyone.
ReplyDeleteHere's my first offering of the week.
Musica
Tiny chimes spread tinkling notes,
Flirting with hairs inside their canal,
Sneaking through with pleasured guile
To saddle up, riding pathways dark,
Their light a chemical spark.
Life riding air lasts a bare
Instant, fairy memory.
This is done in not quite reverse pyramid form. It uses a 12-9-13-9... measure.
ReplyDeleteElysia chorotica
A leaf of green fluttering in dainty allure,
Seeking nourishment on salt-marsh floor
Debunks man's understanding of God's handiwork.
Baby Elysia eats algae
To build her chlorophyll manufacturing plant.
Mature, sunlight will fuel her life, and
Scientists can't explain how animal joins with plant
To form this delicate creature.
My Cardinal
ReplyDeleteThe deep crimson cardinal
appears in time of need
to remind me I’m not alone
I have a friend, indeed.
This bird is my correspondent
sent down from up above,
to show God is listening
with eternal love.
I wrote this for the PA Wednesday prompt, but I thought it somewhat fit this prompt, so I am posting it here as well. I hope that is okay. It is about many physical things, everything that grows, breathes, carries weight or blings. I hope you like it and don't hate me too much for double posting. :)
ReplyDeleteSurface Tension.
Some milk will always stay behind with the glass,
two almost lovers settling for one another.
Empty is my mind when you need it most.
Trying to clear your head only clouds it further.
Where do all forgotten ideas go?
When it was decided that the old god was too mean
they adopted a new one,
one who was all forgiving
and drank red wine,
a real social kitty cat
napping in the boat with a storm in the distance.
Ya dig?
Concentrate on what is here.
The philosophy of a leaf. The sound of the lilac plant.
What the rain brings and not
what is washes away.
Empty is a philosophy very different from that of a leaf,
from that of a chipmunk, whose world is filled
with present stimulants
and can't comprehend empty in any language,
even chipmunk.
HAIKU(3) on Animal, Vegetable, Mineral and Emptying
ReplyDeleteThe kitty once purred.
Someone petted her too hard.
Kitty hisses now.
The rose bush blossomed.
Intense heat withered the buds.
Only thorns grow there.
Find the money tree.
Invest in precious metals.
Pure gold is melting.
By Michael Grove
Please cut & paste link to view "Deer One" on my blog. It's a bit long, and I don't want anyone to get carpal tunnel on my account! Thanks for being here, Marie and Walt, it's my first time posting. Peace, Amy
ReplyDeletehttp://sharplittlepencil.wordpress.com/2011/07/20/deer-one-poetic-bloomings/
Taking a Petrol Toll
ReplyDelete250 kilomtres from home,
enjoyimg the countryside
and the Summer breeze
along this much travelled road.
The auto cruises until it
loses the fuel to motor.
I ought to have gone earlier.
Next petrol 27km.
The countryside is overrated.
Hi there!
ReplyDeleteYeah....I know I've been MIA for a while, but that's because I was living in the land the prose world for a while - and poetry (for me) mostly went into hibernation.
It's been a bumpy but totally fascinating ride, except for the lack of sleep: hence the following tritina, which is my first entry for Poetic Bloomings - inspired by a small creature (probably a cat) who ran from my deck when I turned on the light in the middle of the night.
Where is the Cat?
…so it was three o’clock in the morning
and as per usual, I was awake
so I wished that I were a feral cat.
No matter the consequence, it’s the cat
who chases stars in the night, ‘til morning
comes. Then she packs away her games, awake
no more. I want to leave stars in my wake;
stars that come on little cat feet…a cat
who finds peaceful slumbers in the morning.
Morning comes and I am still awake…but I wonder…where is the cat?
Another TRI-COUPLED SESTET
ReplyDeleteBecause I’m Free
Because I’m free to roll and rock,
I am the key to my own lock.
I’ll never let myself fall down again.
Yes I will be mostly ad hoc.
No I won’t see the ticking clock.
I’ll still go fishing every now and then.
Because I’m free to take a chance,
to what degree I make a stance,
determines how the deck of cards will fall.
Sing let it be. My feet will dance,
A figgy tree may bring romance.
I’ll be happy in the wake of it all.
By Michael Grove
Elephant Observation
ReplyDeleteGiant rolls of thick grey skin
parched by the blazing sun
refuse to budge. She remains there,
sitting next to a smaller one,
her baby, who remains still as stone,
its rounded body, trunk and ears
reduced to a lifeless 250 pound clump.
The sight brings me to tears.
We watched the same scene yesterday,
and the day before--nudging its back,
pacing slowly around it, waiting,
protecting it from risk of attack--
and, yet, we think she knows. She
mourns her loss, as would you or I,
but she must do it all alone. Alone.
I stray from the group, continue to cry.
Oh, you people make it so hard to choose one piece to highlight.
ReplyDeleteI'm amused at how many are about cats. I'm not a cat person (not a cat hater, just far more of a dog person), but the cat poems are quite entertaining and well done!
Those rhyming pieces with story lines blow me away. I know how difficult it is to write a full story in rhyme, and do it well.
Linda, your elephant piece makes me want to cry.
Clauds, you are on a roll!
There are more new names, and we welcome each one of you.
RJ, so good to see you!! Very best wishes on your book!
Okay ... gotta choose ... oh my ...
Also, missing De terribly. Goodnight, De! Fall asleep to the call of the waves, the light of the moon, and the scent of salt air. =)
ReplyDeleteConnie, I enjoyed reading yours this week. Nice wording.
ReplyDeleteDon't worry, Marie Elena. De will be back. But, yes, her presence is missed.