Blog hopping today with imaginary garden. In April we write a poem every day April Six: Speaking in the Voice of Another
Prompted by Sherry Blue Sky; challenged: to write a poem in the voice of another: in this case, the voice of a woman living in feudal times, addressing her laotang,
Blog hopping today with imaginary garden. In April we write a poem every day April Four - transformations
Prompted by Brendan; challenged: For today’s Poems in April challenge, write a poem about the vantages available to you. How many selves sing for you... Show us the panoply or use one persona to introduce us to the whole.
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HAPPY EASTER. You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #148, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites
ENJOY THE MUSIC
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Blog hopping today with imaginary garden. In April we write a poem every day April Second
Prompted by Karin and challenged "second," in any of its forms, is your prompt for today
TREASURES
Precious fluid is ink scrawling in
conversations of preserving
in quiet time,
when sleep spreads a blanket of sky,
and stars twinkle, to rhythm of cobalt night,
then mostly,
communion of ink scrawlers start their trysts.
Precious are these phases of constructs,
building syllables, stacking words, weaving treasures,
when poetic muses hold their simultaneous assemblies.
Only at the level of similar thoughts
do these councils meet,
sometimes tapping letters; uppercase,
lowercase, hyphens and accents.
St Patrick Day is features this week; Saturday, 17 March
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You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #145, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites
A STRANGER ASKING
Walk along the Main Road,
The doubles vendors are crowded in
By eager feasters;
Some having breakfast,
Some having a bite after all night hangovers.
The seller umbrellas spread like roofs
Over cozy little huts,
Where there is family to be fed;
The measure of hot sauce to be added:
Slight pepper, or heavy.
Doubles vendors are male, female, or,
Whole families plying their fast tasty wares;
Some queues are long and winding,
Some, arcs upon arcs of circles,
Jostling for this street delight.
But what of the young man,
Carrying a backpack,
At ten in the morning, in the Season of Carnival,
Standing, right there in the Doubles vendor's spot;
Asking.
DOCUMENTING SOME SAINTS
I'll document today to the saint of hope in azure skies,
In yellow breast of kiskadee, fluttering through leafy bowers,
To hummingbird visits, even though skittish and fleeting.
I'll document today to the saint of faith,
In the Autumn of my friends far across the oceans deep and wide,
As i sweep and heap yellow Plumeria leaves fallen
In golden Caribbean sunlight right here in my backward.
I'll document today to the saint of trust;
believing in tomorrows as i watch butterfly wings
Open and close over straddled wild Fever Few flowers,
And that dove who hears my footsteps
But decides its time to flee,
Her brown feathers taken in flight of my gaze,
You flee, still i see you.
I'll document today to the saint of gratitude,
As the old mango stump stands,
Weather eaten and decaying
Over the fresh pink blossoms of Vinca,
Seated near the speckled pink of green Elephant Ears,
In harmonious conversation of garden dwelling.
Written for Awhape me! at the imaginary garden
Paul prompted: giving us a list of 30 words from the English language that have fallen out of our consciousness and conversation that might conceivably make a comeback.
In my poem i used:
Snout-fair:Having a fair countenance; fair-faced, comely, handsome
Merry-go-sorry: A mixture of joy and sorrow
Awhape: To amaze, stupefy with fear, confound utterly
Slug-a-bed: One who lies long in bed through laziness
PEACE SEPTEMBER PEACE!
so peace the night, you winds of woe,
and gently hush you leaves and branches,
no more rustle of the tears in flight,
no more wade the floodgates to dismay,
so hush your howls September sprites,
and dry those tears clouds, lament no more
CLOUDS OF THE MORNING
There they are,
clouds of the morning,
lounging in the blue sky afar,
like every morning they are there,
decor of sky,
as moody and unpredictable as a woman.
Sometimes pouting, sometimes dancing,
sometimes wearing yellow hues,
sometimes silver accents,
coiffured in huge puffs, or light romantic wisps
but always there they are,
Good Monday ❧✿❧ You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #119, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites ❧✿❧
