You are Dr. Victor von Frankenword (that’s Fronkenword!) and your experiments with inanimate objects have yielded bizarre results. Glance around you and pick something that is lifeless (husbands DON’T count) and personify it. Breathe life into it and make it the hero of your poem this week!
IT IS ALIVE!!!
Or at least it will be when you’re through with it!
MARIE ELENA’S CREATION IS ALIVE!!!
Nightlight (A poem for wee ones)
I light your path from bed and back So you won’t be afraid, Or fall from tripping on the drum On which today you’d played. I light your room so you can see The photos on your shelf Of mom and dad and gram and gramps, And of your smiling self. I light your bed so you can see Your favorite teddy bear Your pillow, blanket, sheets, and soft PJ’s you chose to wear. I light your night so you can see The shadows on your wall Are outlines of the things you love - Not menacing at all. © Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013WALT’S MONSTER LIVES!!!
LISTEN!
Come here! I have something to say.
I’ve been waiting all day
to get into your head. Have you heard
a word that I’ve said? I’m all jacked
up and you would hear me
if only you’d listen. Hear my music.
The sound of these words calls you.
It befalls you to wrap what I say
around your head, or just place me
over your ears instead. My sound
surrounds you, sometimes confounds you.
But the beauty of me is that
I won’t let you mute me. My volume
is somewhere near heaven; it’s one more…
Eleven! Listen in private, the music
comes more alive. How did you
ever survive without headphones?
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
January 20th, 2013 at 12:19 AM
Nice ones, guys!! Marie, what form is that? I really like it!
January 20th, 2013 at 7:44 AM
Thanks Erin! As far as I know, mine isn’t a named form. I just wrote 4 quatrains in strict iamb meter (da-DUM, rePEAT all the way through), I rhymed the 2nd and 4th line of each quatrain. That’s it!
January 20th, 2013 at 10:43 AM
Oooooh! Okay, thanks!
January 21st, 2013 at 2:54 PM
Marie, there is a reassuring tone in this. The nightlight was on my lamp when I was a kid, and it helped me feel safe, even when things were reeeeeeallly wrong, you know what I mean. Beautiful
Walt, of COURSE you go to the source of my love of all life… music, cranked through headphones. What the heck, we
all have to go deaf sometime! I’m late but way down below…
Peace, Amy
January 21st, 2013 at 7:50 PM
AMY! SOOO good to see your chic bangs and sharp eye out here.
<3
Yep … nightlights can be a very reassuring and comforting presence, for sure.
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 10:16 PM
Hummm – deaf had advantages and you will still FEEL the music and the beat.
January 20th, 2013 at 4:24 PM
Yes, wonderful! And, Marie–I just realized I used nearly the same form in mine… great minds… ^_^
January 20th, 2013 at 8:16 PM
Cool! Makin’ my way down there.
I heart you, KatiePie!
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 6:00 PM
Marie, How fun. Can you also have your little friend tell us what she looks like? A flower, a butterfly, a….?
Walt, I am more likely to take my ear-plug off (Hearing aid) than long to put it on.
Nice job of poeming.
January 20th, 2013 at 8:16 PM
January 20th, 2013 at 8:40 PM
January 20th, 2013 at 10:51 PM
Walt, wearing earphones as I read these…HA! How did we live?
Marie, granddaughter loves her little comforting nightlight when she stays over. To her too it is a friend!
January 23rd, 2013 at 11:17 AM
Marie, your poem is darling! Walt, hear! hear!:)
January 20th, 2013 at 1:00 AM
Inside My Pencil’s Mind…
I am the bridge that spans the gap
Between your page and you;
The tool you use,
And often lose,
To shape your thoughts in words.
I am the servant to your muse,
Performer of the tasks
She thinks about,
I carry out,
So really, I’m the brains
Behind your writings and your work.
Without me you’d be lost,
Completely sunk,
Your poems shrunk;
It’s for the best I’m here.
January 20th, 2013 at 7:46 AM
YAY! Nice work, Erin! I thought about writing about my pen, or even possibly pulling out an old one about my pen. I also have an old one I wrote about an elevator.
I wonder how many will write about their pen, pencil, type-writer, keyboard, thesaurus, etc. Makes for great poeming!
