Considering Metre – June 4, 2014

Hmmm…writing in metre or meter as you choose, is something I know I should like to do and even bought a lovely book (twice in hard copy AND e-book form) written by Stephen Fry (Title: The Ode Less Trevelled).  It was a suggestion given me by another poet named Vive, and I thank her!

I loved his book; it’s fun and witty and if I had even an ounce of discipline, it would probably help me become a better poet.  Alas, my mind balks at precise meter…but I do want to try this prompt out, as I like Pooky’s Prompts and CC’s poems … so:

da-Dum-da-Dum-da-Dum-da-Dum

What poet writes with graceful ease
Not knowing where the meter is
The rhythm and sometimes the rhyme
Comes into play inside her mind …

Yet still a day does not go by,
She counts the bits without their beat
For syllables, so very sweet,
Are closer to her haiku mind …

If I should write in metric rhyme
I’d be dancing in boogy time
I’d put a metronome on my desk
I think that really would be best …

Here I write this funny poem
For my hostess and her great guest
With a da-dum da-dum meter
And
A smile upon my silly face!


Written for Pooky’s Poems prompt 35 – Consider meter

 guest writer CC at: A Glass of Bubbly

Pooky Poetry Prompt – Screensaver – Wisdom (Free Verse)

wisdomin the mystery of life
relative and constant
wandering from thought to thought
discarding – recovering
clashing with society
nourished by pre-cooked ideas
purged by disillusion
accepting the no truth
of a chaotic universe
finding happiness in the moment
a babies smile
birdsong
marveling at life
the infinite kaleidoscope
wisdom


Pooky’s Poetry Prompt # 30 – Screensaver

My screen saver is the kanji for Wisdom … to remind me to go beyond the obvious … which I often forget to do.

Time Differences – May 29, 2014 (Free Verse

Eventide---time at duskRight now it’s 11:48 am
My friend’s sleeping it’s 5.58 am
The gentleman poet watches TV, it’s 8: 58 pm
And in Singapore it’s  5:58 pm

The clock keeps ticking as I write
For me it’s noon, for them it’s night
And in the North of America early morn
What’s happening in Argentina, I just don’t know …

The world once so small has shrunk
Communication’s instant  and here’s our luck
That each moment of our day we see,
The whole community,  from sea to shining sea …

And yet it still seems so strange,
As I wake-up – here at dawn
My American friends are going to bed
And my Australian friends are having lunch.


 

Poetry Prompt 28 – Time Difference

 

Asphyxiated

Asphyxiated

breathless
asphyxiated by your love
your constant loving presence
taking up all my air
your anxious wish to please
asphyxiated my love
there was no place for me
inside the cocoon you wove
breathless, I gasped
asphyxiated by your love
at last I ran away
leaving you in your vacuum world
of anxiety


Written for Pooky’s Poems – One Word Title

Pooky’s Prompt# 18 Admiration Acrostic

Kevin Gordon - http://www.sleuthsayers.org/search/label/Kevin%20Gordon

Kevin Gordon – click on the link for credits

Nero Wolfe

Never do I tire of reading, Rex Stout’s omnia …
Even though I’ve read all his works in English and Italian!
Reading about that fat detective, makes me smile and laugh at once.
Oh how I love this guy and his side-kick Archie Goodwin!

When my days are full of strife, I search him out quite soon.
Once I’ve begun to read his tales, I just begin to melt.
Life seems somehow so much simplier, incredible but true.
Fantastic is his world of high class crime,
Entertaining and intelligent too!


 

Writing for Pooky’s Prompts was difficult this week because I have lots of favorite writers, but at the moment, I’m reading Nero Wolfe again…so I chose him for this acrostic. A week or so ago it would have been Terry Pratchett…or maybe Alessandro Baricco or the Brothers Grimm!

Rex Stout though has been a constant with me from my adolescence so it does seem appropriate to write about Nero Wolfe, my favorite detective along with Sherlock Holmes and Ellery Queen.

I searched for an illustration on the internet and this fantastic portrait came up on several sites…without credits!  So I enlarged the signature at the bottom of the picture and finally found the painter’s name and followed it to the blog linked to the portrait.  The original site of Kevin Gordan can be found HERE .

 

Miasmic Ode – May 15, 2014

‘Miasmic’ Ode

Ecology is a right good thing
We’ve door to door
Pickups now:
Tuesdays and Thursdays
The bio-wastes go
Thursday the ‘un-recyclables’.
Paper and ‘Multimaterials’
Can be taken away at will
You rinse the containers out
And there’s really no smell at all.

But, oh what miasma there is,
When the un-recyclable bin is full
The bag…full of fish packages,
Dirty diapers,
Cat litter and all that stuff …
Is taken away once a week,
The mess inside just ‘matures’
From one Thursday to the next.

The bio waste bin is another …
We call it humid waste,
‘Tis where you put those things
That you didn’t or couldn’t eat …
Coffee grounds keeps down the stench
But still a stench there is …
And the special bags we use,
Leaves a wet residue.

In the winter it’s not so bad …
Summer heat is something else …
The rotting process goes all hog
And the bins begin to reek.
Ecology is a right fine thing
And I don’t mind the sacrifice …
But wish that the recyclables
Were taken away twice a week.

Problems really begin
When you have to add some waste.
You lift the lid of the bins
And gagging aroma escapes,
The kitchen fills up  with odors
That make your stomach turn …

I live in the center of town
Surrounded by other flats
I’ve no outdoors – no composting vats.
We put the waste out in the alley
And we can’t leave them out too long,
The cats have a right hay-day
When the bins are free to explore.

So, I’ll soon have a problem
The odor of summer waste
Delicate, eau de miasma
That will just fill-up the place…

Written for Pooky’s Poems – Poetry Prompt 14

Light and Dark

Writing odes to spring
With sadness in his heart
He gently places flowers
Upon her new dug grave

They’d walked together often
For many a year in love
And wooed each other still
With a passion never dimmed

He knows just how life works
He doesn’t protest or whine
And keeps composing poems
As though she were still alive

She made him promise solemnly
That he’d keep on with his daily life,
She said that she would wait for him …
(Neither believed in the after-life)

As sun shone on the tombstones
They glistened like bits of diamonds
The flowers perfumed the air at morn
The birds sang in the bowers

He wrote to her in verse
He wrote to her of love
And composed his finest poems
As He looked upon a darkened spring

Loving odes to spring
With sadness in his heart


Light and Dark Prompt – Pooky’s Poems

This is an experimental form … the bold type should make sense if read as a short verse.  I’ve placed it in the category of a Kyrielle Sonnet, though it really isn’t because I didn’t want  to create a new category.

This poem is based on a story of a loving couple I once knew … he isn’t a poet, except in his heart, but he still places flowers almost daily on her grave though many years have passed.