After shaking,
They’d settle down—
Sixteen white cubes
Arranged in rows.
Looking across,
Down and around,
Letters linking,
Jotting down words.
When time was up,
We’d read our lists,
Assigning points
By letter count.
I was always
Amazed at him—
His word savvy—
Boggle with Dad.
Be. Just breathe. Be here now. Ask
Yourself, “Who am I wired up to
Be?” “Who do I admire and
Who can mentor me toward goals, maybe
You?” Breathe again. Just as you
Are becoming, you already are. Right now.
Golden Hinge poem based on “Be yourself. Be who you are.”
― from Fish In A Tree (p. 184) by Lynda Mullaly Hunt
Today’s prompt was to write about “beginning again.” the extra challenge was to write it in the form of an etheree, which is a syllable pattern. The first line is 1 syllable, the second line gets 2 syllables. The pattern continues, ending with the tenth line which has 10 syllables.
Pain—
It’s not
Something that
I allow when
You’re an acquaintance,
Or someone who’s not close.
If I let you in my heart—
Into places I care about—
There’s a big chance that you might hurt me.
Will I ever let you get close again?
Comes round every year,
But it’s not a holiday—
Dinero sadness.
I always wanted three bedrooms or more
a dining room with a smooth maple table and place settings for 12
fine china, Waterford crystal, shiny silver spoons.
I always wanted an inviting sectional sofa
Soft fabric, huge cushions—
Fort-making materials.
I always wanted an expansive kitchen
with a stocked stainless steel refrigerator and
a table we can gather round for meals and game night.
I always wanted a huge backyard
with a cool pool for summer fun
and space to run around and catch fireflies.
But, I’ll settle for a studio, a condo, a duplex—
a small space with a sturdy simple sofa
so long as you always come home.
In English we say, It was nice to see you.
In Poetry we say,
As soon as I noticed you, my heart
Raced a little faster. I could feel
The warmth spread across my face.
My cheeks still ache from the smiling
Even though we only had a few minutes
To chat and catch up, I feel a connection
With you
And I want more.
It was really nice to see you.
I mean it.
I went to this website, and found a poetry form called the dizain. Here are the basic rules of the dizain:
Some have said that to forgive is divine—
That each and every human makes mistakes.
Seventy times seven, or maybe nine
Is the amount to overlook the aches,
No matter what caused each of the heartbreaks.
You have caused several and I’ve caused a few.
We argued, talked, and tried to see it through,
But forgiveness doesn’t work by itself.
It’s not too difficult to forgive you;
The hardest one to forgive is myself.
Today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt was to write disliking something it. Today’s VerseLove prompt was to write a poem using antonyms from the line of another poem. I tried to blend the two prompts. I was going to choose one line and evoke a poem from that, but decided, instead, to antonymize the entire poem “Lovesong for Lucinda” by Langston Hughes.
Hate
Is a rotting stone
Shriveling in a citrine field.
Spit it out
And the curse of its repulsion
Will choke and ensnare you.
Hate
Is a Black Hole
Obscuring light from the depths.
Ignore too long
And its icy spears
Will never heal your heart.
Hate
Is the nethermost of the ocean
Lurking in a motionless abyss.
If you
Will always exhale your mind
Do not fall too low.
And I don’t tell him.
He can see that I’m wearing a name tag
which suggests that I might be someone—might even
hold some authority over the grown up who just yelled at him,
Or maybe not.
I am sitting by myself, in the Commons
composing an email. One of those, where I keep
changing my mind on if it should be “reply” or “reply all.”
I look up when I hear the voices, one raised.
And that’s when I see him, and he see me.
The expression on his face asks, Do you see this guy?
in reference to the grown-up, the one with the raised voice.
I am confident that my facial expression replies—just to him—
I do see. He seems really frustrated. Next, my facial expression asks,
Did you play a role in that frustration? and follows up with a,
Don’t get me wrong. I still see your humanity, guilty or not.
I know that he understands
everything I am saying without saying anything.
I know this because he wears a smirk that is humble, and playful,
and friendly, and responsible, all at the same time
(if it’s possible for a smirk to do all of those things),
as he walks to the office with the grown-up,
the one with the raised voice.
Little man
With big dreams,
You are free to
Hope, to
Explore, to
Love, to
Plan
Your Bright Future.
Little man,
I see you.
An Ekphrais Poem based on Far-Off Places by the fine artist Gordon C. James.
The Read-e-ologist 