27 February 2012 - Sutures Rip Anew - ballade

Had a very painful end to a conversation with my youngest daughter tonight...it has left me with a hole I thought I’d closed.  I guess not.  She still cannot see me as a person who has feelings too, as someone who bleeds quietly while she moves past, believing that forgetting what has happened in the past is the best route.  Until she needs something and I can’t hold my pain back.  Wish I could, sometimes, but perhaps I don’t want shallow relationships and find only death within such a ripple of time.  Forgiveness can be done by one person but unfortunately, reconciliation takes two.  Guess this is just another suture I’ll have to repair, even if it holds the fabric of pain from spilling.  So hard to find much hope in my faith in this moment, and sorry to have to say this.

Anyway, here’s the poem, written with every intent to get the bad feelings out and for no other reason.  Just more shit I’m supposed to take.

27 February 2012 - Sutures Rip Anew - ballade

Bring back the memories locked and put away,

a feeling, sick, incestuous, mired below;

an edge in voices finds that hurt has strayed

because that’s what the shallow waters grow.

An elephant encased in white, I know,

stirs drinks within the room she’s placed me in––

a darkness decks of steel can’t fathom shows

that sutures ripped anew still lap at sins.

I guess she buried bones with blood that day,

it’s hard to understand I’m still her foe...

there’s nothing to the wind that claims I pay

on faceless ponds that mirror where I go.

She clenched her teeth and fists as water rose

and drowned the fact I’m still a father then.

She leaves; can’t hear the gasp that chokes my soul

when sutures rip anew, still lapping sins.

A tide of time, a sigh we gently lay,

soon ripples up to tap the boat I row,

it’s empty now––she’s swum for shore to trade

the pain relationship ordains and stows

between two hearts, connecting winds that blow;

and missing in the passing, no one wins

when deeper waters stir and no one’s home

to suture rips anew, still laps of sin.

Adrift, the oars are gone and waters slow;

I fear the sands upon my beach are thin

while one last cut remains a heart to sew...

the other sutures rip anew and map my skin. 

5-14-12

params: ababbcbC x3, bcbC

26 February 2012 - Life's Canvas - sijo

This poem takes a look at youth, how so very intense is its color, while the colorless vista of old age (winter) is the only tool that can find the original canvas from which youth has sprung.  One of those ‘youth is wasted on the young’ type poems combined with ‘with age, comes wisdom’.

26 February 2012 - Life's Canvas - sijo

The color of skies in spring are over-saturated hues,

too full of tears that dilute the traces left by swollen eyes;

only winter horizons find the original canvas.

4-08-12

params: The sijo is a 3-line poem consisting of between 44 to 46 syllables. Each line has 14 to 15 syllables. Line 1 presents a problem or theme, line 2 develops or 'turns' the thought, and line 3 resolves the problem or concludes the theme. The first half of the final line employs a 'twist' by means of a surprise in meaning, sound, tone or other device. To end with originality of wit, a profound  observation or a strong emotional finale is a must

25 February 2012 - Bloody Weave - triolet

More musing from the argument; but, this is just the way I let the emotions run free while permanently caging them.

25 February 2012 - Bloody Weave - triolet

Annealed to convention, she hates;

there’s blood within the carpet’s weave.

With venom, serpent chooses mates

annealed to convention.  She hates

the way my tongue so aggravates.

Is it so hard to then believe

annealed to convention she hates,

there’s blood within the carpet’s weave?

3-28-12

params: A8, B8, a8,A8,a8,b8,A8,B8

24 February 2012 - Nightwish - rap sonnet

Just something that flowed while listening to ‘Feel for You’ by Nightwish, the orchestral metal band.

24 February 2012 - Nightwish - rap sonnet

Tremble and flitter, chide and chitter

forcibly remove yourself, just go;

resembling litter, stain the ground,

between the pavement grooves, you’ll flow.

Stutter and gasp, there isn’t time to tell

which lie has led you here, and which did not;

shuttered in the grasp, falling down the well,

stroked by many fears, you’ve slipped all knots.

Like heavy metal, rake the sound until it cuts,

bleed and die, then bleeding, die some more;

if all such music takes and pounds, then strut––

can’t tell you when to listen or what for.

Release the dogs, there’s hares to chase and call,

and only one hole down which we forever fall.

3-28-12

params: lots of rhyme, exterior and interior, some kind of rhythmic beat

23 February 2012 - Living In-Between - fv

Just an idle rambling musing, sparked by an argument with T tonight...

23 February 2012 - Living In-Between - fv

If life is one long breath

and we get only one

moment

to exhale

and

only one moment

to

inhale,

can you

live

desperately enough

to make

the in-between

matter?

3-28-12

22 February 2012 - Kiss Met - aubade

Here’s something else Audrey liked to believe in; kissing, kissing a lot.  So, let’s see what I can do with this...

