Made of steel,
I have withstood
your darkness,
borne the blackened
traces of your hardened
words upon my soul,
have carried for you,
endured the weight
of your substance –
lack of substance –
this charred shell
all that remains,
tarnished metal
walls, contents
now empty.
(Daily Addictions daily prompt is scuttle)
(Inspired by Steve Still Standing‘s  “An Exercise in Poetic Styles”)
Even the river bleeds –
fiery frigid essence –
earth’s watery voice.
***
It is the river
that calls, waters flowing
through my veins
and I am the banks
steadfast in my holding
the razor sharp edges
like liquid steel
eroding my earthen
postures, challenging
the hardened places.
To stroll amongst giants –
straight-backed arrows
whose green bows aim skyward –
a directional pull so uplifting
that earthly matters diminish –
this is contentment.
via Daily Prompt: Observe Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry write long poems on short days short poems on long days you don’t need a drummer but you do need rhythm avoid melodrama your head cannot explode all the time, there is uncharted territory between ecstasy and despair look after your images they should splash […]
via Short Unsolicited Advice on Writing Poetry — Stopdraggingthepanda
Welcome to my country,
there’s so much to explore.
We really are a friendly bunch
but there’s a few things we abhor
So, we’ve written specific rules
for our visitors to keep in mind –
above and beyond the expected
these oddities are considered crime.
Please refrain from removing
a band-aid while in a public place,
and it’s more than just offensive
to fart when in another’s space.
Should you happen to encounter
our most coveted royal, the Queen,
avoid startling or scaring her, or
your arrest will cause a scene.
Driving a sleigh down the highway
may seem a ludicrous thing to do,
however; it’s actually acceptable if
your horse sports bells more than two.
Taking your feet off bicycle pedals,
is illegal in Ottawa, our capital town,
and riding through Sudbury with a siren
will elicit more than just a frown.
While sightseeing with your mother
in Toronto – our largest city by far –
no matter how much she provokes you,
save any expletives for inside the car.
Climbing trees, tying laces, and even
painting wooden ladders, all have laws
you’ll need to abide, so next time you’re
in Canada, before you act, give pause.
And for goodness sake, be sure to
visit our beauteous province of B.C. –
but leave your gun at home, for
killing a Sasquatch is illegal, you see.
(The final prompt invites a little humour – to write about strange historical facts or laws. These little known Canadian laws are courtesy of narcity.com)
This passion surfaces, rushes, boils inside me,
raging against the rocks of my conventionality,
demanding release, commanding my pen –
its voice a roar obstructing constraint –
insatiable creativity.
I should be back soon.
(Today’s prompt is to write a poetic prose in the form of a postcard.)
“Morrell Nature Sanctuary” is a poem I wrote for the Story Circle Network’s poetry writing group. Â It is also my post today for my other blog (non-poetry, mostly non-fiction), One Woman’s Quest II.
If interested, check it out.
Just curious: Â Did you even know I had a second blog?
Have a good day!
April, in Ontario, is as unpredictable
as my father’s temperament –
sometimes warm and encouraging,
sometimes icily treacherous
like that morning, in 1973, when
coaxed by the early appearance of buds
and the mildness of a morning breeze,
we donned confidence instead of coats.
By noon the winds has shifted direction –
rain rapidly turned to sleet then freezing,
and we children escaped school early,
sliding our way across yards, marvelling
at the force that had turned trees into
glass sculptures, imagined ourselves
arctic explorers returning home to
hot chocolate and mother’s worried brow.
Father had not been heard from in hours,
and the absence of traffic attested to
the impossibility of the roads, and we
felt the weight of helplessness descend
fearful for our father’s life,
fearful for his state of mind –
his storms no less frightening
than the one that raged outdoors.
A scratching on the front door
set us all on high alert, and in
stumbled father, a ringer for
the abominable snowman
his hair and brows dripping
icicles, his pallor wan despite
the blueness of lips, the reddish
chafing of cheeks and nose –
one hand clenched in an icy fist
the other clamped onto a box
hoisted upon his shoulder – and
before anyone could utter a word
the ludicrousness of the situation
hit me, and unfiltered, I cried:
“You could have died out there,
but you saved your case of beer?”
Our challenge to day is to write about a family anecdote.
Silly really,
this relationship of mine –
how I hang on, despite
the tears, the fraying
edges, ignore
the waning
of fibres,
how lifted
to the light
I can see through –
warmth no longer
a reason for
clinging,
and yet
there are memories
woven in between
loose threads –
heartache and
consolation –
and so, like Linus
I cannot let it go.
(Decided to join NaPoWriMo, hosted by Maureen Thorson. Â A little slow on the uptake, I’ve started with the early prompt: Â to write a letter (poem) to an inanimate object.)
This is pen is far too vociferous,
illuminates the disabled rage,
dismissing my concerns, as if
outgoing messages are company
for its dispassionate agenda.
No privacy for ailing, sleeping,
I would physically eject the offending
appendage, but cannot bear reopening
of wounds, recognizing the sins are
mine, no matter how unintentional.
Words can be a trap, take on a beat
of their own, history rearing on page,
leaving me raw-nerved, reeling, their
thoughtlessness a venomous refusal
to remain a victim – I am inflamed.
How to banish the thoughts smouldering
like a cigarette, daring me to inhale,
choke on my own toxicity; I must expunge
the intrusion, recall this maddening vow
to create; withdraw to the safety of illness
shuttered away from the crowd, a blue
silence warming this frozen heart –
maybe, I’ll write a note and leave it
on the dashboard, command the pen
and its itinerary to leave me alone.
(Image: hellenmasido.wordpress.com)
One Woman's Quest 