wrapped in Nature’s artful call,
wrapped in Nature’s artful call,
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 […]
face pressed against glass
pane repelling wind
gusts stirring dust
forced to wait
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)
Please let me preface with a confession –
I am not familiar with your work.
It is not oversight on my part, rather
a deliberate avoidance – you see,
I too have faced the brand of madness
that drove you to your death, have
feared that any intimacy we might share
would stir my own apprehensions.
Indeed, I understand all too well
the presence of walls,
have believed in the power of sky,
the promise of green, found faith in angels –
nature my solace – realized too young
that the sun’s brilliance, that my brilliance
cannot be sustained by the innocence of white –
bleeds at the fate of indifferent stars.
I understand how gray seeps in,
tears away at the illusions,
entraps us –
how the past stalks, spirals
threatens to suck us in, and how
having lost my own connection to birds and trees,
It is the fate of women
born into patriarchal times,
that the blood of our menses
should colour our fists –
our fury as potent as a paper bag –
how can we not feel terror
when we worship a God
whose religion disparages our gender?
I have faced the inevitability of black –
what once brought solace having lost
its definition, unidentifiable –
have faced mortality, the cold blank
stares of death still haunting –
I am the one who has passed you by –
afraid to linger too long in your words,
have woefully overlooked
the merit of a sympathetic read.
(Today’s prompt is to write a response to a poem by Sylvia Plath.)
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 –
I should be back soon.
(Today’s prompt is to write a poetic prose in the form of a postcard.)
Shards of light cut around the edges of blinds
puncture the bubble of sleep, my eyes
resist opening, consciousness absent
from body, lying corpse-like
under a mound of blankets –
the furnace failing in the night.
Incessant chirping accosts my ears
not yet ready to respond to birdsong,
brain encased in a cement-block fog,
the mournful coos of a dove more fitting
for this somnambulist state.
Mouth, cotton dry, dreams of that first
honey-sweet sip of hot tea, smells coffee
brewing, the warm, encouraging aroma
of toast, weakly considers the possibility
of moving, but body still bears the weight
of death – refusing to respond.
Minutes will stretch to hours –
these mornings when illness wrestles
me into submission, the harshness
of its reality wrapping me mummy-like,
imprisoned in immobility – sentenced
without crime, trial or jury.
(Today’s prompt challenges us to use all the senses.)
Warning: approach with caution.
Despite the overt friendliness of the individual
bearing this warning label, please note that
should you choose to engage her in conversation
the management cannot be responsible for
helping you disengage.
Initiate dialogue at your own risk.
(Today’s challenge: what would your warning label read?)
Let us line our memories
side by side, build a raft
to hold her, let our tears
flow as one, form a river
to carry her, line her way
with echoes of her spirit:
her giving heart, her smile,
a vibrancy imprinted on
our hearts, forever blessed
for having been a part of her.
(Today’s prompt is to write an elegy.)