Category Archives: Poem

Wallflower: Three Things Challenge #444

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Wallflower

You think I cannot see you behind your curtain blind,
hiding in the shadows. You are the cautious kind.
You drape yourself in darkness, thinking I will not see,
but still the colors of your soul come shining out at me.

Step forward to the lightness. There is no danger here.
There is at least one person who bids you to come near.
Whether bad or good will come from joining life’s mad dance,
you will never know until you choose to take the chance.

The three words for the Three Things Challenge  #444this week are: CURTAIN DRAPE BLIND
Image by Susan Flores on Unsplash.

S.O.S.: For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 618

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S.O.S

Debris that’s caught up by the wind swells and rips and surges,
then falls to blanket ponds and fields and fill up roadside verges.
We trace its patterns in the woods, caught up along the trail.
We try to overlook it in the passing, but we fail.

It rolls down meadow pathways formerly pristine.
We trace its ugly progress through every canyon scene—
in a plastic bag’s graffiti plastered to a cavern wall.
Who will come to rescue our world before its fall?

Is any wiser culture listening for the call
from out there in the Universe, far from this spinning ball
that we are all trapped on, choking in the air
created by our progress, as we strip it bare?

 

The Sunday Whirl  Wordle 618 prompts today are: call, trace, rescue, debris, wind, swell, rip, surge, pass, rolls, trail, woods

Mutability: For W3 prompt

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Mutability

It
is life.
We can’t fight
the truth that we
were born to those rules
that return us to soil
from whence we have been lifted 
time after time, metamorphosed
from light to shadow, from breath to wind,
to rise and fall in some eternal plan 
we have no chart for except for what we see
in ripening grain and bread upon the table,
oceans raised into the air to fall as springtime rain.
Why can’t we see
we can’t control
our universe
but instead fall
like autumn leaves
down to the earth?

 

The above  poem was written to this prompt: Write a poem in “Tree of Life” poetic form about changes, impermanence, and strength.
‘Tree of Life’ poetic form:

  • An uplifting poem in 19 lines;
  • Syllabic: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-4-4-4-4-4-4;
  • Unrhymed;
  • Alignment: Centered

The Zen of Fear

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The farther up the mountain we went, the smaller the road became. I was on the outside and for most of the way the drop was severe–with no siderails or walls or shoulders. Vertigo? Yes.

The Zen of Fear

I don’t know what’s in front of me,
can’t  recall what’s in the rear.
Don’t know if I should run full force
or if I should veer.

I guess I will just take what comes
and enjoy the ride.
Life is so much better spent
with fears all set aside.

The Pensivity Three Things Challenge prompt today is Front, Rear, Aside.

Postscript:

Forgottenman says I should include our Skype conversation that took place between my writing of this poem and its posting, so here goes:

Judy, 11:54 PM: what should I name the poem I’m about to post? Yeah I know yer drunk, but you do some of your best thinking in that condition!  ;o)
Forgottenman, 11:56 PM: Heh, yep. I’m thinking! My first drunken thought is The Zen of Fear.
Forgottenman: 12:01 AM: Wow – you actually titled it that!
Judy, 12:01 AM: Well I always do.  I used the title you suggested yesterday, too! It was a good title.  I could write poems all day long but I am usually stymied by the titles. I still don’t have a title for my Ethiopia book after twenty years!!!!! Can’t finish and publish it until I do.

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 617

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True Confessions

Drag your dreams to paper.
Slam them on the page.
Let loose your bones of worry.
Release your screams of rage.

With all your senses humming,
drive away each care
by sharing it with all the world.
Be truthful if you dare.

Nonsensical or rational,
each fresh fear that you share
will drive your worries all away,
so tell us if you dare,

what secrets you have left to tell.
Run every dread fear by us.
If you need an audience
take a chance and try us!

For Wordle 617 the words are: nonsensical drive left humming fresh loose bones slam run paper dream drag

Hummingbird, for RDP

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For RDP: Hum

Ode to Avolition

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Image by Kenny Zhang on Unsplash.

