Tag Archives: Rhyme

Upon a doorway

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Clay flowerpots lay strewn about,
the solid door shut, and the grout
amidst the brick and plaster walls
is hurried and askew.

The silent ones living there
do not come or go much anywhere,
the light and air commiserate
with old facades, worn and true.

Once, daffodils and daisies roamed
and bloomed in springtime at this home,
now wearing in dilapidation
clay pots all are cast a-strew.

Yet, beauty can come once again
through this threshold and attain
a place the memories are kept
upon a doorway, words brand new.

******
A poem written in response to Worth a 1000 words prompt by The Haunted Wordsmith. Not a story in a 1000 words, which I think was the intent of the prompt.  🙂

 

arise and sing

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Of leaves,
liven up their dance
a rustling disturbance,

The wind, entr’acte, passing by,
does prick and ply their motions.
Embrace them, turn and whirl,
and love-struck, fails to die.

A wind swirling with its bustle
causing them to rustle
(as leaves are sessile).
Their time and captivation ending
with hues of autumn shifting.

Rending.

The wind, incitement with a sound included;
leaves breaking free
then flight from tree, soon denuded.
This joy in purpose released towards the heaven.

Of lives, they leaven.

********
The reworking of an old poem from ca. 2005-6. I think I like this better.

Lumbolesh

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Seeking the sun and feeling the sky,
the bumbledy centipede swerves and winds by –
Consoling caution with captive replies,
the yippee-ki cowboys sweer by their eyes.

Sing me a lumbolesh, blow on a conch –
fling to the puzzling cat on its haunch.
Open your eyes to the sunlit above
and swerve and console and just sweer,
well sort of.

Formula

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Life gets ahold and it herds, when all told
the work of the poem is always tenfold.

The light from the sun flickers that shimmers in gold
amidst the shade in the summer, while on a stroll.

The pleasant refinement of daisies in view.
A maddening premise, a dove to include-

across the path, fluttering, wingspan askew-
a memory blossomed and wand’ring ensued.

A relief of a notion that somewhere around
is beauty awaiting, just to be found.

Daisies and doves, and trying abounds
the poem, tenfold or so, lingers in sound.  
******************

The creative process for me is never the same. It is often chaotic, and my writing can be brought about by several different elements. With all of the unhappiness in the world – I felt constrained by disappointment, resentment, and anger. I thought something simple would help me write something today, and this formula did.
 

Triple threat

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Three of them, wandering off at the barbecue:
Jonathan, Allison, Rebecca Williston
didn’t remain for the hot dogs and chili sauce
wanderlust leveled a lure at this crew.

Sauntering off to the swing-set and whirl-around
all of them squealing with joy in the afternoon.
Allison yelled for the first swing and Jonathan
called for the whirly-gig-jumped with a bound.

Rebecca resigned then to pushing them both again.
First, she shoved Allison hard and with all her might
ran to spin Jonathan round and round – in a flight
back to the swing she indulged dear sweet Allison.

This storm continued for minutes and seconds
till Allison’s comment “I’m too high – the altitude!”
Jonathan’s face was awash in pea green –
Their mother called out-“Your birthday cake beckons!”

Rebecca took off – leaving the other two.
Both of them reeling and dizzy and tottering.
Neither felt well enough to eat their birthday cake.
A couple of pieces Rebecca could choose.

This is the tale of the Williston “triple-lets”
How they react and the things they indulge.
Jonathan, Allison both overdo things, and
Becca – Rebecca – she takes what she gets.

Spoken

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My words disappeared under the moonlight,
The sounds of dissipation fading fast
to quiet in a cavernous depiction,
a blank homage to the universal past.

Then, vibrations denigrated all the darkness
setting into motion light set free –
like a word spoken among the silence
resonating shift and change and deed.

The silhouetted shapes that give perspective,
colored vivid depth to pangs and shine,
a pulsing heart, a growing hunger
that extends from shadows unconfined.

To this, we owe our debts of salutation
the creative source we poets grace-
in the beginning there was nothing
but a word from which our imaginations trace.

 

Cobblestones

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We played as we hopped on a path made of cobblestones,
working to miss tripping up on the wobbly ones-
teetering remnants of geological dawn.

With skips, our fortuitous leaps soon encouraged us,
daffodils blooming beside, on the precipice
jumping to miss the mud puddles along.

Darting and skipping on shiny smooth pebbles
No one would think less of us being rebels
while racing the sidewalks and adjacent lawns.

Falling about in the bluegrass and fescue
Speaking our dreams in expanse, what we cling to-
while bouncing, en-route, as the day lead us on.

Then, after our respite, we left hand-in-hand
Back to the fray of intruding demands,
the cobblestones under our feet level drawn.

And, clicking our heels in the dance of our sunset,
With light on horizons and tears in our sweat,
it’s like we were walking on air all along.

**********
Reworking an older poem from ca. 2005-6

Dyad

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It’s careful planning
in open seasons,
speeding on the highway-
none are most enchanting
than sultry evenings.

It’s dampening ground
then freezing compost-
warming to the sunlight,
glint and once again crowned
each day, sol profound.

It’s noisy joy
come silent druthers.
Minus equals pluses
and divisions are ploys
with burnished alloy.

It’s swaying elders
in the blue dimmet.
Twinkle and a glimmer
of days when he held her,
she’d swoon and swelter.

It’s now and tempted
cosset the twilight,
The token now doublet,
a bell sound presented
with geminate thread.

heaven

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Someday, I’ll walk in the valley
and see the high hills that surround me
thinking that day is the one of nadir –
that my dreams and zeniths are all on paper.

One day, I will pause by a stream
to watch the fish dart, to wish as they teem,
believing that now is the moment of truth –
that now is the difference ‘tween rippled and smooth.

Nowadays, I seek out a dale
with hills along side, and a brook to avail-
hoping this heaven will open the souls
of all who exist, and persist as a whole.

Scale

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I step to the side of a ladder
and look up the beams to ascend –

Pulling the halyard, extending
the length of the climb to the end.

Firming the placement and facing,
I place on the first rung, a tap

of rhythm and firm motivation
supporting the weight of the step.

Then, rundle by rundle, I top it
climbing by scaling the air.

Grasping the sides upon reaching
a place at the base of the stair.

And wondering a bit as I conjure
the memories of whence I have come,

I turn, and with hand on the railing
continue my climb to the sun.

************************
A poem for the hope that a new year brings, though I suppose it could apply to other challenges we face daily. I wish everyone a prosperous, happy, and successful 2018.