The words
I have always heard
about the silence
of the forest
have never
rung true
There is no silence
in the forest
No matter how much
you romanticise
or wish
there to be
The forest is noisy
relative only to
just how hard
you choose to listen
Bright is the light that shines on me
as I dwell finally
in deathbed reverie
the doctor he talks
and talks and he talks
my wife she weeps
and weeps and she weeps
and time it creeps
and creeps and it creeps
what is this light that shines above
lights pallid face of death
to my love
the darkness it resists
and resists and it resists
in brilliance it glows
and glows and it glows
in radius it grows
and grows and it grows
this light that calls me as my light fades
this light that draws me
to the night of shades
with death it walks
and walks and it walks
my feeble hand I raise and wave
I waver and it waves
faces watch uncertain so grave
grave and so grave
I see my hand stir dust in the air
second last thing I will see anywhere
the dust it wafts
and wafts and it wafts
my brow is mopped
and mopped and is mopped
my hand drops
I drop and it drops
as dust I settle back onto deaths bed
into the pillow sinks my head
life’s weight I shed
I shed and I shed
looking down into the room
I am surprised it is lit
by only gloom
the husk has collapsed
collapsed collapsed
hollowed of life
of life and of life
beside my wife
my wife my beloved wife
the dust dispersed draws my spirit in
and back to dust
I go again
the gift I leave is small but complete
I was loved and I loved
I am replete
Today’s dverse prompt is from Laura, to write words of departure based on your choice from a set of quotes. I chose the quote from a favourite and most remarkable movie – “All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.” Roy Batty, Blade Runner.
Ah, my chimeric and fanciful place
A world to inhabit when I displace
Where food is abundant and water is clear
Where choices are free I’ll ne’er shed a tear
Where sharing is normal no money spent
Home is a shelter without mortgage or rent
Ideas are born to be actioned for pleasure
Actions occur for outcomes or leisure
Thinking is respected intellectual pursuit
Everyone loves and all follow suit
Where judging is absent because no one judges
Where grudges are absent because no one grudges
Where religion only follows the Gaia led path
To planetary health such joy makes me laugh
My friends are my friends conflict unknown
We simply marvel at how friendship keeps growing
What Prospero said should not be decried
Give death a rightful standing in our lives
As a lens through which to view the good for which we strive
To ponder temporal versus eternal that is always nigh
To elevate appreciation and despondency defy
And so, when vibrant youth immortality implies
When healthy vigour makes the future glisten in our eyes
When happiness is at its peak with all that it supplies
When prosperity creates opportunity many are denied
When security is such that all our fears it belies
Take a moment to remember it is only life that dies
Value life through death as on times fleeting wings it flies
The mind that honours death values life on high
pick I will go collect a bucket of plums see purple plums outside red plums inside bite taut elastic skin snaps and recoils under pressure of sharp incisors burst taste exploding plum tartly sweet firmly juicy with sticky feet feel the texture anticipated chewy soft an eating sensation never lost wet with flavour deep and true dribbles assured all the way to the end of it swallow the energy immediate hit spit pit ah plums
Today we https://dversepoets.com poets are playing with food. Thanks Misky for a prompt that has me re-savouring my favourite fruit.
