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Tag Archives: Poetry
faceless
I got what I wanted
lost everything I had
what can I say
What can I do?
the faceless ones
took everything
including
you
From the heights
of the mountains
behind oslo
to the depths of despair
inseine
enparis
to be redeemed
after death alone
leaves me faceless
faithless
the impressions that i left
kept me away from you
reducing you to
faceless
along with your
faceless
crew
Today Lillian prompted we poets with works by an artist rejected by his country (Norway) Thorvald Hellesen. I chose this portrait of Mary Alice Eckbo because I felt it had great detail where there is none overtly apparent – as symbolised by the faceless Cubist impression that has been created. I really liked this artist’s work. It is hard to see how it was not recognised by his fellow Norwegians. You can find the prompt here https://dversepoets.com/2023/05/23/an-artist-gets-his-due/
The bottomless sea
swimming to the bottom of the bottomless sea
won’t you come and swim with me?
it’s the only place they’ll let us be
when we get to the bottom we’ll be free
just you and me and the bottomless sea
outa her mind
telling stories
of phantom glories
looking over her shoulder
smirking until I cry
beating on the table
playing I Spy
wondering who’s there
saying it’s fine
working in montage
death and decline
definitely hers
probably mine
twitching of the wrist
pumping of the fist
batting of the eyelids
passionate kiss
vicious kick
full cheek lick
what makes her tick
she’s a bomb
Holy
They told me I was holy I believed them Everything changed from there I knew what to say and how to say it I knew where to go and who to speak too And my messages of love served me well as I travelled the world gathering souls At first I thought I was on a mission Then the mission became a privilege I could bring light into the darkness Lift the blanket of shadow over the world Simply by saying the word Simply by telling everyone what they already knew Regardless of their inability to act I told them for a better world they must overcome self interest Then I saw the truth How important my own self interest had become If I was to be able to continue doing such good and noble work love was the word and they loved me while I loved adulation Prayer was empowerment They prayed, I played It was a perfect match of preacher and congregation Idolatry, narcissism and hedonism The spiritual demands of today’s society thereby being well met
A Surrealist Rhyme for Erik
I clipped their wings with shears of grey
The telescope told me I must act Whispering of star falls and moonrise attack I reflected on the power I lacked I must net time and hold it back the home I could lose the ground where I stood solid as rock shapable as wood saw me wretched with fear indecisive and torn was this last of days the final morn? So I took my sharpest pencil my notebook red wrapped my head in wool to drown out the dead in their bottle on the waves above the seabed. I went to the library to learn from the books how to save the moon from destructive skyhooks the learning was crystal clear as a diamond shards came together for this ignorant vagabond I knew what to do I knew it was right to save moon and world I had to take flight I set my glider to fly from an open window when the sun’s mellow light fades to soft evening glow I leapt on board to find rising fresh air but all that I found was a down draft there and I fell to the earth as so many more I resolved to try again but not like before. A path to nearby mountains was a long weary trek if I ramped it straight upward I could launch like a jet but the weight of the world again dragged me down into glass houses I crashed with a moan so I built giant steps on which I climbed high to take the moon down from the sky. As I ascended clouds hid the way I clipped their wings with shears of grey the stars came to guide me as I climbed and climbed pushing ever upward was all on my mind until the way was clear the view up ahead was one of the moon on a black velvet bed a moon barely rising still held in sleep’s sway a moon reluctant to hear my story let us say so I sweet talked that moon with promises and bribes offering pleasurable time on earth in which to imbibe the moon gave a yawn looked up and looked down asked if I was prophet, conman or clown? requested some proof what I had to say was true for it could hear only nonsense hard to construe so I pointed to the black heavens where no starlight glowed the moon was astonished then concerned and then bowed I will go with you to spend time on earth while threats to the skies are beaten and dispersed I will rise again when the stars once more burn to light the night sky with starlight returned. Moon sank into the ocean for a seaside holiday destruction avoided with the moon at play the culprits attacked night to find nothing but vacuum and the cow in the sky scooped them up with a spoon. This week Mish asked we poets to write from a gallery of surrealist photographer Erik Johansson’s images. Find the prompt here:
https://dversepoets.com/2023/05/09/poetics-slipping-into-surrealism-with-erik-johansson/
Healing
Explore your broken soul.
