This is an international show, this year occurring in Tabasco, Mexico. Poets are asked to send two poems and the poems are given to artists who paint a canvas inspired by them. Very anxious to see what my poems yield. Links to the poems I submitted are below. A poem inspired by a painting is called an ekphrastic poem. I don’t know what the reverse is called!
Click on photos to enlarge. Especially the last two!
I think the first two photos require an explanation. I would have stepped on this strange little creature if my friend hadn’t grabbed my arm and pointed down to it. This is exactly as we found it in the Walmart shopping center. It looked like a little animated dog poop creature trying to escape from a sinkhole! Yes, I did pick it up and bring it home with me. Relax. It was made of rubber. I included a second shot to show you the scale.
For Leanne’s Monochrome Madness
When her large middle eastern family moved to our prairie town of 500 people, they pretty much stuck together. She was an odd little girl which had intrigued me, but caused the other girls to pretty much shun her.
From the first grade onward, in the classroom or any public gathering, I’d get that itchy feeling that no amount of scratching could dispel and when I turned around, I’d see her staring at me. It caused me to go blank during spelling bees, to miss free throws, to stammer during wedding vows; but any efforts to befriend her and discover what she was thinking when she stared like that never succeeded.
Yesterday, 50 years after we graduated from high school, I read on the local Facebook site that she had passed away. I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye.
Catfight!!!!
With unsheathed nails and open maw,
Tooth by tooth and claw by claw,
that truce unbroken for so long
suddenly shifts from right to wrong.
Familial peace disturbed for now,
they execute their noisy row.
No metaphor that fur will fly
before they reach their usual tie
and go to curl up in the sun,
their sibling spat for each unwon!
Within
External episodes are thrilling
but may not be half so chilling
as other splendors that reside
within ourselves—so deep inside
that they may be unmapable
because they are not palpable
to anyone except ourselves.
They’re mysteries that science delves
by means of psychotherapy.
They seek the treasures that may be
hidden in us, but so deep
we think they’re secrets that we keep.
It’s where we go in poetry—
exploring places we can’t see
unless we voice them lingually.
Prompt words are splendour, episode, chilling, palpable and external.
For MVB Prompt: unnoticed
I hope you are soon home and recovering, Cee. Since I don’t think you can ever have too many flowers, here are some more for you. I can’t believe how many shapes a single bougainvillea can assume. This one seems more layered than most and my favorite color.. A miniature bouquet in its own right. xoox
For Cee’s FOTD
Click on Photos to Enlarge.
Welcome to “The Numbers Game #24” Today’s number is 145. To play along, go to your photos file and type that number into the search bar. Then post a selection of the photos you find under that number and include a link to your blog in my Numbers Game blog of the day. If instead of numbers, you have changed the identifiers of all your photos into words, pick a word or words to use instead, and show us a variety of photos that contain that word in the title.
This prompt will repeat each Monday with a new number. If you want to play along, please put a link to your blog in comments below.
Words and Music
I like words that sizzle. I like words that pop.
When it comes to words I find that I can never stop.
Words that bubble are a gas. They float like a balloon.
Some rat-a-tat like snare drums. Others hum like a bassoon.
Onomatopoeia makes a lyric rich.
It hums along the melody, itching every itch.
The clanging of the cymbals, the clinking of a bell
assure us that the verbs they’re given suit them very well.
for dVerse Poets
Image by Simon Ormsby on Unsplash
Unruly Words
This poem wants to dangle or take a giant leap.
I can hear it whirring as it wakens me from sleep.
I think that it’s been restlessly dancing in my dreams,
clicking on its castanets and bursting at its seams.
It may want to be a song, and thus the castanets.
Let’s hope this is the noisiest that this poem gets!
I like my poems whimsical and gentle like a sneeze.
Instead of words that storm and fuss, I prefer a breeze.
I grant that poetry has stirred others to their fate,
but poems that are too preachy tend to irritate.
Please talk to me in gentle words that put me at my ease,
for in this angry world it’s harder to find words that please.
For The Sunday Whirl the prompt words are: clicking whimsical leap poetry songs be whirring dangling fates talk grant storm (Image from a free image generator–couldn’t resist, but I promise not to get carried away with this!)
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 