Tag: poetry

Shared

by Stephen J Frankenberry3 Comments on Shared

New Quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets this week, and one more for the year, this one from Mish and the word here is “Hibernate”

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Shared

Cricket the Cat can trouble

sleep

too with me

not sure which causes the other

if at all

possibly

blind antsy cat angst  

or my equal dreading closed eye finds  

shared

only to hold her to my chest

to hibernate together

closer

in kind

The Holiday Postcard Tableau (poem)

by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments on The Holiday Postcard Tableau (poem)

The prompt this time here was from Laura and of a tableau.

And our tableau has a fixed poetry style entitled The Tableau – created by Emily Romano in October of 2008

Poetry Style:

  • 1 or more verses
  • 6 lines per verse
  • 5 beats/syllables per line

Poetry Rules:

  • title should contain the word ‘tableau’
  • poem should aim to be pictorial
  • no rhyme scheme

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The Holiday Postcard Tableau

Everyone cheesed

with wide Cheshire grins

I poked a finger

in sister’s shoulder

from back of the car

in a living room

.

Mom glared with a wink

pushing us to one

together with hands

directing movie’s

still photos to spend

just the right moment

.

One to send to Aunts

or friends reconnect

once a year to see

in perfect sweaters

or even a tie

with broad smiles us we

.

It’s tall mantle framed

for a cat to skirt

ginger steps ’round smiles

for aunts miles away

to remind us that

we had such a day

Sweat Pants (poem)

by Stephen J Frankenberry6 Comments on Sweat Pants (poem)

Lillian had a prompt at dVerse Poets earlier this week titled “Come Sew With Me … Sort Of …” where she gave a wonderful little glimpse into some of her life’s days and her family and how a great deal of these days were impacted by her sewing machine.

Her prompt then, in relation to that (in the above link), was to ask folks to write a poem that incorporates one or more of the sewing terms she listed in said link. 

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Sweat Pants

Years have longed me

to try and seem even a glimpse of

pant seams unstretched

back to

younger ones

before I longed

older years to be more like those

maybe if I start walking

with intent

sit up more than just sitting up

being victory enough

of still breathing we talk

joke

but so buttonholes on jeans won’t mock

my pinch-skin attempts

tell me they won’t tell if I don’t of an open ease hid with a belt

and legs won’t need hemmed or folded

recall (ing)

when I was tall (er)

two inches closer to the clouds

above now that made me more of a looker

I’m sure

in those younger years

but adjust then to these older ones

instead

and think,

well

who don’t like sweat pants?

The Mathematic (poem)

by Stephen J Frankenberry9 Comments on The Mathematic (poem)

So, Mish, at dVerse Poets had an idea this week to get poetic about numbers, of which you can find the explanation here.

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The Mathematic

The Mathematic turned to poetry

beauty up his numbered dull

with colorful thoughts

or ugly pretty found bursts

of emotion and sight  

till he saw poets could count

emotions in rules

and breaths even, if they wished them just right

.

He wondered to witches

calling earth and then sky

and all in betwixt … us

unseen to our eye

for wardings and cures from curses and threats

till he saw difference … in

amount’s pinch or drop’s intent

could be worried life or harbingers of death

.

He examined too, to priests

held in such lofty regard

that he envied not bound

to explain earthly fears  

more instead some grand prescience beyond

no greater the bard

but also one to sing in sequential verses

spoke in congregated number feared curses

.

He thought, then, I too, count

but just so in stars

making maps as guides for their rides cross the sky

taking us in their own prettied word silence wind

above our footed clay

healing worries of our bound

or maybe, in those heavens

I too have numbers profound

and the Mathematic

found himself

unalone

The Sound and Shapes of Stars (poem)

by Stephen J Frankenberry6 Comments on The Sound and Shapes of Stars (poem)

So, a new prompt from Laura at dVerse Poets is to get Chaucerian with a Roundel. This is something I’m sure I would remember if I were to be transported back to my College days, and Doc Sipple and Doc Bowers but then, in that transporting back, I would most surely get distracted and totally forget the task at hand and forget about those classes and lessons.

But here, in the now?

Circling back to the 14th Century: Though we often associate the Roundel with Swinburne, his was a 19th century deviation because it is to Chaucer that we owe this poetry style, (as well as the iambic pentameter and the ‘rime royal’).