Remember healing is peace.
Roderick
Roderick was into sleeping.
He went to bed because in his head
he was boring.
No one noticed his time asleep.
He’d been gone a year and week,
which suggests he was quite boring.
He’d been lying in bed day after day,
when someone wondered, then went on to say,
“Where’s Roderick?”
They found him asleep and snoring.
Then they said how long it took
to find him in his tiny nook.
He quietly stated that he mistook
the year and week for one nice long sleep
convinced it was just the next morning.
Only getting up to go to the toilet,
his face was pale, eyes crusty and set.
At some time his beard he’d wrapped into
a bun, his idea of having a small bit of fun
to deal with the cold and no nightcap instead
he wrapped it around his balding head.
They all said how odd he looked.
He replied it was heat restoring.
With no one to talk to and no tv,
Roderick had slept all of that time restfully.
In his small dark room where day remained night
where awake was tedious and without delight.
When Roderick woke to that knock on the door,
a voice had asked, “Roderick, would you like to sleep more?”
Roderick never felt better than when he was sleeping
so to sleep again he went as night came creeping.
Never was he or others so content
than when Roderick slept and time simply went
another year until Roderick’s next dawning.
Discover your heart
Young cloud
prisoner of a turbulent sky
look inward
discover your heart
fly on
to find an open window
sail away
on the wings
of your desire
to other skies
clear and serene
I did it for my babies
I sobbed while I banged my head on the dock
I lit the fuse tick tock tick rock
With nowhere to go I ran amok
because I knew no one gave a fuck
and my children died inside the conflagration
while outside I died as a witness stationed
to watch this act as the ultimate martyr
from lover to mother to miserable failure
now my babies don’t suffer anymore don’t you see?
their loss was my hope for my babies three
their release from torment my relief and my grief
I their life giver corrupter and thief
I scratched at the doors where help is the word
I pleaded for help and not one cry was heard
I make no further excuses for this desperate crime
judge me oh judge me and I’ll do my time
but I urge you who judge to stop and reflect
on the festering harm of abuse and neglect
on how absence of care equals opportunity cost
from pitiful existence my babies were lost
As dry as the land
Night’s last lingering cool breath
Marks the beginning of the end
As we rouse and arouse
Sleepily rising and realising
This cannot, must not, ever happen again
Bidding farewell to the events of the dark
With butterfly kisses and nuzzles
Tears of grief dwell, well and fall
As we own everything and commit to nothing more
For the first time, the last time we lie together
We listen in silence as another day’s hot outback wind
Begins to worry the doors and windows
And again rattle at the foundations of our lives
It’s the same drought wind that has been blowing forever
Forever keeping us apart no matter how much we lean into it
It keeps blowing us backwards to where we came from
It marks our passing back into life as it really is
Demanding and obligating with survival at its core
As dry as the land, as gritty as the sand
Bruised
I’m feeling a little bruised
a little rushed a little used
when you turn your whip like tongue on me
a little crushed and very confused
when you say that I’m not worth it
yet you keep on coming back
I decide that I’ll stick with it
and then you call me slack
yes I’m a sucker for punishment
my friends all tell me that
but really I’m a sucker for nourishment
I pray for it after every spat
I hate you and I love you
I tell you and relent
then you diss me and you kiss me
never knowing what each one meant
you don’t hit me or spit on me
you don’t go out with another
you just discard me like a soiled rag
whenever you think I’m a bother
then you take me back when it suits
knowing you'll always have the boots
to stand over me til I breakdown
to abuse me when I meltdown
I crave to be better, yet I'm a weak nag
always with one hand reaching for an escape bag
but I turn back from every open door
I pathetically keep coming back for more
then as I slide down every jamb
lamb to slaughter, slaughtered lamb
self esteem slides with me, to the floor we sag
and I gag and I gag and I gag
I see myself for what I have become
I know I'm not the only one
It isn't something helpful to know
others also powerless if they stay, powerless to go
My first American sentence
Deep, deep in the forest where man is not known there is no good or bad.