Juliet is all slick and wet her long hair in her eyes she has been hit by an idiot drunk driving by bye bye Romeo roams idly by sees the girl on the ground He looks at her quizzically then realises what he has found Juliet breathes in gasps as blood pools under her back She looks up sees Romeo last look last love as limbs go slack Romeo’s not much you know but this time things are different He wipes the hair from glazed eyes and wonders where her life went Juliet rises above the scene She watches Romeo He cradles her head gently in his lap He whimpers out a moan Romeo struck by love’s full fist his only love has gone He whines he weeps at his loss Death into his soul creeps Juliet bears final witness to Romeo’s last testament “Did my heart truly love till now?” he whispers For the first time he knows what love meant “Good night Good night” “Thus with a kiss I too die” He declares to her death pale face Romeo bends his head down tenderly brushes her cold lips with his own he lets her head down lightly beside him as he lies quietly beside her takes her right hand with his left Romeo from his pocket retrieves a knife meant for other men he eases the blade between his ribs it finds his broken heart As blood pools under his back his life is also gone Juliet utters one last cry of grief before she disappears or was that one last cry of relief in hope he reappears for never was there a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo
Ingrid’s prompt for this week’s dVerse poetics was “Homage to the Bard.” I chose to write a poem approximately on the theme of Romeo and Juliet. https://dversepoets.com/2022/04/26/poetics-homage-to-the-bard/
Two women sit under a thatched roof
supported by rafters
coarse wood brown
smiling and chatting together
Chickens scratch at the edge of their shelter
a bold shiny colourful rooster
a big shiny black hen
Their surroundings are a circular patch
dry dusty earth red
small mud brick dwellings
define a perimeter orange
The late autumn day is lit by a cold sun of
clean blue light
One woman sits above the other higher
she is perched
Her long thin legs hang over a shallow edge
a rug covered platform
She is the older in a thick faded purple
dress a pullover yellow
is topped with a scarf white around her neck
Her head is swaddled in a woollen wrap crimson
it frames a face sun
lit, weathered and aged by decades of labour
Spaces such as this
fields such as she can choose
to see at anytime
will forever be green and brown
She gazes pensively across
open communal space
She ponders her past with pleasure and regret
she speaks of things new
old, deep and trivial
Her arthritic hands clasped in a lap
of gratitude flesh
Her battered Nike sneakers peek out from
the long layers of fabric above grey and yellow
her face is calm
Her future as it will be
The younger sits cross legged
a woven mat under her strung tan
Together cultivating lines of okra
drying under sheltering eaves ragged
shadows of indigo host
hangings vertically in bright green
coloured lengths
unclasped necklaces ornaments
of metres adorn the space with a decorative
interior that creates a sense
coming festivity
The drying shed colours the day, the place
it’s people making
according to the crop
a pride of place for transient
prettiness and implications
security, work well done
Here for generations other
younger women have
sat for hours
days post harvest preparing
sustaining products of manual fieldwork
multi hued
for deep grey winter consumption
Her dress is brighter golds
magentas her hands are as yet
unaffected by the gnarly
growths destined by labour
She repeats centuries old weaving
patterns confidently efficiently unhurried
listening quietly thoughtfully respectfully
Tales of the past wash over her black and white
through her as water of life in delicate pastels
as hope as comfort
She knows here there are will be
still lessons to be gleaned
conversation the reflections of her elder
The younger a willing learner of
a quasi meditative state borne soft pink
by the methodical repetitious
nature of her work it is was as surely known
the best way for learning lessons
by the word of her people
successes and failures
myth legend
retelling that never ceases to inform
warm warn entertain and delight
There is comfort in the learning
a knowing that all the natural obstacles over
which there is little control life
will continue on on on
There is no question about how
time is to be spent
day by day this is dictated
by seasons culture necessity
green yellow brown grey
There is no concept of time ticking away
each day is known-quantity where
choice is limited but colour rich
life is sometimes unpredictable dangerous
set fluid simple
giving and taking with impunity
Time has no measure
life itself opaque
Two women commune as did
two before them
back it goes into the dark
blue of distance
where many women become every one
sitting together, stringing up green okra
another part of every year’s never ending
rainbow
They told me about her hair
before I met her.
It was green.
I thought it the best hair
I’d ever seen.
The fall of her locks
topped long flowing frocks
that ran neck to toe
as they swept the ground clean.
In bare feet
so she walked
or sashayed
I should say
her hair bounced away
like gentle waves of the sea.
In long flowing robes
from her head to her toes
luminous bright green
and shimmering a sheen,
she moved as one
supple, undulating dream.
