Tag Poetry

Weaponised

freyathewriter 12 Comments

Image – author’s own

bitter you are, with your lemon sharp teeth,
spouting cruel words from far beneath 
the rasp of your tongue and the knife of your smile,
you may possess beauty, but your character is vile,
your acidic ways are a corrosive salt crown,
your thorns drawing blood from the hearts that you’ve found
and cast aside, they’re so obsolete 
watching you fall from your high horse is delectably sweet 

attack you I must for your arrogant ways,
your character is rotting, there is a malaise
in the depths of your soul (if you have one left),
you may be quite empty, utterly bereft
of love, life and laughter, of joy and delight,
I see there is nothing, something’s not right, 
the source of your venom is just a pretence
it’s a shield, not a sword – it’s all a defence 

*****

Through taking part in the dVerse 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 #85: Wea’ve Written Weekly’s poet of the week, ladysighs, has prompted us to compose two verses according to the following specifications:

  • “Opposites”:The first and last word of each stanza must be opposites of one another;
    • The two stanzas must use different opposites.
  • No restrictions on form, length, meter, or rhyme;
  • Thematic: Write about emotions, attitudes, and/or moods;

This was fun! I hope you enjoy reading this poem – 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!

The watcher – W3 Prompt

freyathewriter 13 Comments

Image – author’s own

Those hands,
those deliberate hands
stroking the covers, the pages
caressing them with fingers gloved in leather
I saw them, those fingers, turning page, after page
after page.
Closing a book
placing it to one side
taking another from the pile
set, neatly, tidily, monumentally in the aisle

Those eyes,
Those appraising eyes
looking down, and, then up,
caressing me with ice grey, narrowed in thought
reading me in place of the words on the page
after page
Closing a book
placing me to one side
taking another from the pile
setting me neatly, tidily, placing me in your file

His lips,
his tongue that he slips
between his teeth, fingers he licks
gloved flingers that flip
through pages of books
that he sees but not reads, his covert, foul needs
barely hidden from sight
in the library at night.

A crescendo is reached,
my fear, lurking, creeps
boils out of my skin
I shall not hide from him
I rise, tall and strong,
take my stand
stride my stride
I

walk
to
his
side

I see you
I say
this is the last day that you do this
in your gloved, threatening way
I’m taking a leaf right out of your book
Filing you away, waiting for the day
Until you’re erased and deleted

And I will say
Let him look

*****

Through taking part in the dVerse 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 #84: Wea’ve Written Weekly’s poet of the week, Selma, has prompted us to write a memory poem reflecting on and celebrating personal memories and experiences, which often evoke feelings of nostalgia, joy, or sadness. She stipulated that it must be between 100 and 300 words long, and must end with ‘Let him/her look’.

I wouldn’t necessarily classify my poem as being nostalgic, but it was definitely inspired by sadness and a heft dollop of fear.

I hope you enjoy reading this poem – 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 – Blessed

freyathewriter 25 Comments

Image – author’s own

We didn’t know we didn’t want it
Until we’d passed it all around
We didn’t know how to stop it
So many six feet under ground

Our homes they began to empty
Some tried to run far away
The brave ones locked the village down 
Others fell to their knees to pray

The vicar held services in the fields
The church was locked up tight
Still the sickness danced in the air
Giving us death deep in the night

We saw not a soul in fourteen months
Our dead in our gardens now rest
The streets have been emptied of laughter and joy
But we are alive, so we must be blessed

*****

Tonight over on dVerse, Merril is our genial host and has asked to write on the theme of giving. I learned a new thing, that the Tuesday after US Thanksgiving is known as Giving Tuesday when people often donate to charitable organisations and non-profits.

Now… true to type, I have at first sight opted for the giving, or passing around, of something unpleasant – disease. My poem is inspired by the village of Eyam in Derbyshire which was infected by the Great Plague in 1665, after a parcel of infected cloth was delivered from London to the village tailor. Under the leadership of the rector, Reverend William Mompesson and his predecessor, Reverend Thomas Stanley, the village took measures to prevent the plague spreading to the surrounding area and also to limit, where possible, spread of disease within the village.

Of the 800 people living in the village, 260 died. If it hadn’t been for the brave actions the community took, the surrounding areas could have been at least as badly affected as Eyam. This is the real gift behind my poem.

The photo above is a window in the village church, telling the story of Eyam and the Great Plague. If you wold like to know more, please check out the village website here.

If you would like to read more poems on the theme of giving, please hop over to dVerse and enjoy! You could also take part if the mood strikes you!