 

Ode to Avolition

Those lacking in expedition
are victims of avolition.
Opposite of blind ambition,
slingshot with no ammunition,
no task brought to its fruition.

Old stories with no new edition,
goals lacking ample nutrition
sink into utter perdition,
prompting purpose’s sedition,
birthing lethargy’s tradition.

What prompted this poem written at 4 a.m.this morning?  This Skype conversation with Forgottenman.  I woke up at 1 a.m. after 4 hours sleep.  He was still awake, thus a three hour conversation that included these lines:

Judy: Are you ever playing your guitar?
Forgottenman,03:19 AM
No. Still haven’t replaced the broken string.
Judy: 03:19 AM
Do you have a set of strings or need to buy them?
Forgottenman, 03:20 AM
I have 2 sets of new strings. Just … I don’t know.
03:21 AM
Judy: You don’t know where they are or don’t know why you don’t restring it?
Forgottenman, 03:22 AM

The new strings are right there. I just can’t. I might be this. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avolition

Avolition, as a symptom of various forms of psychopathology, is the decrease in the ability to initiate and persist in self-directed purposeful activities.[1] Such activities that appear to be neglected usually include routine activities, including hobbies, going to work and/or school, and most notably, engaging in social activities. A person experiencing avolition may stay at home for long periods of time, rather than seeking out work or peer relations.

Thanks for the prompt, Forgottenman, unintentional as it was. Couldn’t fall asleep until I practiced the opposite of avolition, resulting in this poem.

And, why not just link with dVerse Poets??? HI, Guys. Missed the live reading, but…just a case of avolition!!!

And here is the regular link to dVerse Poets.

Dear Genie (A Note Affixed to a Bottle) for dVerse Poets

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Dear Genie (A Note Affixed to a Bottle)

Dear Genie  (A note Affixed to a Bottle)

Get back into the bottle. You’re doing nothing right.
The Adonis I requested just the other night
turned out to be the plumber. He got here around nine,
but the pipes he chose to work on were not any pipes of mine.
A problem with your hearing is a possibility,
so for now there’s only one more wish that I would ask of thee.
A doctor of ear, nose and throat you need to visit, please,
for when I requested money, you brought me hives of bees.
Now I’ve sufficient honey and beeswax it appears—
almost as much as I imagine you have in your ears.
As it is, each thing I wish for occasions my new fears.
So you’re confined to quarters ’til your hearing reappears!

For dVerse Poets: Bottle

Prompted, Aug 23, 2023

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So, late last night, ForgottenMan commented on the fact that I was practically blogless for the day. I commented that if he felt the need for a poem that he might furnish some prompts, which he took literally and promptly supplied. They were: effective affective (in)effective elective selective invective.

By the time he had supplied them, I was already asleep, but I awakened at 4:30 AM and after doing Wordle, Quordle, Quordle Sequence and Blossom, I accepted his challenge. Here is my feeble effort in satisfying his prompt:

Prompted

My task is totally elective
and my choice of words selective,
so I will rouse no invective
if I turn out unreflective
concerning words he found effective
but that I brand ineffective
in causing me to be reflective!!!!

Prompted: Happy National Poet’s Day, Aug. 21, 2023

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Prompted

They stand in restless lengthy queues, awaiting their fate.
They’ve gone unused so many months. Perhaps it is too late.
Words that rhyme group up in pairs, trios or quartets.
Words with equal syllables cavort in minuets.

They cannot volunteer themselves but must wait to be chosen.
In lockstep, they march caught in place, thus sentenced to be frozen.
Meanwhile, her muse goes shopping for expressions unexpressed,
hoping that she’ll stumble on unique words lately pressed.

Thus are new poems stymied, waiting for inspiration,
hoping they’ll be given birth before their expiration.
And the poet gazes skyward, waiting for that zen
to deliver the first word to her, so she can begin.

Thanks to Martha Kennedy for pointing out that August 21 is National Poetry Day as well as RDP for inspiring this poem! FOR RDP: Queue