January 20th, 2013 at 10:43 AM
Thanks, Marie! Yeah, pencils are fun to write about.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:23 AM
So true and sweet, Erin. I always love to read your poems because you have such a fresh perspective and facility with words!
January 20th, 2013 at 3:06 PM
Aw, thanks Linda! ❤
January 20th, 2013 at 2:07 PM
!!
Wonderful!!
January 20th, 2013 at 3:06 PM
😄
January 20th, 2013 at 4:26 PM
I love the image of the pencil as a bridge between the writer and the page… cool!
January 20th, 2013 at 8:20 PM
I’m with Katie…she just took the words out of my mouth!! Nice poem, Erin!!
January 20th, 2013 at 11:06 PM
Thanks, Kate and Hannah! ❤
January 20th, 2013 at 10:53 PM
Erin Kaye,
Loved it! My inanimate object was speaking on the other end of your idea! Ha! This was sweet. These two writer’s friends could set up a debate that would rival the presidential ones last fall.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:05 PM
Haha! Damon, now that’d be interesting!! And I’m glad you liked my poem. It means a lot. Thanks.
January 21st, 2013 at 2:55 PM
I always write in pencil, so this is inspirational! And of course, my blog handle reflects it… Amy
January 24th, 2013 at 6:30 PM
Oh Erin, very cool poem!
January 20th, 2013 at 1:03 AM
That is fun and greatly done – Thank you,Llittle Pencil.
January 20th, 2013 at 1:47 AM
Hehe! Thanks, Marj! I think pencils are like the greatest invention ever! (Okay, besides the iPhone
)
January 20th, 2013 at 8:43 PM
Keep that thought, Erin. That may be a future prompt. You pencil has become your magic wand in the amazing pieces you write!
January 20th, 2013 at 9:43 PM
Thanks Walt! What can I say, I’m a child of this century. Maybe I’ll write an iPhone poem next.
January 20th, 2013 at 3:48 AM
Machina Per Pasta
I hear her screams; she emanates from there!
The letters on her box share “Italy”
An Atlas Nudel Machina! she bears
A one-year guarantee since nineteen-eighty.
She’s cried; a kitchen gypsy with no chance
unwashed and dying for an erstwhile spin.
She, turning with excitement starts her dance;
the first in thirty years prepares to sin!
But now I pile two cups of flour high
I fist the flour, cracking 4 large eggs
and in the middle shake the yolks goodbye
then bend and bend her dough ’til now she begs!
Now pressed her lips together makes her thin
I turn her handle; pasta now she sends!
(I bought this l980 pasta machine at junk store just 2 days ago! Never
used, the original sales slip still in bottom of box. After 33 years, is it safe? It is all heavy, stainless steel. You are not supposed to wash the machine, ever. Just dust with flour. When I ran the first dough through her, some of the spaghetti that hit the far inner corners of the machine showed dirt, but seemed to clear up the more dough I ran through. Anyone have a suggestion for me. I have never before used a pasta machine. Did you know? In Italy, they do not “stir or whip” the eggs for the pasta; they “shake” the eggs after you make a hole in the flour! heh, heh.)
January 20th, 2013 at 7:51 AM
How cool!! The poem AND the find! 1980, never used, and works? Can’t beat that!
Being half Italian, I do know about the hole in the flour. My grandma always called it a “well.” The term “shake” the eggs is new to me, but I know exactly what you’re talking about.
January 20th, 2013 at 6:22 PM
And being half Polish and half Polish it was also called a “well”. Go figure! Walt
January 21st, 2013 at 8:02 AM
WELL then…
meg
January 21st, 2013 at 2:58 PM
Being shanty Irish, the only pasta I grew up on was from a box, with sauce from a jar! And the “well”? That was in the mashed potatoes, to sprinkle in raw sweet onion and then a ladle of gravy!! Don’t you love garage sales? That is a real find, like Antiques Roadshow-worthy! Great. Amy
January 20th, 2013 at 10:46 AM
That is so neat, Jacqueline! And I love the way you wrote about it!
January 20th, 2013 at 2:06 PM
Mmmm… yummy!
January 20th, 2013 at 4:27 PM
This is such fun!
January 20th, 2013 at 5:32 PM
OK, you got z-pasta, I got z-paste!