22 February 2012 - Kiss Met - aubade

He trimmed the rain, she washed the moon

and in between

kisses chased the stars

He couldn’t sing, she was deaf and mute

and in between

kisses lit night’s candles

He had empty pockets, she had expectations

and in between

kisses burned a hole

His awkward shyness, her love of riddles

and in between

kisses were served like salads

He waited by the curb, she waited inside

and in between

kisses opened doors

He stammered when he called, she only listened

and in between

courage kissed patience

His car broken down, she always took the L

and in between

kisses met with kismet

**

They say time stalls when love is being kissed;

and I’m not here to dispute that fact.

3-26-12

params: a love song set at dusk/night.

21 February 2012 - Prettiest Girls - rinterzato

This poem’s theme springs from part of a quote on a blogger’s ‘about me’ page, the specific line from something Audrey Hepburn once said; “I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls”.  Should be self explanatory from here.

21 February 2012 - Prettiest Girls - rinterzato

The words belong to silver screens of yore

‘believe that happy girls are prettiest’

there’s resonance when application’s core

brings light to bear on lessons soon learned best.

There’s smiles and lips that widen yet unseen,

there’s cheeks that never touch the eyes or soul

and depths that never stirred, make looks obscene;

too many paper rags on racks are tolled.

there’s three dimensions,

there’s sight and sound

there’s no pretensions,

where hearts are found

there’s more to winks

there’s breadth to sighs

these chains hold links

like phony holds its lies

Don’t turn or move too sudden––you’ll be gone,

a profile disappearing, set on edge;

and turning full, your back will change like dawn

and paper thin, facades cry beauty’s hedged.

I know what Audrey means, I know that type––

when beauty in the holder’s eye is hype.

3-26-12

params: rinterzato;  any sonnet with 8 shorter lines interspersed either metered or not, rhymed or not.

20 February 2012 - Where Song Ends - rinterzato

This one shows two sides of love; the waiting and longing, and the promise of commitment.  More an image in my head which I poeticized.

20 February 2012 - Where Song Ends - rinterzato

She lay on the bed, her arm extended;

moonlight, intruder, candle exhausted;

wine glass, it’s cracking, her faith accosted;

alone, she’s alone, her heart’s not mended.

he strums the strings inviting doubt,

he hums the things, she could do without.

Her lips,  near her pillow, but breath, far away;

breaking, porcelain, fragile, in pieces;

vagrant, her arm lies, consumed, lies will sway;

her mind, like her heart, fulfilled night’s creases.

he’s calling her, she’s dreaming back,

he’s stalling her, streams drowning knack.

There bare, understudy, enslaved, her eyes close;

past wait, she’s naked, looking for promise;

bedsheets, lost eddies, curling, she’s exposed;

blooded, cut roses, won’t last long, like this.

his song like love, fleeting sorrow,

and gone too long, forgets tomorrow.

Classic, like a painting, she lies, midnight oils;

pigments, best from grounds grown in fertile soil.

he styles the strings, she plies canvas,

his song refrains, her brush can’t stand less.

3-21-12

params:  rinterzato;  any sonnet with 8 shorter lines interspersed either metered or not, rhymed or not.

19 February 2012 - Creeping Jenny - rondelet

I set up two on shore ‘digging and basking’ places for the turtles in my pond today, taking some errant strands of a creeping, spreading plant called Creeping Jenny from the garden and transplanting them.  I’ve seen pictures and hope I get the same results; ground hugging dense, light green leaflets that will cling to stone and dangle in the pond water.  Should be a very natural look and Creeping Jenny is very hardy.

Now, the below starts off describing what appears to be a girl, Jenny, and attributing a creeping nature to her.  She is also seen as spreading the dirt, planting, sowing, planting in places where dirt/soil/nutrients are poor.  As she stretches herself, she becomes many.  Stone can be seen here as those that have no heart but when Jenny arrives, she can reap a bountiful harvest.  The shore can be a person’s well being and this she clothes in fine, green finery.

But perhaps you think this poem is just about a low growing ground cover which once established, is both dense and lush.  Yeah, right.

19 February 2012 - Creeping Jenny - rondelet

Creeping, Jenny

spreads her fingers where dirt is thin.

Creeping, Jenny

will stretch out, becoming many

lace strands over stone.  Once she’s in,

she’ll dress the shore in fine green skin;

Creeping Jenny.

3-21-12

params:  4A,8b,4A,8a,8b,8b,4A

18 February 2012 - Begin at Home - rondelet

I’m out of practice with this next form, the rondelet.  In the past, I could hold conversations with this form and it is actually quite fun and easy.  But it does lend itself to lighter poetry, the like of which I don’t do much.  I tend to much deeper themes, so this one below is a departure.  The next will be a better attempt at more depth.  For this one though, I’m saying that one should take the wisdom of the Bible and apply it first at home; that if you can’t make it work there, it’s pretty hard to do so in the world at large.  Just my two cents in this matter.

18 February 2012 - Begin at Home - rondelet

Begin at home;

 time takes the verse and bridges fronts.

Begin; at home

the words are written, carved in stone––

no need for hand stands, flips or stunts.

As the quiver, an arrow’s hunt

begins at home.