- One line
- Seventeen syllables
- Condensed, no unnecessary words or articles
- Includes a turn or enlightenment
Thank you David Ben Alexander (and Allen Ginsberg) for alerting me to new forms of haiku.
Mary’s haiku
to eternity heartbeat of the haunted self ghost of broken trust
blaze
slow anger infiltrates expands like smoke explodes into furious rage scorches and burns all it touches then dissolves into shame and misery
heart beats weep
picture eternity as every single heart beat of every haunted soul each a phantom of broken trust blind to yesterday yet still weeping ghostly desires always lingering cold and deep persisting and never embraced
blush
blush from the belly up smile with sincerity you will create trust speak from your heart truly with transparency you will enjoy respect abandon preconceptions listen to hear you will bring joy
Colours of the seasons
My colour was autumn in a fading colour kind of way as I scrambled for more time as time slipped away then my colour was winter cold bleak and grey the shortening of daylight gave more night than day when my colour was spring and more light filled the air I felt for a green time my happiness was there but my colour became summer coming in bright yellow hues til the landscapes went dry sun extracted summer dues now my colour is a rainbow arching over seasons casting no shadow coloured joy without reason
Spicing it up
Basil had finally arrived in Arizona dreaming of repeating Krakow nights with his saffron love, Garam Masala. After leaving sunny Paris they had spent thyme watching Tuscan sunsets before mulling spices into a mural of flavour for adding some Aleppo pepper to their long awaited reunion. Laced with dill, pickled appetisers set a savouring mood for their evening Cumin, coriander paprika zatar and mustard seeds ensured the main meal was saucy, spicy and hot. Sea salt, lemon grass fennel and sesame seeds added potentcy to the salad Nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla heightened their senses throughout dessert. By the end of the meal they were ravenous for the after dinner mints.
Merril set this week’s dVerse prompt for we poets to spice things up using at least three of twenty-five listed herbs, spices, flavors, and spice combinations. For a bit of fun, I chose to cook up something that used them all.
blue you blue hue
blue poetry as blue as you change the shade from deep dark blue to blue sky blue change the hue write your due write true (fridge poetry)
Any door every door
Today’s dVerse prompt was to undertake a very interesting ekphrastic challenge from Sarah. Sarah asked we dVerse poets to choose one of five fascinating images created by UK artiist Lee Madgwick . I chose the image displayed above.
How many times do you step through a door and that decision changes the course of your life? How many times? You step through a door and whether you know which way you are going or not that decision changes the course of your life. Many times. You look through open doors and glass doors and the view beyond each threshold can look better much better with broad vistas of more promise than the narrow one in which you are standing. You are a stand in many, some days, every time. How many times do you go through these doors to where the grass is greener? Many times. You look through closed doors, opaque, the cracks and keyholes of doors to wild skies of threatening, black clouds, heavy and threatening cloud banks of stormy weather oppressive and threatening with worse to come you know it will be worse for at least a time many, some days, every time. But still, consider. How many times do you go through these doors? Many times. How do you choose which door opens to the best passage for the rest of your life? The green of desire or of envy, the passing black of fear or courage? There are no obvious silver linings. The lines are not clear. Can you say your lines? Your lines are not clear. There are no obvious wishes to guide you. Your wishes are not clear. Can you articulate your wishes? When will you wish honesty for yourself? When honesty is a necessity? Don’t close that door. When is the right time? Or the right place? Or do you bother to choose at all? When the right door opens for you? Even when no choice is always a choice and change will come regardless. Change will come. You know this. Do you know this well enough by understanding there is only luck at play? Only luck is at play. Do you know this? You might not know this. How often do those doors that are closed to you and blank with no offerings get ignored because there is no obvious gain for you? You walk past new worlds of wonder and peril everyday. All the time. Any door every door any time every time. Every step is a decision. Every decision is one to please, regret, grieve or rejoice. At the time or in time. But, you never know and that is the reason for looking at doors any door and every door and always wondering about going