Tag: dversepoets.com

So the latest prompt at dVerse Poets asked to take into consideration Pablo Neruda’s poem “The Wide Ocean” and the line …

“Ocean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit of your gifts and destructions …”

.

At The Edge Of The Surf (and dreaming)

I sat at the edge of the surf lap

salt breeze in my hair’s nose eye filling

it with clean crisp scented horizon to the curve and the fall

off the edge of the world and I swam tail tumbled with it (sea monsters be damned)

.

I sat on the edge of the surf lap

salt wet well heavy sand in my short’s pockets filling

them with distant worlds as many as grains some say

soon nothing more than to clog the shower

.

I sat in the edge of the surf lap

salt slap slapping the barnacled sides of swashbuckles filling

my childhood mind of salty peg legged cliches and snarky shoulder parrots

disguised now as distant cargo ships passing over the graves of my stories

.

I sat with the edge of the surf lap

salt sound rushing, hovering, digging my ears filling

them with floating gull life hungered cries above

to sand dig crab scratching on bits of sun glinting worlds below trying to hide

.

I sat am the whole of the surf lap

salt of earth and wind and sky and ocean filling

always ocean, especially ocean, filling

pockets with worlds in my tides

So returning to the art of Catrin Welz-Stein in a latest prompt at dVerse Poets, four paintings to choose from and then write away as you will on one or more.

Are All Accounted For In the Moon? (to dream)

The Captain called us all aboard at eyes shut wide

Déjà vu?

aboard captain, again

again

Ennui?

here Sir, ready to break free

Regret?

here (sigh)

you’re late

sorry Sir

Amalgam of youth?

(in unison) on deck

from where tonight?

(in unison in unison) a toss of year(s) Sir

Fear? … Oh, stop … we’re just flying into dream

but …?

You can run, you can stall, you can trip, you can fall

quiet

from heavens through clouds

or from small atolls

aloud …  

… but it’s always too real for us all

… you’ll still wake, I’ll almost promise you daylight’ll still call

Anger? No, I know you’re aboard

!!!!!

Artists in color?

ready to paint vibrant Sir

Artists in black and white?

ready to paint an absence

Singers?

just off key Sir, enough

Joy? You still in with this company?

always Sir,

happy self sycophancy

.

The moon was more than willing to be yoked as an ox

or reined as a braided guilded horse

or bridled an ass

or even boated a hung foolish ship

but tethered on deck still

of

all willing slaves of sleeping adventure, rowing

rowing

a ship of nonsense,

or import

all equal for transport,

all equal

to what might come

tonight on light seas, nay, oceans of drama dream

discovery …

.

The Captain called us all aboard at eyes wide shut

again

Déjà vu? Is that you?

it is Sir

again

When seeing this prompt from Bjorn at dVerse Poets “Today I want you to use Onomatopoeia in your poem, to strengthen the imagery through its sound” I thought back to a poem I had written a number of years ago (2016) that had use of such, though briefly, and that I included as part of a post of remembrance for my dear Shoes, aka “The Big Orange”, who passed away about a year into living in a new place, along with Bella, with me single again, after a breakup.  

Now this apartment, a wonderful little place, happened to be just across the Hudson from the train tracks that ran along the river. I found comfort in my two furry sidekicks but also in the sound of those trains at night and wrote about them then and my new found solitude.

Being reminded of it though, and with a new eye, I thought to a bit of re-work and to expand with Bjorn’s prompt in mind.

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Trains Pass

Trains pass

rumble and clack, clackety clack, clack clackety, clack and rumble in order, order

across a river

Pass past the meander of tugs doing silent heavy water work

only in the shoulder length soft splash – wash – splash – wash – splash wash wake

felt

in the night

in other times

any proof they were even there

.

They pass the overgrown cat’s couch comforter

Bella

unawares

through my tiny comfy disturbing

nothing

not even a single dining room chair

.

from a neighbor’s dinner  

unawares

throwing air tasted

Island stereo song scent treats into every corner of this new tiny

from below my feet

familial familiar clink clink clink laughing silverware china clink clink

wishing if only for a fork and an invite

.

Shoes

To my left

in purr-in purr-out purr-in purr-out even cat breath measure

matches the clackety’s and the clacks and the clack clackety’s

from across a river

.

There’s rhythm, melody, music in trains

and scents

in the linger of a stranger’s daily

below my feet waking, cooking, fighting, living, laughing

the couch

overgrown comforter sleeps as do left bed purr-in purr-out sides

while trains pass in clackety clack clack clackety time  

carrying

sleeping cats

scented hungry music

in a clackety rhythm

of strange new comfort

From dVerse and Sanaa inviting to write a poem in a Maggie Smith conversational style

Talk to the Wind

I talk to the wind that listens in selfish wispy drafts

only to float away

with other interests

 

I watch it disappear away from my page

personified 

remnants then

in their

seasons passed

 

Cold clear crisp electric   

Fall musty ochre sunset

Hot haze happy shimmer 

Sprung earth new day  

 

I talk to them, these

remnants  

as they wisp back to reappear on my page 

In their lost season

landing to ask if they are still here

in my wind, to speak for them

if I can forgive them for leaving me

behind

but keep them alive

still

under my pen

In response to … Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt: ‘temperature’

Write a poem of 37 words, not including the title, using the word “temperature” … no other stipulation.

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Wall

The devil and an ordinary angel sat

Reclining on

Recalling a wall

Their divide

That bordered a stream running North and South

East and West

The only gauge of which way to go

at

Was the temperature