The Mage – Free Quatrain – February 5, 2016

Secure in my perfect sense of time
I walk alone in these dark days
Avoiding distortions and traps
That would confound another mage

Secure in my perfect sense of time
The continents change transforming
This water-world’s blue appearance
As I move my mouse to and fro

Secure in my perfect sense of time
A call comes from the highest realms
Alas this mage must go to school
My mother shouts: “you’ll miss the bus!”

© G.s.k. ‘16

 

 

(5) Words: | SENSE | SECURE | WALK | TIME | ALONE |

The Sunday Whirl – Quatrain – January 31, 2016

twirling_mums

Walk alone with no following
Along the thin red line of life
Seek ancient rites of hallowing
Relieve this universal strife.

Cross the tight rope before it falls,
With a flair (look you to the right) –
Seek the signs hear the mighty calls
On the bridge which rose in the night.

And when the moment is mature,
Recite the spells and drink the brew
(Though the rites seem to you obscure)
Don’t hesitate – and now adieu!

© G.s.k. ‘16

 

 

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OctPoWriMo 21(The Sea) – Free Quatrain – October 21, 2015

flotsam and jetsam

Echoing voices in the wind –
Rumbling waves call unto me …
In sombre black unhappiness,
Between yesterday and tomorrow.

“Come to me – I will keep you safe”
The sea speaks in her persuasive tones
“In me you may forget the past –
In me avoid your lost tomorrows.”

Walking down this sandy beach –
Broken shells and empty bottles
Lay in the sand forlorn … forgotten –
Flotsam thrown-up by the sea.

“Oh mighty mother you speak to me,
Of safety in your loving arms
But this flotsam that you’ve left behind
Sings to me another rhyme.”

Echoing voices in the wind –
Rumbling waves call unto me …
Yes,  I think I’ll stay yet for a while,
Between yesterday and tomorrow.

© G.s.k. ‘15

This is a scheduled post, since today I’m in Padua for my son’s graduation. Thanks for reading this post.  Georgia (Bastet)

The Tyke – Quatrain – January 9, 2015

Emperor's New Clothese in Odense. Wikimedia.

So pompous and vain
The President came
To show us all
His new Fashion for fall …

A paunch and much flab
(In need of re-hab)
We all stood in awe
At what we saw.

When up piped a tyke
From his red and blue bike,
With a joyous titter
His eye all a-glitter ..

“You should go on a diet
Man you’re really a riot
You should put on some clothes
(Or you’ll be blowin’ your nose!)”.

We the people surprised
Let out a laugh and then sighed
For all thought that He
Was better than we …

He said his new clothes
Could be seen only by those
Who were innocent and pure …
We could throw no stones … so we weren’t sure
If t’was safe to say that we saw
The old boozer in the raw.

 

© G.s.k. ‘15

Anderson’s moral was that yes, the Emporer was a pompous fool, but that the people are sheeple for one reason or another. (This is a quatrain with a sestina ending .. but I put it in the quatrain category).  I didn’t have to adapt it too much for our modern times … seemed pretty well stated as it was.

Written for Tale Weaver’s Prompt – Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie

Song of Childhood – Quatrain – Red Wolf Poems – December 7, 2014

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Do fairies fly in soft lofty shadows
Far above the lost forgotten door,
Where Puff the Magic Dragon passed
With the brother’s Grimm and Anderson?

Old dust brushed frost on my lost toys
There with a forgotten hop-scotch pattern –
Ah, soft as a sigh I see them now,
Waiting for me, in my mind’s eye.

My youthful games come back to me
Hidden in thoughts of hoary glossed frost –
Though autumn fills my mind with musty dust
The song of childhood calls to my soul.

(c) G.s.k. ’14

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

The Words: fly, dust, song, puff, frost, fairies, soft, door, lost, toy

The Twist:

Part two is the addition of three extra words that are near-rhymes (frost, soft, dust). Part three is mention a child’s game in your poem.

Linked to Red Wolf Poems

The Internecine War – quatrain – September 19, 2104

caltrop datura fret internecine creolize peccary mauve

caltrop Datura fret internecine creolize peccary mauve

The Internecine War

With my caltrop and peccary in hand,
I walked tall in the desert land …
Don’t fret for me my lady-love –
For I’m protected by the grey dove!

