Real Toads Weekend Mini-challenge

For Kerry at Real Toads.  the prompt is based on the last line of William Blake’s Garden of Love.  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/10/micro-poetry-binding-with-briars.html  Twelve lines is the limit to this weekend mini=challenge, any form you wish.  To read the poem by Blake: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45950/the-garden-of-love
For Poets United tomorrow.

Garden of Stars
frozen and tangled
blackberry briars encircle
the sunken grave dug in
silence by the light of stars –
nobody knew her – nobody
cared – the lust that rent her
passed quickly – then rage.
off to find another one
he crept on into the night.
soon another will be planted.
nobody knows them,
nobody cares.

public domain image

Real Toads: Strange Fish

This is for Real Toads weekend challenge – a photo by Hedgewitch which she asks us to write to. I am also posting for Poets United Poetry Pantry. Toads:  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/10/camera-flash.htmlp Poets United link: http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/10/poetry-pantry-374.html

Strange Fish
He jumped from the Putney bridge in the winter of 1890.
He drowned. Within a few days his body filled with gas
And rose to the top of the water,
Bumping and bobbing its way along,
caught in the current of the Thames.
It went through the city
past pastures, villages –
After a few days it was finally spotted
by a small child who ran to her mum.
Her mum ran to the local bailiff
Who in turn called out the able bodied men
who formed a line on the shore of the river
and dragged him ashore.
Not a pretty picture by this time.
They shook their heads over the
poor young lad come to no good
and wondered if he was pushed,
If he was drunk and fell in,
oa if it was suicide.
They decided on the lesser of the causes
And buried him an unknown drunk in the church yard.
If it had been suicide, he would not have been
buried in the church yard.
As a murder victim he would have to be investigated
by somebody or other.
They put a small stone on his grave
and the date they pulled him from the river.
The local stonemason carved
“The Lord giveth and taketh away”
In his pockets was a washed away picture,
a few shillings and pennies
and a sodden handkerchief
with the initials TLB embroidered upon it.

dVerse Poetics: Metaphor

This is for dVerse Poetics hosted today by Bjorn. He wants us to use metaphors in our writing. I don’t know if I came close. I’m used to writing “direct poetry” – no hidden meanings or agendas. So I wrote about an old lover.
I hope I did okay! I don’t know about obvious metaphors.


The Black Dragon (kokuryūkai)

I was told long ago: Never look into the eyes of a dragon –
His gaze will capture you and you will be lost.
But I looked too long into his whirling eyes.
Brown, liquid and disturbingly male.
His eyes lifted and trapped mine.
There was about him a wildness,
a smell of cold fresh water rushing over rocks.
There was about him a heat, the skin of a dragon
encapsulating an inner eternal fire –
a wisdom of ages, of trees, of endless sky –
a loneliness about him, a dragon curled
about a red ruby heart in the depths of a faraway cave –
he had the strength of a dragon lifting his wings upward
and flying beyond the sun –
And the infinite sadness of cherry blossoms killed by frost.
I could only stand and watch as he flew back to his mountain.

 

 

image from pixabay

The Notes: You can always tell a Japanese dragon from a Chinese or Korean dragon in paintings and tattoos – the Japanese dragon will always have only three toes/claws per appendage making a total of 12. The dragons are given different colors for obvious reasons. Each color has their own powers: Black dragons are children of a thousand-year-old dragon that is black-gold. They are symbols of the North. They are the most solitary of all the dragons and also, fly the highest and sometimes mated with humans. They caused storms by battling in the air. Blue dragons are children of blue-gold dragons that are eight hundred years old. They are purest in blue colors, the sign of the coming spring and the symbol of the East. Yellow dragons are born from yellow-gold dragons who are one thousand years old or older. They appear at ‘the perfect moment’ and at all other times remain hidden. Yellow dragons are also the most revered of the dragons. Yellow dragons also sometimes mated with humans.  White dragons come from white-gold dragons of a thousand years of age. They symbolize the South. White is the Asian color of mourning, and these dragons are a sign of death.

dVerse Poetics: Rain rein reign

Today Lillian is hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. She is asking that we rain on, rein in, reign over…just don’t rain on her parade! No doom and gloom, no politics, no naysayers – sounds like a plan to me! The Pub opens at 3:00 pm EST. Bring your best umbrella, your best scepter, your best horse!

Lovely Day
I remember when I was a little girl –
but then I’ve always been little –
Dancing on our front porch while
the rain came down.
Isn’t it a lovely day….
Spring rain happy,
summer rain quick,
autumn rain melancholy,
winter rain snowy…
I was by turns Fred Astaire
and then I was Ginger Rogers.
Dancing on the walkway in front of the house,
Dancing on the walkway around the house,
Dancing dancing dancing.
I remember taking you out into the rain
and dancing –
You threw back your head and laughed.
You had never danced in the rain before.
Like a summer rain you came and went.

I still dance in the rain.
I wear Wellies now –
Hello Kitty!

public domain photo

Real Toads: Flash 55

Today at Real Toads we have a prompt from Flash 55 Plus to write a poem in 55 words – our choice of subject or, the Optional Plus prompt using the artwork of Erte for inspiration.  Follow this link to learn more of this prolific Art Deco Artist:  https://www.wikiart.org/en/erte   this link to read poem submitted by the poets of Real Toads:  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/08/flash-55-plus.html

 

Autumn Song

“Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.” Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five

I went to sleep in summer
and awakened in autumn.
at night the cicadas clickclackthrum
rising and falling.
it is still hot, lord knows
but this morning was cool –
the day smells of dried grasses
and early fallen leaves clustered around
the bottom of the oak tree.
Autumn is beginning to stir –
to awaken.

 

 

Quadrille Monday #32

At dVerse Poets Pub, De is hosting our quadrille. A quadrille is a poem of 44 words exactly, not including the title and usually includes a prompt word. Today the word is “echo”. this is my last post for awhile as my mother is not doing well and I am taking a hiatus away from dVerse Poets Pub. Blessings on all of you. I will be seeing you all again next month. http://dversepoets.com/2017/05/08/quadrille-32/

Room 214
the elderly woman sits in her wheelchair
looking out the window at the birds
on the birdfeeder.
her mind is filled with echoes and shadows
of years, times, and people past.
her daughter brushes her hair.
voices echo from other rooms.
she drifts asleep.

dVerse Poets Pub – Open Link Night

It is Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub. You can submit any one poem of your choice on subject and form. Come join us!

I hope
night falls gently in mid-May –
the sun fades but it is still bright
yet muted. birds sing their night songs
and the cardinal on the wire
serenades his territory –
Thweeeeee purty purty purty!
honeysuckle drifts on the gentle breeze.
the world is preparing for sleep.
I hope it is a restful night for all
I hope it is a night with sweet dreams
and full stomachs and hearts full of love.
but I hope. I hope.

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