Tag Poem

In swirling snow – W3 Prompt

freyathewriter 21 Comments

You disappear, in swirling snow
I whisper ‘Daddy, please don’t go’
You nod and wave to say goodbye
You turn away, I wonder why
Watching from a misty window

I turn away, I mutter ‘No’
This world scares me, I want to go
Shy and frightened, I start to cry
you disappear

Hiding tears, I hang my head low
I want you here to say ‘I know’
Your gentle hand, a light, soft sigh
Be with me now, you have to try
I’ve come this far, don’t let me go
You disappear

*****

Through taking part in Open Link Night, I discovered a new-to-me poetry prompt – W3. Organised by David over at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, each week a different poet is Poet of the Week, who’s poem each participant reads before submitting their poem in response to the prompt. The poems are then read by the Poet of the Week who selects the next week’s Poet of the Week.

W3 Prompt #82: Wea’ve Written Weekly’s poet of the week, Sarah, prompted us to write a rondeau inspired by a childhood memory. I have never written a rondeau before so this was challenging and fun. It has a unique stanza and rhyme pattern that means you do need to dig around in your brain to find the right words, all while remaining true to your chosen theme.

My childhood memory is more reminiscent of a running theme – an intermittent father. This theme runs behind a lot of my work, sometimes overtly, most often not.

I hope you enjoy reading it – do hop on over to the link above on The Skeptic’s Kaddish blog to read more of the wonderful poems. You could even take part yourself!

dVerse Poetics – Song of Songs

freyathewriter 37 Comments

This week in Poetics over at the dVerse Poets Pub, we are asked by our genial host Laura to step away from all that is distracting us, all that is bringing us down and be inspired by the poets whose thoughts turn to the mystical or spiritual. This is to mark Bhodi Day (8th December), when Siddharta Gautama achieved enlightenment and became the Buddha.

Please do hop over to dVerse, read the contributions and why not take part yourself?

Here is my offering, inspired by the line below:

My heart was split, and a flower appeared (Solomon)

I count them, not to accumulate the seeded wealth

but to honour your blessings, your beauty within.

For your lips are like the crimson thread

that connects each ruby-polished pearl nestled within

and I kiss them in awe, in delight, oh, in reverence.

My mouth lovingly caresses your shimmering jewels,

hesitant – and yet, and yet

I may not refrain from the glories within.

I am entranced by you, your eyes, your brow, your radiant skin,

your covering cannot shroud you, cannot conceal you from my gaze

I have split you open and your beauty is mine.

613 – I count them.

They are yours – and maybe, one day, mine.

This poem is also inspired by an extract from Song of Songs, which is also known as the Song of Solomon. In Jewish tradition, pomegranates are seen as a symbol of fertility and love (“Your lips are like a crimson thread; your mouth is lovely. Your brow behind your veil [gleams] like a pomegranate split open”). They are also associated with the 613 mitzvot (commandments), because they are said to have 613 seeds (in reality they don’t, sadly!).

Haibun Monday – This is my realm

freyathewriter 26 Comments

Over at dVerse, Frank is our capable host this evening as we consider that special time of year when the veil between this world and the world beyond is at its thinnest – Hallowe’en.

Frank has invited us to craft a haibun (a piece of prose followed by a haiku) on this very theme. Whether you revel in the ‘holiday’ aspect loved by adult and children alike, whether your preference is for the inclusion of Samhain in your seasonal celebrations, or whether you just prefer a little fear and ghoulishness, why not have a go at crafting your haibun as the night draws in?

Take part, get your word on or just have a read. There’s bound to be something that will make your skin crawl…. mwahahahaaaaaa!

Here’s my offering – I hope you enjoy it!

*****

The rain spatters against the windows, reminiscent of thousands of dry, bony fingers tap, tap, tapping on the glass, demanding my attention. The curtains, ragged and thin from decades of wear, hang loosely from the rail, too short and too narrow for their supposed purpose. The pale, glowering moon menaces through the branches of the skeletal trees. Its insipid light is no match for the heavy darkness in here.

I light a candle, observing as the match is greedily consumed by the flame, cursing as the searing heat threatens to singe my flesh. Tonight is not the night for a sacrifice, much as the season might demand a burnt offering, recalling a time of witches, stakes and ducking stools. I refuse to submit, I have fought tooth and mail for the power I now possess.

Your science is no
match for me; All Hallow’s Eve
is my dark domain.