through into some place else. It should never be otherwise because time is linear and time is limited. All doors are only one door any door every door in front of you when and where ever you are. And each door has its own nature protecting you from the elements or exposing you locking you in locking you out shutting quietly behind you slamming in your face creaking with foreboding or letting in the fresh air. You my be attracted by doors to the light. It seeps in around the edges and under the woodwork and you think to be in the light must be a good place to be, you cross that threshold. That threshold will be crossed. to find a good place to be, And sometimes it is a desert, a blazing sun, a hot, dry furnace and you retreat desperate with thirst, burned and changed. Other times it is a moonlit field and you run through the soft green grass before realising you have strayed enough to never return to be the same person. Does either door scare you? Are you scared? Hope is the latch, fear is the key. Finding a way to use them is finding a way to be. You never have to stray far from yourself to change. Crossing that threshold is no distance at all. One that can take you al long way. Crossing that threshold. You are changed forever every time. Many times. Any door every door any time every time go through. You change so the world changes You change me and everyone else irrevocably. You change us all. All of us change. Neither you nor I, neither will we and us ever be the same we, you and I. For passing through any door every time will change us here and now in time. The person you thought I was is no longer mine. The person I thought was you is no longer in time. The world changes instantly every time without design. We pass through many doors many times. How many times do you step through a door and that decision changes the course of your life? How many times? You step through a door and whether you know which way you are going or not that decision changes the course of your life. Many times.
worry
worry, but after perhaps find the right music do a dance (fridge poetry)
Storm wind
Such a turbulent, pitiless, brutal battering. This powerful storm wind pushes relentlessly through the defenceless trees of the creek. It lashes most at the isolated and vulnerable, stripping them bare of grey green winter cloaks, whipping the fabric of canopies to ragged threads, blasting layers of protective cladding away into a roaring tempest. This scouring wind probes incessantly for weakness, fissures in the gnarly bark skins, cracks in the very bones of each noble specimen mercilessly exposing deficiencies as it flails and lays bare its victims with neither remorse nor respite. Over extended over and over, flawed limbs fail first fracture, snap and drop. Crowns too heavy with water shake and quiver. Sodden feet lose their grip on the world. Once stately trunks twist, rock, waver, shudder and fall. And the sound of the final defeat is an explosive crack, the collapse a mighty crash, and the thud at the end is dead.
For today’s dVerse poetics Sarah prompted us to think and write about the elements. I chose air/wind because I often find myself contemplating the fierceness of a storm’s breath as it can turn the tranquility of our peaceful riparian zone into a deadly maelstrom.
vicissitudes of life
From birth through growth to the time of decline From decline to decay such a time is mine For all that went before for all that went astray For all that has been given and will be taken away I see many patterns unfold around my life with the wisdom of hindsight I see the brightness of knowing through latter years insight As the past stretches out behind me the future road becomes short The decisions I have made will shortly come to nought I take one last chance to pass on the learning of my years One last chance to give advice to those to come if those to come have ears For history is our greatest teacher in handling the vicissitudes of life For human nature is our undoing when handling the inconvenient truths of advice Secure your future with love and enough wealth is the best advice I can give Working to this end gives hope which gives purpose to how you live Start early and start young to earn a path to joy and be your very best Don’t deviate from this path but keep it flexible and ensure rest Loss may strike you without notice grief may rock your solid floor Grow from your loss for better to turn haunting to past lore Change will come unanticipated and shake you to your core See change as opportunity to put a foot firmly in each door When love comes your way hold it closely to your heart If love lost should leave you reeling be proud that you took part Know you have been loved and can love again because love is all around If one thing is known it is we all want love with time it may be found
Anytime
Anytime a poem is needed
A poem can be found
Just look into your heart
Just look all around
