Promise of Rain

freyathewriter 11 Comments 
He sows fine seeds upon the earth
But no wheat grows, there is a dearth
Of rainfall

The sun beats down upon his field
The soil bakes hard, there is no yield
Still rainless

He hopes for wind and begs for clouds
He whispers soft, he prays aloud
for raindrops

He lies prostrate, drowning in fears
A ghostly form cries saltless tears
The rainsprite

Showers and sunlight join as one
The heavens shimmer, having fun
A rainbow

It’s Meeting the Bar time over at dVerse Poets Pub, and Laura, our congenial host, has asked us to create a Compound Word Verse of five stanzas, three lines in each, with the syllable format 8/8/3 and rhyming pattern a/a/b. The final line must end with the required compound word that begins, or ends, with the stem word.

Limitation can often create freedom as our poetic and creative minds no longer need to expand into the freedom of the form, but in the story itself. I had no idea I was going to write a poem about a farmer desperate for rain – although given the drought and constant high temperatures we have had in Europe, this probably isn’t surprising.

If you fancy trying your hand at this Compound Word Verse form, why not join us? It’s fun, creative and you can read lots of other contributors’ poems into the bargain!

Martini (dirty)

freyathewriter 22 Comments 
Once in a lifetime I hover
at the threshold, made ice
with fear, thawed by hope 
yet brittle with acceptance 
for this is no rehearsal; no
amount of practising the 
u
 n
  f
   u
    r
     l
      i
       n
        g
of your life
can prepare me for your journey 

and this will not be
the last time, for you are the first
the most important, paving the way
and perhaps, because of that
I fancy this gives you solace
together with the drama
that your departure creates;
a fanfare marking your final parade

you are not keen on acceptances
nor being the quiet man
preferring to make waves, no, bloody storms! 
your greatest fear is 
being left behind, so you leave first
slamming the door shut
to make your point

hope is a barbed crown of roses 
scratching your scalp red-raw, blood
and perylene petals not merging, but fighting
like the tigers in your soul; I never know which one will win
fearing one, hoping for the other
understanding
finally, that I have no say

as for the ice?
you prefer it
- - floating - -
in your martini (dirty)
two olives, pierced

and even still you raise your glass chin chin
and I ciao ciao
you, always present, never past tense
au revoir, Dad
this is not goodbye.


Over at dVerse Poets Pub, it’s time to dive into a bit of Poetics with our friendly host, Kim. This week she has asked us to be inspired by the glorious poem ‘The Window’ by Mary Jean Chan, which you can read here. Her poem won second prize in the 2017 National Poetry Competition.

Kim has asked us re-read and explore Chan’s poem,  particularly the use of line breaks and caesura to build rhythm and evoke emotion, and the three-word movement: “anger is like the sun, which is like love” and then write a poem that begins with ‘Once in a lifetime’, just like Mary Jean Chan’s.

Writing this was certainly enjoyable but quite a challenge to begin with, and then I got into a rhythm, losing myself in the process. Even though it’s thirteen years since my dad died, he’s still inspiring me. His death certainly wasn’t goodbye!

If you’d like to join us, head over to dVerse, follow the guidelines and most of all, have fun!

(Image by https://www.pexels.com/@amine-kubranur-cakiroglu-689611212/ on Pexels).

Only A River

freyathewriter 23 Comments

Dogs howl, as is their wont. 

The cold moon rises, her blank face pierced by branches turned naked and brittle. All trees are leafless at this time of year, bark rimed with frost.

My breath hangs, shimmering in the freezing air, and the iridescent image swims through a mirror that flows like liquid silk. I frown at such misplaced fancy. It is only a river reflecting evidence of my vitality. 

A river… A chance.

The bloodhounds remain far distant yet. I brace myself against the cold and step into the freezing depths, gritting my teeth. 

I wade agains the current, skin, muscles, bones aching in protest, my greatcoat sagging, dragging heavy with water. 

Until the wretched creatures lose my scent, here I must remain. I plead, to any great benefactor who might hear my prayers, for clouds, mist, a dense fog. 

For my freedom.

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, it’s time for a bit of Prosery, courtesy of Dora. She has asked us to create a piece of prose, fiction or non-fiction, to include the following line from Stanley Kunitz’s most famous poem, King of the River:

“. . . and the iridescent image swims
through a mirror that flows.”

I haven’t written a Prosery for some time, so this is a fun diversion from my usual poetic adventures. it must consist of maximum 144 words, and while the line can include different punctuation, it cannot be otherwise changed. I truly enjoyed incorporating this line into my fiction piece, and I hope it fits well into my narrator’s thoughts.

If you want to join us in this poetry adjacent journey, head on over to dVerse and dive in!

(Image courtesy of Muhammed Zeya on Pexels).