Her hips that were square
rolled sensually there
under rippling fabric I deemed.
Her shoulders carried smoothly.
Her pose held beautifully.
Her skin smooth as polished gold.
Her head held proud,
and defiantly bold.
Her face was of grace
framed in fine green lace
at the edges of the green hood
folded around her neck.
From the dripping sleeves of her gown,
where long hands emerged brown,
slender fingers completed the scene.
Bright brown eyes
looked curiously around,
‘til she stopped,
tall and sure
image of a noble queen.
She had turned toward me.
I, the watcher was seen,
and I found myself bound
to the tall brown woman in green.
In the darkness there is fear of what we do not know where moonlit silhouettes change frequented pathways through accustomed landscapes to unfamiliar tunnels hooded by shadows obscured by gloom alive with the colourless and hidden In black night confusion and disorientation assert themselves by seeding doubt Insubstantial surroundings draw an inky deception across the known world where that latent but ever present dread of losing our way will always prevail
Today, the dVerse challenge was from Linda to pick one line from a Jim Harrison poem and use it as an epigraph for a poem inspired by that line. I chose, “Yes, in the predawn black the slim slip of the waning moon.”- Remote Friends, Jim Harrison. https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/25/poetics-songs-of-unreason/
I seek to find the tree where and when I find it I will know it for its role in my life spirit connecting totem white fella dreaming me my original culture kit equipped for consumption and strife for directionless floating missing address of life’s mystery missing where I fit cut from “other” as with a knife finished as animate factotum I seek the key in nature’s remit to open the door of relief to release my soul forgotten I walk the bush incessantly search nature’s bridge exquisite in enduring mortal grief to reveal immortal heart re-woken where entity is true and free where body and soul will sit with cup and bowl I turn new leaf full of love and hoping
Today Sanaa prompts we poets to write in the form of rimas dissolutas. In this form each stanza comprises of lines that end with a rhyme matching the corresponding line in ever other stanza. https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/04/poetics-exploring-the-realm-of-french-literature-first-stop-marseille/
Sustenance, sustenance
The needs of my family, the very future
depend on my
Hunter’s skill
Tracking is the game
ignoring the baubles for the meat
persevering when hope is lost
When perseverance is the
only hope to find
As I cross the threshold
between sunshine and artificial light
where my flaming torch
of knowledge and experience
must keep me lit
alert to fallacy and trickery
Nevertheless it dulls
against intensely bright competition
These high ceilinged vaults
as if starlit with halogen and diode
I find it hard to distinguish whether
inflamed or extinguished
my very own light flares
or fades
As does the light of knowledge
or critical elements of judgement
This is a brilliantly ominous
hole in real space
This dead centre of comsupmtion
Of glow worms on mirrored walls of
perverted fairy lights created by evil spirit
I cross a
sinister boundary
into a world of corruption
temptation
and reduction
The world is rendered thus
The cavernous halls of this space
daunt
Its glittering stalactites drip
luminously
sweet waters
impure as added sweeteners can illicit
over gem encrusted
subterranean alcoves and niches
Where false gods are worshipped
Where diamonds turn to glass
Where purchase is neither
with foot nor by hand
But by extraction and brand
Burning into pockets
through means of exchange
where the purpose of this cave
becomes revealed
Although,
still not
to the naive, the gullible and the willing
Yet I stand strong
Resolute by my informed knowing
I conquer foreboding
fear held at bay
by the most fragile resilience
and I buy in
I buy big I buy small
I buy all the things I want at the Mall
Until I can but no longer
As these halls previously mapped
have seen the bounds of my credit card zapped
Gotta get out
before ruin befalls
My Christmas spree buying
One day for it all
Today’s prompt comes from Dora. In the context of the Crazy Christmas season she suggests, ….. “imagine a moment of pausing, a still point of epiphany.” dVerse
Yakking yakking on the phone they’re lacking basic social grace they are in your face if wanted or not their conversation is everywhere like a worm that twists deep inside your ear Yakking yakking shared across public space on public transport in public parkland throughout Halloween with not a thought to public courtesy private calls aired I do not care to share
Today’s dVerse prompt is from Lisa. She asks us to present a Quatorzain poem (a 14 line poem not necessarily a sonnet) in Duodora form as follows: 2 septets for which Line 1 repeats. Syllable counts per line are 4, 6, 5, 5, 5, 10, 10. Quite tricky! The subject is to speak to a human attribute that is particularly irritating to you with a Halloween or Samhain theme.