Thus we distinguish the Chaucerian Roundel from all other forms as well as from The Rondel and Rondeau. And by now you’ve guessed that our poetry today is to be written as Chaucer outlines:

Poetry Style:

  • 13 lines
  • 3 stanzas divided into 3 lines (tercet); 4 lines (quatrain) 6 lines (sestet)
  • rhyme scheme: A B1 B2/a b A B1/a b b A B1 B2
  • usually 10 syllables per line as iambic pentameter

As is evident from the above there are only 2 rhymes to the scheme, and once you have the first 3 lines, it repeats in two refrains so the poem is not too challenging!

Ok, now I will beg to differ on the “not too challenging” but?

So I went to where I’ve been on a few things somewhat recently and hope I kept to task Laura.

As to Doc Sipple and Doc Bower? Sorry I’m late, I was a bit distracted.

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The Sound and Shapes of Stars

Singing songs no one dears but me off key

stars grass at my back and breeze through my toes

of twilight verses and star choruses those

.

A menagerie of lighted point shapes stabled

fed above clouds of my head on clear eves

Singing songs no one dears but me off key

stars grass at my back and breeze through my toes

.

They crow and bubble and roar bark soundings

star shapes of animal comfort arms outstretched

to pet and grasp and sing at time’s knowing

Singing songs no one dears but me off key

stars grass at my back and breeze through my toes

singing songs in boy head of choruses those

Whirly Whirl Anxious Days (poem)

by Stephen J Frankenberry5 Comments on Whirly Whirl Anxious Days (poem)

New Quadrille prompt this week at dVerse poets from Whimsygizmo, that dVerse 44 worder to include just one word.

The word this time around?

“Whirl”

Whimsy’s prompt is here

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Whirly Whirl Anxious Days     

It hovers, floats

above

with

Birds

it fast circles a drowning

swirling

Pool

down

to the depths

realizing sea monsters

it

Gigs

a carousel’s spin

it

rides overwhelming  

Wind

all in a blur

of a many

Whirl

curling fear’s toes

in anxiety’s

anxious days

Paper Pilot (poem)

by Stephen J Frankenberry8 Comments on Paper Pilot (poem)

So for a Tuesday Poetics at dVerse Poets Lisa / Li talks of getting Crafty.

Dictionary.com gives these 3 options as definitions of craftsmanship:
the art or skill of a craftsperson.
the quality of being well-crafted or well-built.
the product or result of skilled labor or craft.

Another site gives craft three meanings:
an object made with skill
a vehicle for traveling on water or through air
an individual who makes objects in a skilled way.

Your challenge today is to use one or more of the definitions of craft or craftspersonship that have been given and write a poem in any format or length you choose.

So I thought, then, to crafting Paper Airplanes and just kind of flew along for a bit.

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Paper Pilot

It started with a blank stories sheet

that began all

folded in half

the top bent in never quite matching tri corners

then

to a point

made about flight

and escaping into the sky

of mind

if only to try

and think why

not

where Pilot would sit

in thoughts of finding a breeze  

maybe reserved for the kites

from a sprinting giggling hillside

with pretty painted wind flushed chests

and colorful tails

but no strings to hold this flight

Pilot just hoping

it might alight, soar on its own

before a new crumpled ball

added

in a quiet crashing pile

underneath

them all

till …

A folded blank sheet

new

from a fresh ream of paper

another that started

all stories

of flights

maybe this one

with newly engineered tale,

one of its own,

something folded extra aero

dynamic

might do the trick

of flight

this time

Molting Verse (a rengay poem with David B)

by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments on Molting Verse (a rengay poem with David B)

David, of The Skeptic’s Kaddish, reached out to me and asked if I would like to work a poetry Rengay with him.

Now this is something I hadn’t done before, a Rengay, a call and response sort of thing that has a base in Haiku. That’s here for definition.

But the fact that he thought of me for such?

Waaaaay cool.

And the time it took, over a couple of weeks? Cooler still as it just paced itself along with that time and with life thrown in for the extend.

So to a Rengay then and one of renewal …

Molting Verse

(sjf)
pinfeather words flitted
shed old skin to be more spry
to fly, tomorrow

(db)
curled deep in borrowed burrow
 African   rock    python   molts

(sjf)
and the earth itself
found lost hopes in the middle
ground thoughts in the sky

(db)
upon dawn
dreams barely linger —
me? half-known

(sjf)
half dreamt full dirt … then … then
but now new story out in the blue

(db)
soot-dark quill amends
fluttering fledgling fable—
shadow dries in breeze

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Molting Verse

pinfeather words flitted
shed old skin to be more spry
to fly, tomorrow

curled deep in borrowed burrow
 African rock python molts

and the earth itself
found lost hopes in the middle
ground thoughts in the sky

upon dawn
dreams barely linger —
me? half-known

half dreamt full dirt … then … then
but now new story out in the blue

soot-dark quill amends
fluttering fledgling fable—
shadow dries in breeze

Cheers David

Raven’s Night (poem revisit for this Halloween Night)

by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments on Raven’s Night (poem revisit for this Halloween Night)

Well, time to close out a week or so then, a week or so’s worth of creepy-esque things of mine leading up to this Halloween Night.

