Purple for pleasure
clamouring so tall and proud
neat, tidy, formal
with thousands of stars apiece
a garden constellation
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/full-tanka/
Tag: Poetry
Full Tanka Day 2
In April we find you
bold and daring as can be
such brightly coloured
thrusting and lusting ladies
flirtatious salsa dancing
Here is what this is about, http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/full-tanka/ and here is yesterdays, https://lucidgypsy.wordpress.com/2014/09/02/full-tanka-day-one/
Full Tanka Day One
Ben Huberman at the WordPress Daily Post says,
What’s better than a perfect bite? Two perfect bites.
If haiku is the sashimi of poetry, tanka is its heartier hand roll cousin.
Traditional tanka contain five lines instead of haiku’s three, and 31 syllables instead of 17. The structure is that of a haiku followed by two additional lines of seven syllables each: 5-7-5-7-7. (Many contemporary poets take liberties with the specifics, and you can, too.)
So as I post a haiku or a tanka (if I’m not too lazy) every Thursday, I thought I’d have a try at a whole weeks worth for the Weekly Writing Challenge.
I plan to use a season of flowers as my theme, one for each month from March to September.
White magnolia
chic supermodel of spring
delicate petals
such effortless elegance
gracing gardens of England
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/full-tanka/
Lazy Poet’s Thursday Poem
Petals of loss
Have we forgotten?
So it would appear.
One hundred years and no lessons learnt.
How many images of atrocity
must we see before enough is enough?
Mankind has battled since time began,
does that mean we must until the end?
And womankind, we’re not without guilt,
warrior queens were not legend but manifest.
Leave battles to the playground
To the realms of history, herstory,
fiction and myth.
Cease now,
while a poppy still blooms on this earth.
A Summer Journal July 4th
WW Reveal
My Wordless Wednesday this week was an odd looking machine – but all machines are odd to me! For those wondering what it was, here’s the answer!
The ‘Vita’, was Vita Sackville-West, an English writer, poet and gardener, best known for her affair with Virginia Wolfe and the wonderful garden she created at Sissinghurst, Kent.
Here is the opening section of the poem ‘Sissinghurst’ as in the photo above.
A tired swimmer in the waves of time
I throw my hands up: let the surface close:
Sink down through centuries to another clime,
And buried find the castle and the rose.
Buried in time and sleep,
So drowsy, overgrown.
That here the moss is green upon the stone.
And lichen stains the keep.
I’ve sunk into an image, water-drowned,
Where stirs no wind and penetrates no sound,
Illusive, fragile to a touch, remote,
Foundered within the well of years as deep
As in the waters of a stagnant moat.
Vita Sackville-West 1931
A Birthday Poem
Today is the day, but as always I plan to have a birthday month, so I spent yesterday walking beside the river Bovey. This is the result.
Rushing Slowly
I contemplate the transience of the River Bovey.
Every molecule of water that flows past my feet
has a destiny, whether it is to evaporate,
to splash onto the shingle that scratches at my soles,
sink into the peaty soil
or connect with the vastness of the sea.
Every leaf, green, frosted or baked dry by the sun
will crumble, flake along the route
or wash up intact on a beach,
ten or ten thousand miles away.
Every little stick tumbles and rolls
between east and west river bank,
to be claimed by a golden retriever
or gathered by a green consumer
to give home a few minutes of warmth.
From its source between Chagford and Shapley commons,
the Bovey glides, swirls and gushes to merge with the Teign
and rush headlong to the sea.
We are as the smallest drops, the most delicate leaves,
chasing through our three score and ten.
Transient beings, swimming, floating,
crashing against the shore of life,
relentlessly struggling to connect
with the vastness of our race.
Work of Art
Nature’s fair canvas coloured by skilful brush
each billowing cloud unique and fleeting in form hue and shade
each curve and sweep of landscape carved by mystical sculptor
each line of tree planted by a master hand
each blade of myriad green springs forth to reach its zenith
burns dry in heat of summer desiccates
lies waiting for the cycle of rebirth
each swell of tide turns ocean brown blue
turquoise and broken by white horses
what greater work of art could this gypsy capture
than nature’s dynamic masterpiece
Michelle W chose the theme for this weeks photo challenge over at the Daily Post, Work of Art. Join in here, http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/work-of-art/
Morning, for Oloriel
Oloriel, at We Drink Because We’re Poets gave a simple prompt today, write an ode to the morning. Any morning, in any form and as I love mornings I’m joining in.
Good Morning Devon
The velvet fold of the sky’s gown,
is seal grey and striped with dove.
Light elevates from the eastern horizon
frothy warm candy floss pink,
the lingering mist burns away
and morn’s waking beauty leads me astray.
Silver dew evaporates from verdant fields
where deer startle and go to ground,
in a hedgerow of fragrant hawthorn.
Nettles and fresh cleavers burst forth,
wild garlic a gypsy ransom, red Campion buds
and berries to ripen in season.
Songbirds, whose heavenly chorus sing
a crescendo like a Devon morning in spring,
that is overflowing, ripe with promise
and brim full of joy for each new day.
If you like mornings why not tell Oloriel in verse?
http://wedrinkbecausewerepoets.com/2014/04/28/poetry-prompt-8-morning/
Weekly Photo Challenge: Threshold and Bastets Pixelventures
Krista at the Daily Post has picked the theme of THRESHOLD for the weekly photo challenge this week. She says,
A threshold is a point of entering; that point just before a new beginning — that split-second moment in time, full of anticipation. All the hard work is over; relief is palpable.
I find thresholds exciting, that strange space or feeling when things could be vastly different depending on a choice, so it inspired a poem.
Threshold
the threshold of disintegration
crumbling shattered overgrown
with vine tendrils both living and lost
where Capulet fingers perhaps lingered
flakes of rust eating into metal that
rests precariously no support for any arm
that dares to lean to stretch towards
the golden light still dawning
balcony of decay and neglect
standing on pillars of sustenance
destined to fall or rise from
the threshold of disintegration
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/04/04/photo-challenge-threshold/
Bastets pixelventures challenge is looking for pictures that inspire a poem so I’d like to add this post, I think it fits
http://wedrinkbecausewerepoets.com/2014/03/31/bastets-pixelventures-april-1-2014/
Lucid Gypsy 