3-21-12

params: 4A,8b,4A,8a,8b,8b,4A

17 February 2012 - Sharp Ax - haiku

Heh, well, did you think I was done?  That’s the thing about short poems, especially haiku; there’s not a lot of room to be expressive in the extreme.  I like to rant, I like to vent, and mainly because it seems like when I talk, there’s not a lot of contemplative listening going on and I feel like I have to rephrase and regroup my opinionated assault.  Of course, that’s only THEIR opinion...

This one shows how being a writer means you’re attached to the literary tree; in this case, I sure wish I could cut loose from the main trunk as this tree is used as the base material for a gallows.

17 February 2012 - Sharp Ax - haiku

fruit all around me

a writer’s tree carves gallows

I need a sharp ax

3-20-12

params: 5-7-5 Americanized version

16 February 2012 - Blinders- haiku

Yeah, another slamming the current cultural norm that eschews poetry in novels let alone in its pure form.  I can’t help but think that all of those I read at Absolue Write would be great shell con men (and women) in the days when culture reached for more than titillation.  According to them, it’s all about the money and all for entertainment.  Poor shallow saps...

16 February 2012 - Blinders- haiku

against the rail, running

no whip needed for winners

prose jockey blinders

3-20-12

params: 5-7-5 Americanized version

15 February 2012 - Broken Rungs - haiku

I read a thread tonight, extolling the virtue of NOT putting poetry into prose novels.  I know this is probably culture dictating art, but the many shallow and febrile minds (of the reading audience) that currently exists makes me want to vomit.  I know most of the advice I get/read is geared toward making an author some money, but seriously, the idea that most will skip, advise abstinence, and in general flames the whole idea of poetry (ESPECIALLY in novels) really galls me.  I shouldn’t rant and just let the ignorance level eventually bottom out, understanding that this same audience of whom I’m trying to reach, isn’t worth the effort.  Okay, having a bad people moment, but the idiocy is surpassed only by their ignorance.  And this is coming from writers; sheesh!

So, guess you can see what this poem is all about...ruby verse being the juice of the fruit, which when bitten and consumed, is sweet.  And better, it’s sweeter when the picker has to reach for the fruit.  And because so many don’t, reach, try, care, they become the ones whose ladders are broken, albeit by their own shallow tastes.  Okay, that was a fun rant...on to the poem.

15 February 2012 - Broken Rungs - haiku

ruby verse drowns chin

plum is sweeter when reached for

too many broken rungs

3-20-12

params: 5-7-5 syllables (Americanized version)

14 February 2012 - Stopping Before Starting - hendecasyllabic

This one is based on a conversation I had with another poet in which he stated that about line three or so, he could tell the poem was not up to his standards and therefore, time to stop.  I argued that the idea needs to be expressed, whether it be done well or not was not as important as finishing.  THEN, knowing what a poem should look like, applying those attributes and improving the presentation.  That stopping before you really get started meant keeping beauty in the can instead of letting it out...something like that!

14 February 2012 - Stopping Before Starting - hendecasyllabic

Coarse at first, it’s a shame you can’t put words down,

pinching minds and a heart that just won’t do it––

this is where you’re beguiled, bemused, and fucked up,

held behind and imprisoned, words were lightning,

thunder bolts in a play you once were writing;

now they’re dead in the silence you won’t finish.

Spark the spark––in a perfect world you’d know it,

chained by links you reformed were of your doing,

hit the third line and start defending quitting,

leave the music because your ears are tone-deaf.

Let the night wings of motion fly before you

then creation of verse will find you dragging...

This the way you’re intending art to perish?

Keep the whining and wines of lines will burgeon,

lifting song in a key that language pines for.

Still, there’s plenty of room for you to join them;

YOU know, all of the others walking sleeping...

Finish, polish; remember, life needs growing.

Taxes...marry the cat––oh, lovely notions...

3-18-12

params:  trochee dactyl, 3 trochees

13 February 2012 - Leave Without a Mark - planet poetica sonnet

This poem shows the dark promise of love without commitment, how the music and mystery of  a tryst can be alluring but filled with fear because you can’t know if you’ll ever see such lovers again.  And when one is in love but the other not, this is the dark promise.

13 February 2012 - Leave Without a Mark - planet poetica sonnet

Each silver leaf is dripping moonlit dark,

she dances there, a graceful silhouette

a soft acoustic drum brush plying night

a rippling song, her lips to mine, will spark

my hand to trace and limn with hips’ arrest.

Percussion weaves sonatas when there’s love

and heartbeat symphonies are not enough.

Some nights the stars will fall and slip their net,

moons trip and spill their light, exposed and stark

but like songs urge, I’ll bare it all and fight

for love and life; holding light, I’m still in debt

until her leaves leave light without a mark.

In waves the violins are plying tears

and catching rosined stars on bows of fear. 

3-18-12

params: cdecd   aa    dcedc   bb

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first couplet (a) is to sum quintet A, and second couplet (b) to sum all the poem OR quintet B