It’s done It’s over The matter is closed The issue resolved Before it arose No more talk about it Because there’s no more to say I’ll bid you good bye I’ll be on my way
wounded I crawl to drag my wounds further through the dirt dragging my belly along the ground is none to low for me in my hurt I will scavenge to survive but surviving will not a worthy life be more eking out an existence in the shadow of you to pay my due just to live in the shadow of you as close as I can be to skulk in a shadow world as of the light I am unworthy for the harm that I was to cause I regret and pay my price but there is not enough in remorse that I can forgive my owned and destructive vice there is no doubt in my mind I will always be the addict cripple you tried to save when married who left you ruined and harried at least my surreptitious watching over you gives me purpose with which to see I may prevent further harm to you as self destruction gnaws away at me
For this week’s dVerse challenge Ingrid has asked us to revisit a time in our lives when we have felt pain and come out of it on the other side.
This poem is a combination of close, shared personal stories. Feeling pain is as real as the sufferer perceives it to be. How someone comes out on the other side is relative and may not be consistent or sustainable.
1. Many years ago – about 15? I bought a full brimmed hat at Salamanca Market in Hobart. I had been on the lookout for the right hat for some time. With the hair on the top of my head rapidly thinning, a hat became important in a way it had never been before. However, I just couldn’t find the right hat. All the hats I had tried either didn’t sit well, were to loose and blew off easily or had to be so tight to avoid this they created a feeling of stricture. Often the brims blew up flat against my forehead or flat over my eyes in a light breeze. Some made my head too hot, others simply made me look very uncool.
When I put on this particular hat I immediately knew its rightness. No, not quite. I thought it looked uncool, but then it felt so comfortable that uncool ceased to matter. With an Hibiscus motif on the stitched in band and also into the underside of the brim, it did look odd on me. On the other hand, the denim and cotton fabric meant it didn’t automatically make me sweat. The brim was reinforced without being rigid, it didn’t blow about. The seal the deal factor was the elasticised cotton band on the inside. The soft yet firm grip on my crown was secure without being tight, not cold to the skin to touch, temperate as a sweat band for a hot day as well.
I have appreciated this hat ever since. It has been my pleasure to wear it. Through all weather and work demands it has stood the test of time. It has faded, it has been patched, it has frayed or worn through at all the regular touch points, particularly the edges and peak. The Hibiscus band has shredded and the sweat stains embedded. Yet it endures as a perfect fit, with a perfectly functional cotton elasticised grip and the brim at the front has angled with use for the ideally acceptable level of eye shading and when I dips me lid.
2. Today I received a present of home baked biscuits. What a lovely and enjoyable surprise. I am grateful for such a good thing to come from such a thoughtful friend.
3. Vegemite.
No day feels right without Vegemite. It’s in my head until it’s eaten That salty flavour that can’t be beaten I love it on Vita Weet I love it on bread A Vegemite roll, I’ve often said Is the very best thing to ensure my day Is going along in the very best way
masters of lyric masters of music masters of harmony master songsmiths you raised us as you raised yourselves from notation illiterate to craftsmen majestic the birds when they hear your melodies listen hushed in admiration and learn you connected us across lands of difference, waters vast and cultures divergent universal emotions spilled when we heard your work in your lives you have sung our lives our joys and sorrows our hopes and aspirations our loves and losses our frivolities and consequence and still our hearts open to your words as if our own we know them part of the human life song playful, raaucous, challenging, beautiful full of pleasures and sadness as you endure beyond all before you you mark the significance of your generation you inspire generations to come your song has lived long and will not fade while we can listen because we hear with hearts and minds that will always quicken or quieten in tune with your words and music
Today’s dVerse prompt is from Sannaa. She asked us to write in a form of traditional poetry called “panegyric” poetry. Poetry of effusive praise.