I had already planned on finishing up the week with this one but, as a true Halloween night might call and cliche for, it is actually wildly windy out there in this Albany, NY area right now, with unrelenting cold drizzly bone seeping wet, evident all day foreboding an extra blustery, chillingly dark night and most apropos too as it was a similar night I wrote about here, in this one, for the Raven just before he came to made famous.

The post explains a bit more but. simply, to write a prequel to a literary character’s story …

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January 24, 2024

So, at a newly found for me “Poet’s Pub” of a site, dVersepoets.com, I came across a post that had a prompt to write what it refers to as a poetic Quadrille, a 44 word poem (not including the title) but in this prompt it said you need include the word “pinch” in any way you saw fit.

This I did and it is the most recent post in the Attic here, “Don’t Pinch Me”.

Well, came across another poem prompt yesterday that asked that you write a prequel for a character from literature.

Write a poem that is a prequel to a particular character from a nursery rhyme, Aesop’s fable, book , mythology etc.  

And the responses that I have read thus far to this prompt are so imaginative and colorful and haunting that I can’t wait to finish them all.

But for me, after running through a few possibilities in my head, I thought to Edgar Allen Poe and the Raven and of the Raven himself.

.

Raven’s Night

I am not dead nor demon to be read or written of

I implore you open your door

or window

shutter’s curtains

flitting

with welcome inside out air

and any manner of candlelit care

with which to let me see your floor

please

to just walk that floor

or even alight a door

that I implore

again

you

to open

outside no place for me tonight

in weary last vestige of now blustery light

that casts shadows that scare me from flight

and I don’t scare

for I am Raven

confused of crow brethren

curse-ed cousins

but stronger than they even as they crow foot in murder of friends

what they needs simple

with simple’s ends

while I seek a just solitude and to depart nights

now

tired of taking flight in dark

reputation

just a me to be me but I am scared of he me

and what I no longer want see

in the dim

even eve’s with path clear in crisp moonlight

but worse on nights like  

these

this

this one

this night at hand

and I see your light

window

harks

a place maybe to land

and

I will make amends for this slight into

your solitude

.

For I am Raven

I can build things from sticks and stones

peck and grab and stab and stack and foot place just right

or even

build things from thoughts and words alone

to assist you

in candlelight

I just don’t want to flight

in dark

any longer

and

not this night

in most simple order

I just need walk a floor

or alight a door

allow

please

me bring inside

at least

for

this just

one night

The Scrapbook And The Man In The Black Fedora (Flash Fiction revisit for this Halloween Week)

by Stephen J Frankenberry4 Comments on The Scrapbook And The Man In The Black Fedora (Flash Fiction revisit for this Halloween Week)

And continuing with revisiting a poem or a story every day this week that fit a creepy theme as we approach Halloween. This one from a Flash Fiction prompt, August of last year.

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August 12, 2024

It’s Monday and, at the dVerse Poets Pub, we are writing Prosery, the very short piece of prose or flash fiction . It can be in any genre of your choice, but it does have a limit of 144 words; an additional challenge is to hit 144 exactly. The special thing about Prosery is that we give you a complete line or two from a poem, which must be included somewhere in your story, within the 144-word limit.

The complete line or two in this case are from Leonard Cohen and his poem “Take this Waltz” with the lines being …

And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss

.

The Scrapbook And The Man In The Black Fedora

“Hey Jaimie, check this out, just found this covered in moss behind a tree”

Presents a tattered book with dead flowers pinned to it and a warning “DO NOT OPEN”

“Well, let’s see what’s in it”

“It says not to open Billy”

“C’mon, probably just a note left by the 11 year old girl who lost it. It looks like a scrapbook”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right”

Billy opening the scrapbook finds it filled with photo’s of people and notations of the date/time of their deaths and scribbled inside the cover …

And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss

At that moment a man in a black fedora appeared.

The air stilled.

Then Billy was gone and all Jaimie caught as the fedora’d man closed the scrapbook was a quick glimpse of Billy’s picture.