Red

Red

Sisters Sun and Moon, detail by Lex Leonard

 

You’ll look pretty as a picture in this, Red.
Sun hides behind clouds longing to shine through,
except that she wouldn’t.

Unable to warm soil, words hinder
poppy sprouts anew.
You’ll look pretty as a picture in this, Red.

Memories held inside her frame injure.
She longs to break the glass of that view,
except that she wouldn’t.

A spark of flame leaves but only a cinder,
too dark to see what she really knew.
You’ll look pretty as a picture in this, Red.

His words she gathers unhindered
and places them carefully to later pursue,
except that she wouldn’t.

New moon gives rise for her to surrender
to stillness within safe solitude.
You’ll look pretty as a picture in this, Red.
Except that she wouldn’t.

 

 

Author’s Note:

Oh, the poetic form! It’s always worth a try.

From today’s NaPoWriMo challenge…

The classic villanelle has five three-line stanzas followed by a final, four-line stanza. The first and third lines of the first stanza alternately repeat as the last lines of the following three-line stanzas, before being used as the last two lines of the final quatrain. And to make it an even more virtuoso performance, Dargan’s alternating lines, besides being taken from songs, express “opposing” ideas, with one being about sleeping, and the other waking.

Following Dargan’s lead, today we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that incorporates at least one of the following: (1) the villanelle form, (2) lines taken from an outside text, and/or (3) phrases that oppose each other in some way. If you can use two elements, great – and if you can do all three, wow!

My lines are taken from a book I am currently reading. I picked it up, opened to a random page and pointed. There were the two lines side by side from The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah that just happened to be “opposing” ideas. I kid you not: You’ll look pretty as a picture in this, Red. Except that she wouldn’t.

Feint

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Little bee
you came out
almost
too soon,
winter’s trickster feint

But sun is warm
bones thaw
you move again with grace
about your daily chores

Your wings loose
and stretch
ready for flight

Violas call
You cleave

And I ride your back
honeymeade our drink
eternity our design

Misnomer

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Misnomer

I walk to hear birds

They are back
after winter break
building nests, returning
in sunrise I hear them
distant

Squeaky chatter
you tip your wing
a glimpse of orange golden glow
Sits atop

How can there be seagulls in Colorado?

sea….gulls

I am told there are no such things as
sea…gulls,
a misnomer

They are opportunistic
Make homes near reservoirs
Cold is no bother
as long as they are well fed

They also live in the Arctic

gulls

Simply
gulls


I wonder which they
prefer?

Colors

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Shaman Dreams, detail, by Lex Leonard

Shaman Dreams, detail, by Lex Leonard

First you learn to see
hues and tints
shadows and light
they are always there
not always noticed

Let go of what
you think you see, what you
want to see. Allow for unexpected
to surprise you

It will

You watch, without
judgement, without need

See, it will unfold
invite you into a new
way of being

 

Authors Note:

Happy National Poetry Month and Glo/NaPoWriMo!

Spring

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Spring

 

Winter negotiates spring,
i
ts last watered drops, ice tears
nourish that which will be,
release of what no longer serves.

After snow, graupel,
downpour of rain, I see your
green blush arms reach
to azure sky. I await, I inscribe your
nod to a new found spring.

 

Awww. It’s spring, at least in part. NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo begins tomorrow.

I welcome this as much as longer days and quick melting snow and birdsong.

Won’t you join me?

 

Again

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Day Thirty, the End

 

Mohter River.jpg

 

I call it big water, the ocean.

It was a year ago today I walked
near crow picking out his mussel lunch
along the bight. Sand and shell
placed gingerly inside my empty coffee cup,
my way to keep a part of him,
remember he was gone.

I discover in loss
the hole, like that black round
left by moon in night when she is new,
cannot return to full as we once were.
Hollowness must replenish slowly,
in new ways, just as moon waxes crescent.

. . .

A sand-hued box tied with gossamer ribbon,
color of the growing gibbous moon.
Inside a woman sings,
Mother River, running her
song, flowing to ocean,
reminds me of my
connection here to there,
big water.

. . .

She hands me a calcite globe,
heavy, creamy yellow
as if full of moon light.
A memory stone to place inside
the blackened cavity,
to remember, to hold
in comfort, to illumine
when all seems lost.

. . .

Today I stand under
waning moon, attempt
to grasp, hear again his laughter,
catch his smile flash where sadness rested.

. . .

Our loop around that hot
bright ball tempered with
night and glowing light
that comes and goes
and returns again,
the river that runs to
kiss ocean tide and flow
to sea once more,
a broken heart mended scarred,
a refitted life begins anew,
all the rhythm of our dance.

 

Author’s Note:

To C.J. and Michael and Lisa