when weary travelling an image of you I look at when I rest your portrait kept in a locket of gold warm between my breasts I see the small photograph and am reminded of what I’ve left with longing I wish to be home again my head upon your chest
For today’s d’verse prompt from Sanaa I chose the derivative Option 2. To think of a word. I thought of “image.” To use a derivative to create a poem. The derivative I chose was “photograph”. https://dversepoets.com/2021/09/07/poetics-dungeons-and-derivatives/
Slate grey winter skies Background fat silver lined clouds Rain filled and sun lit Slate grey winter skies Background deep sadness of loss Rain filled and homesick Strathbogie poetry #strathbogiepoetry
I know I won’t be missing you Because you live in my heart too It’s not about having your body here In my mind you’re everywhere You also reside in a time and space A place of love of ethereal grace That supersedes corporeal and now That’s my commitment and our vow We've shared our lives together as one With room to grow, make our own fun As I watch you go and that time closes I can’t think of what the future poses Yes it hurts, it’s unbearably sad But it’s also a marker of the joy we had Of the pleasure in each other’s company Of everything that will stay with me No matter what becomes of us as an earthly pair Always in my heart you'll be everywhere So rest my darling have a peaceful night Tomorrow we’ll see what comes of light Though parting is near even in plain sight We’ll be together forever come what might
Call it a day when you’ve lost hope There’s new hope tomorrow Again you will cope Call it a day when you are ill perceived When the messages you send Are not well received Call it a day when there’s no one around To help carry your burden To wherever you’re bound Call it a day when your heart is breaking Face losing love Accept the heart aching Call it a day so you don’t perish When those that you care for Have spurned what you cherish Call it a day when you’re emotionally driven Decisions aren’t well informed When emotionally riven Call it a day when you have earned your rest So that come next time You are again at your best Call it a day when you can no longer learn When memory is exhausted And your brain is burned Call it a day when your output is down Not accomplishing much Just one more frown Call it a day when you are feeling angry To avoid big mistakes When harassed and harried Call it a day when you have had enough Call it a day when you are faking tough Call it a day when everything feels rough Call it a day because there are silver linings There’s always tomorrow The sun never stops rising
This week’s d’verse prompt from Ingrid was to compose a poem in the tradition of oral poetry, without putting pen to paper. I found this quite difficult. We were also asked to try adopting a motif and present with regular metre.
I didn’t elect to tell a story as such, more to pass on a wellbeing message consistent with the purpose of handing down oral lessons to future generations.
Many places I have called home as around the world I roamed. But none so full of joy for me as the Tableland Strathbogie. With mountain forest all around, wetlands, creeks, rills and swamps abound. Native animals can thrive here, Wombat, Platypus we hold dear. Vicforest loggers habitat deprive. We fear wildlife won't survive Koala are less seen today. Bandicoots all but gone away. Greater Gliders still here endure, but our forest is not secure. Conserve and re-wild what is left. Or lose all this to future theft.
This week’s d’verse prompt came from Sannaa. Write a poem using the Korean poetic form Kasa.