Creolize the soup if you must …
For it will build up our lust,
But put the mauve Datura dear,
Far from the wizard’s red beer.

I soon let my caltrop fly
hitting the cyclops’ blue eye …
the howls of the foes rose in pitch,
as he tumbled limply, into the ditch …

Creolize the soup if you must …
For it will build up our lust,
But put the mauve Datura dear,
Far from the wizard’s red beer.

With my peccary a whirlin’ wild
I cleaved, as the sun grew mild,
Dragons and monsters so brave
And a cowardly wizardly knave.

Creolize the soup if you must …
For it will build up our lust,
But put the mauve Datura dear,
Far from the wizard’s red beer.

Awakened at dawn by the cock
I saw it was yet four o’clock …
But my dream had withered away
Leaving me with another dull day.

Creolize the soup if you must …
For it will build up our lust,
But put the mauve Datura dear,
Far from the wizard’s red beer.

(C) G.s.k. ’14

 

I found this blog (1qw Wordle) through a poem written by Bjorn Rudberg and thought I’d give it a whirl … these words were very difficult!!  I also added a link to “Imaginary Garden  With Real Toads” (With Real Toads) for short… which I also found through Bjorn … it looks like a very friendly fun place to visit!

 

Sunday Whirl on Monday – Blood Tests – September 15, 2014

178

By Brenda Warren

My blood just turned into jello
as I went to the hospital for tests,
no words can describe the anxiety
that pestered me that day …

Though I know I should not fear,
there’s nothing I can do
when the time for the blood test comes
I turn into a pavid fool!

The nurse deftly stuck the needle
into my willing puffed-up vein …
Ouch! came from me istinctively
to my mouth with a pucker of pain.

She grabbed some cottonwool,
then taped the fluff onto my wound,
telling me I could have my morning meal,
although it was way past ten.

© G.s.k.

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The Wharf – Wordleing – August 26, 2014

wordle-231. Spade 2. Sail 3. Kite 4. Anodyne (pain-killer) 5. Waif 6. Percussive (shocked, appalling) 7. Skein (tangle, flock) 8. Flimsy 9. Zero 10. Magnify 11. Powder 12. Awry

 

The waif plays on the wharf
Setting to sail her merry kite,
As the her grandmother watches on,
Untangling the skein of yarn.

What better anodyne
Than a peaceful loving scene
To free my mind of horror
Of a world that’s gone awry?

Yet the scene like a percussive negation
Magnifies the pain inside my mind
These flimsy views of innocence
Are a spade that digs a darker tomb.

I smell the smell of gun powder
I hear the cries of children injured
Clapping my hands to my ears
I cannot silence the world.

(C) G.s.k. ’14

The Sunday Whirl on Monday – August 25, 2014

Christian and Moor playing lutes, 13th century

Christian and Moor playing lutes, 13th century

rickety, cliff, cart, bones, language, sustain, stutter, absence, baffles, flight, longing

Reconquered Spain

I’m longing for a comforting word
To sustain me through this troubled hour,
I stutter a hesitant prayer
To sustain me through the fire ..

My rickety cart carried me through
The valley and then up the trail,
‘Til I came unto a very high cliff
And backwards I could not go ..

I flew from my “heresy”, Morisco am I,
And ’twas the only way I’d have saved my bones,
For the language of the auto-de-fe
Fills the streets and soul of my land ..

They said that King Philip’s victory
Would bring glorious peace to all of Spain ..
What baffles this sinner is to see
The Moor was more tolerant than He.

Through her Mask – July 17, 2014 – Poetry (Quatrain Fantasy)

detalle1

Marcela Bolivar

Through her mask she pondered,
The crystallized heart of paradise.
Innocent with her silent secrets,
Written in a code unknown by all.

Looking from the promontory,
The sea frothed with mighty waves,
Her heart pounded crazily
As she watched the schooner flailed.

Her golden plumes disintegrating,
Subdued she shivered breathless …
She thought she should petition
Their liege lord of the afterlife.

Flesh is so ephemeral
It’s branded to disintegrate
Life is just a gossamer thread
So easily rent asunder.

Through her mask she gazed …
A tear drop flowed down her cheek
For the souls of all humanity
And their fragile hold on life.

Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie : Prompt 17