Tag Life

Stand, Listen, Regret

freyathewriter 25 Comments 
basking

raising my face to the sun
closing eyes to recede
and join the world
one and the same

ears buffeted by a breeze
a low note faceted with the subtle chill of autumn
whilst the high, bright notes are playful
bringing the bleat of ewes and adolescent lambs
the metallic clunk of farm machinery
tractors are tested, dismantled and put to bed
until the fecund seasons start once more

silence and boil
whisper and yell
contrast me
still —
silent with all that surrounds
the quietude is a fallacy
or perhaps not
perhaps striving for silence is something we created
to battle against the noise of our minds
the clamour of our industry
the demands of our modernity
the delusion of an easier life
machines doing our work

illusory

and yet —
how have we filled those dreamed-of empty hours?
our cups overflow
too much data
haptics vibrating
upticks in our constant chase
rat-defined race
the creeping animals are left breathless in our verminous wake

there is no silence

all those people underground tapping the underside
reflection of what we desired
or what nightmarish imaginings we strove to evade

they come to haunt
those things we spent our time aiming to miss
We are no better than those who came before
before
... before

and before

we merely found new ways to become the animals that we truly are
cannibals

destroyers of futures
creators of destruction

So I stand

I listen
I, regret
I... stand
I
listen

yet

Over at dVerse, Grace is inviting us to write a descort, which is a poem of deliberate difference rather than having a defined form like, say, a villanelle. She suggest that we might experiment with:

*varying line lengths
*changing rhythms or meters
*inconsistent rhyme schemes
*different stanza shapes
*shifts in voice or perspective
*fragments alongside complete sentences
*the use of another language or dialect
*unusual visual arrangements on the page

We don’t need to use all of these techniques, but keep in the mind the key principle: Let the discord mean something.

This was quite the challenge, but a lot of fun. If you want to give it a try, head on over to dVerse (linked above), read Grace’s helpful guide and join us!

Transient

freyathewriter 27 Comments 
How can you prove something didn't happen
when the only witness is you?

When you’re the one curled up on the hexagoned floor
watching the blood seep through

the cotton weave of your favourite skirt
the one that caressed the slight mound

of your stomach, the one you’d hidden
for all those years, flattening it with

girdle pants to be just like the girls
with concave femininity, the ones

who glanced sideways at your tree trunk thighs
sneering as they passed you by

tree trunk thighs with muscles of water
as you scrabble around on the bathroom floor

scooping up blood rivulets in shaking fingers
drawing faces in the most intimate places

imagining eyes of an unavailable daughter
laughter of a boy running towards you

and your arms ache, your stomach burns
your heart expands and the lesson you learn

as your defective womb leaks all over the floor
is: this isn’t for you, it’s too late and too soon

for the world to welcome another like you

Over at dVerse Open Link Night, we are invited by our congenial host Grace to share a poem in response to the prompt she has set, or something else entirely. This week, I have decided to go for something else.

If you would like to take part and also have the opportunity to read other poets’ work, please click on the link, read the post and dive on in!

(Image by Jean Marc Pampuch at Pexels).

On My Arrival

freyathewriter 23 Comments 
I have thought on this shoreline
a thousand miles distant
wondering if my memory is false
a fever dream arising
from too few vitamins, or sunstroke 
or being beaten senseless 
by forty foot waves
or deafened into stupidity 
by howling storms

the jewels, oh, the jewels
of sunlight reflecting
off mere glass windows
more priceless than pearls
for they are the portals to where you are
rainbow iridescence dancing 
and reflecting a moonlight
I fancy we share, sometimes

something so mundane
as washing on a line
warms my yearning heart
shirt-tails waving in the breeze
skirts, dresses, a silk chemise
such a teasing prospect
for this man, yearning
yet fearing all will be grey
on my arrival

A child’s romper suit, really?
is it swinging in the zephyr
as my ship draws ever near?
I can almost touch the downy cheek
of the little mite who wears it
safe, warm at night
while I ride the waves
pitching and yawing
with my fellow men
salt spray stinging
bringing tears, such tears
to searching eyes

They call me Captain
but that is just my role
my soul, my heart
is anchored here
at this shoreline
where I am free

wife, I see you
wave, wave with all your might!
daughter, I am finally here
I cannot wait to hold you
for the first time
I am home
at last

Egon Schiele, Houses with Laundry (Suburb II) (1914)

Tonight at the dVerse Poets Pub, Melissa is our congenial host and she is inviting us to respond poetically to one of four of Egon Schiele’s paintings, with no restriction on poetic form. I love Schiele’s work and this particular painting captivated me with all the jewel-like washing hanging on the many lines, and the repetition of colours in the windows of the houses beyond the shore.

I immediately thought of the vantage point of the viewer, and wondered who they might be, other than Schiele the artist himself. As you can tell from my poem, I went on quite a journey with my imagined seafaring narrator!

If you would like to take part in ekphrastic imaginings, please do come and join us here at dVerse. Head on over to the post linked above, read about some of Schiele’s short history, his paintings and his legacy, write your poem and follow the instructions Melissa has kindly included.

We look forward to welcoming you!