When the cancer came to our house It entered through the back door It snuck around the kitchen Down the stairs and straight into Our parent’s bedroom No one saw it arrive No one knew it was even near No one knew to shed a tear When the cancer came to our house We were blithely oblivious Our father worked away day to day Our mother taught, thought and sought Children came first and learnt without hurt Life was as good as suburban life could When the cancer came to our house The doctor said it wasn’t A young mother said it wouldn’t A young father said it couldn’t And the children had no notion of it at all When the cancer came to our house Our mother’s pain was hard to understand Fatigue and irritability unexpected and unplanned The right way to help couldn’t be defined We’d often not know quite where to stand As she rushed to the toilet or growled as she scanned And we still didn’t know the cancer was at hand When the cancer came to our house An unborn child, sister to siblings Was more important than knowing the findings Was important to the future of life with the wildlings Her death bereft being caught in such bindings When the cancer came to our house It was discovered way to late To deliver our mother from her miserable fate Of dying without respite Of fading from the light Of unbearable pain and strife Of the shameful waste of her precious life For this d'Verse prompt asking us to use "the house" as a subject for our poem, I apologise for breaking the rules. This is not imaginary, but I felt it had to be my response.
When you die and there’s nothing left of you Not a shape Not a thought Not even a negative space How will it be to be so completely deleted? You simply aren’t anymore It doesn't matter not a bit I’ve seen it over and over Dying A body replete Even when critically ill enlivened by ….. something Then a husk deplete Empty Empty of everything Rendering that person regardless of eminence of no consequence What is it to be nothing Universally less than no consequence How can it be that a consciousness Completely Absolutely Resolutely Instantly degrades to nothingness? Nil Null Void The fact of existence confuses us Even more so conscious life tends to make us think we are important When our rational selves are fully aware that the sheer scale of existence reduces us to insignificance This is our lived contradiction Our denial for survival When it doesn’t really make any sense at all Existence will end There was nothing before There will be nothing after There is no purpose to living in between but we do Clutching at a senseless hope for meaning or even something better after It should be enough just to be here for the ride
Winter grass lies flat Colour leached, dull and squat On the cold wet plains Winter's hair lies flat Old follicles grey sparse lost From my cold wet pate Strathbogie poetry #strathbogiepoetry
She awoke with a raw sense of dread
A cold sweat soaked the sheets of her bed
The sounds that night were not nighttime’s she knew
A hint of smoke contradicted the dew
Shadows danced on the bedroom wall
Where dancing shadows should not be at all
The normal still off white of the paint
Was lively with movement and firelight feint
She fumbled with billowing robe and nightclothes
Tying her robe up tight as she rose
Into a world of self doubt and fright
She stumbled out into the cold of the night
She touched the back of the door to sense any heat Realised she’d no shoes put on her feet Sidestepped and slipped into a pair of sandals As her hand reached out for the frightful handle
When she dared to look through the gap in the door Using light flickering lively onto the floor From her half awake hazy sleep deprived daze She wondered if the place was already ablaze
Further she pushed open the portal
Considered precious life and all that was mortal
Within her tiny flat B number 144
She wondered if she could take the fear anymore
And she listened alert for other clues
Thought about the price of paying her dues
She heard the crackle and pop of combusting wood
Her only thought now to get out if she could
She peered out into a reddish early morning gloom
To an apparently deserted yet eerie lounge room
But there at the side a large shape sat in a chair
Exuding an oppressive weight of despair
The wood fire aglow had strangely been lit It certainly was not her who lit it A monstrous head turned to look into her face An inhuman form by nature disgraced
He had discreetly followed her around town for weeks In peripheral vision never seen when he seeks Creating acute nervousness from endless teases A cat playing with a mouse its tormenting pleases
She knew instantly her time had come
It was not to be as life had begun
No comfort from her mother’s caress
No strength to be found on father’s chest
Hades stood to meet her towering ominously above Leering and smug antithesis of love She resigned herself to the monster’s arms Wishing after horror would come blessed dead calm
In this d’verse challenge https://dversepoets.com/2021/08/03/poetics-persephone/ Sarah asked us to take inspiration from the myth of the abduction of Persephone by Hades. I saw ancient (and not so ancient) patriarchal rituals and modern parallels as I read Sarah’s summation of the story.
