Tag Archives: ghazal

Smooth Talker: Ghazal for dVerse Poets

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Smooth Talker

Whatever tales you chose to tell, after dark,
perhaps filled out your empty shell, after dark.

Those blusterings that in the day came to naught,
may all have served you very well, after dark.

But all those love lessons that your voice once taught
no longer ring out like a bell after dark

As in the web of years you’re firmly caught,
you may as well your passions quell after dark.

Since my affection’s not so easily bought,
your words instead become a knell after dark.

 

 

I apologize to this young man for always using his photo when I need an illustration of a very handsome man. In no way is he the real subject of the poem.  The ghazal is a very complicated form that involves repetition of words as well as internal rhyme.  I’ve added the end rhyme just for my own satisfaction. For an explanation of the form, see: dVerse Poets

Following: NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 13

The NaPoWriMo prompt today was to write a ghazal. A ghazal is formed of couplets, each of which is its own complete statement. Both lines of the first couplet end with the same end-word, and that end-word is also repeated at the end of each couplet.

daily life color242My sisters and I. Strangely enough, there is not one photo of my mother and father and the three of us girls together. The only family photo ever taken was before I was born.


Following

 The youngest of three, every day down unpaved roads, I tracked my sisters’ footprints.
Nancy Drew wannabe, who needed  fingerprints when I could read their footprints?

My mother’s closet a treasure trove, hidden wonders lay obscured on the tallest shelves.
I fanned her dresses with my fingers, slipped into red high-heels that bore her footprints.

Careful where you walk, my father warned, parting tall grass near the homestead ruins.
Fearful of snakes, I fit my own feet to matted grass that marked my father’s footprints.

That frightening choice of colleges facing me, I knew no other way to decide
than to go where she’d gone, and follow in my sister’s footprints.

The obligation of college over with no more paths worn by other feet to follow,
I chose  Australia, Indonesia and then Africa––following imagination’s footprints.

My niece’s teeth clamped to the old saxophone as its mouthpiece snapped in two,
worn by each of the girls in our family and then by her, as she followed in our footprints.