our lives unfold moment by moment by moment though we try to clump them together into years and weeks and minute-by-minute or compartmentalize them into home and work and hobby and now and then and now-and-then and maybe it helps to think there is some underlying structure to it all since otherwise we are like untethered balloons caught up in an errant breeze that pulls us right past the delineations of time and titles and self-imposed strictures and how would we ever manage to define ourselves if we just let life unfold moment by moment by moment
There is nothing new under sun or stars, so bleak a plight we dread to admit as much. Life’s meaning now on apathy depends; and even that we can scarcely rely upon.
A rose is a rose is a rose, especially if that rose is red, primary on the color wheel, predictable on barn or barrow.
You see it in our eyes, glazed over and toneless and done with useless tears. Instead, we let rain track our cheeks in sham rills of water.
There’s nothing to do now but sit beside old memories: books with cracked spines, the way new snow once appeared impossibly white, and the cackled surprise of egg-laying chickens.
*Choose a line from a poem that resonates with you. *Build your poem so each line ends with a word from that line. *Keep the words in order, forming the original line down the right margin. *Let your poem move in its own direction. Surprise us! *Include attribution (after [poet])
The poem I chose was The Red WheelBarrow by William Carlos Williams. Since there are only sixteen words in the poem, I used the entire poem to form my own.
The Red Wheelbarrow, by William Carlos Williams*
so much depends upon
a red wheel barrow
glazed with rain water
beside the white chickens
*Source: The Collected Poems: Volume I 1909-1939 (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1938)
While walking through the park, my dog Chules and I pause at an apple tree. I am drawn to the white-pink blossoms and the bees that float among them. Chules is more intrigued by the base of the trunk, and the invisible messages left there by other dogs. He lifts his leg and adds his own note to the trunk.
cherry blossoms wane
pink petals carpet the ground
apple tree looks on
Day 29 of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). In response to dVerse prompt: Haibun Monday: late cherry blossoms.
I did not see a groundhog yesterday, shadowed or otherwise. Nor did I see my own shadow. I stayed inside, shying from the cold and wind and rain.
My doggo, on the other hand, made several forays around the fenced yard, but did not report back on what critters or what shadows he may have encountered. He usually plays things close to his vest that way. A pup of many barks, but few words.
More winter, or early spring? I must wait and see.
earliest of blooms dandelions tucked beneath unmown grass shadows
It is the autumn equinox, where light and dark balance equally for a day before the scale tips to favor longer and longer nights.
Two days post surgery to repair a detached retina, I am sporting a bulky protective eye patch, my field of vision impaired to half light and half dark. I trust that this scale will tip toward the light as my vision is restored.
There are so many cycles in nature and life, ebbing and flowing, waxing and waning. I am thankful for all that I see.
two parts make a whole dawn to dusk, then dusk to dawn in perfect balance
Yesterday’s poetry prompt over at the dVerse blog was to revisit the poems we wrote last year, and using the very first line of 11 poems (one chosen from each of the first 11 months of the year), combine them to make a new poem. The title of the poem is to be the first line from a poem written in December.
Since I barely wrote more than 11 poems, there wasn’t much (any) choice of lines to select. Hence, I humbly present my “found” poem:
Winter Resolve Reigns
When first we breached primordial ooze. April buds curling New buds dripping cold rain
Little cherub on mama’s lap Sweet Violets in the garden grow.
It’s been a dry summer. Cut boards apart, then reassemble. Whose parking lot, I have no clue.
A lazy rain beat symphony Boots sinking deep in mud-browned melting snow Oh, to yet be young
The full set of rules for this particular writing challenge:
Poem Style: • write a ‘Found’ poem from your own Jan-November 2023 poems • write it as an 11 line list/catalog poem OR an 11 line verse poem (with or without stanzas)
Poem Structure: • choose from one poem per month • select ONLY the first line of the very first verse of your chosen poems • select your title from the 12th month or any of the previous months’ first lines • if you’ve posted less than one poem per month for Jan-Nov 2023 then choose a month where there is more than one to make up the 11
Poem Rules: • your 11 lines can be written in any date order • you must keep the original word order • you may only change the tense or personal pronouns • you may add a conjunction or a preposition for continuity • minor erasure at start or end of the original line is allowed • enjambment can be helpful
I had two useable lines left over:
Shall I compare thee to an iced latte? and A pig, a dentist and a cup of hot spiced wine.
Well, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it? But here I am, back in Stanza-land, and what better way to come back than a writing prompt from the folks at dVerse? Today, Sarah challenges us to choose from a number of paintings by artist Lee Madgwick, and use the painting as inspiration for an original poem.
I will post the painting below, but first, the poem.
Murmuration: Murmuration refers to the phenomenon that results when hundreds, sometimes thousands, of starlings fly in swooping, intricately coordinated patterns through the sky.
What Rhymes with Stanza? 