January 21st, 2013 at 5:35 AM
January 20th, 2013 at 10:55 PM
Jacqueline,
what a find! A pasta machine with personality! Loved this.
January 20th, 2013 at 10:17 AM
Catching up with my self-imposed poem a day, so here’s three.
Bats
(pun-ku)
I swing, I fly
Stadium or sky
How wild is that!
I am a bat
A Seasonal Friend
(quatern)
She calls me a seasonal friend
Yet, I’m always available
She just shows up when she needs me
Casts me aside in fair weather
She often leaves me hanging, yet
She calls me a seasonal friend
I’m there for her through the cold times
Offering warmth when she needs me
She often takes me for granted
Going months without checking in
She calls me a seasonal friend
And she seems satisfied with that
So I make other friends, like me
Who are content to be mere tools
While she seems happy to abscond
She calls me a seasonal friend
Mailbox
(quintain)
At times I feel so empty deep inside
I stand along the road and bear the cold
And resolutely wait with stubborn pride
Receiving statements needed to be told
And now, their secrets still within me hide
January 20th, 2013 at 10:47 AM
Good ones all three, Connie! I think I like the mailbox one the best.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:27 AM
I agree with Erin. I like all three but LOVE the Mailbox.
January 20th, 2013 at 1:21 PM
I too enjoyed all three. “A Seasonal Friend” resonated with me because it lends itself to many interpretations.
January 20th, 2013 at 4:29 PM
Yes! I keep rereading that one, thinking about coats or sweaters or umbrellas, but also about the animate kind of fair-weather friends.
January 20th, 2013 at 2:05 PM
Yes… the mailbox was brought to life!
January 20th, 2013 at 5:22 PM
I enjoyed all three, but I find the mailbox growing a face–something between resentment and pride. It would be great in a children’s collection.
January 20th, 2013 at 8:18 PM
I’m with them, Connie. The mailbox poem is SPECIAL!
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 11:00 PM
Connie,
loved all three as well. Mailbox–felt his dilemma. But almost felt that with the seasonal item, yet there was a little bit of contentment in his/her voice, a concession. So I pictured it as an umbrella. Coats that I have known are not that content or resigned. And ear muffs are just downright resentful.
January 21st, 2013 at 5:37 AM
Ha, ha!!
January 21st, 2013 at 3:01 PM
Connie, I am scared to death of bats, although I love that they exist… just not in my house when we lived in the country. Your poem actually made me feel good. But the mailbox? PERFECTION. And the “seasonal friend” I think of as either a comfy blanket for winter, to snuggle up with cocoa, or perhaps a fickle friend… or perhaps a snowbird…
January 24th, 2013 at 6:33 PM
Wow, Connie. All wonderful, with Season Friend as my favorite!
January 25th, 2013 at 4:41 PM
Thanks for all your comments.
Bats is a three way pun Baseball (swing, stadium) animal (fly, sky) crazy (bats, wild)
In Seasonal Friend, the last line of the second verse should be Offering her my warm embrace. I intended this to be a coat but didn’t say because of the parralel to humans.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:17 AM
UNRELENTING
I insist on giving information,
not needing your permission.
I hurry you along each day
so you don’t blow your mission.
I am a sergeant, small and mean
that measures you at work.
I mold your day and end it,
making sure that you don’t shirk.
My movements are a stressor
that doctors cannot cure.
I eat your life in small bits,
unrelenting and obscure.
You may try to beat me
since it seems my wheels are spinning.
I know my speech may have a tick,
but I am always winning.
You may take out my battery
or turn me to the wall,
remove my plug or fail to wind,
but somehow I will call.
So don’t think you can change your life
by throwing me away,
for time will march on all the same.
I mark it day by day.
January 20th, 2013 at 2:03 PM
… oh yes!
January 20th, 2013 at 6:22 PM
Thank you all for your feedback. I am trying not to think of time as the enemy, so I will blame the clocks!
January 20th, 2013 at 3:08 PM
Wow!
January 20th, 2013 at 4:31 PM
Well done… yes, definitely unrelenting, mean, and always winning!
January 20th, 2013 at 5:24 PM
As the proud smasher of generations of clocks, I must say that you’re right–they’re still winning. Nice work!
January 21st, 2013 at 5:42 AM
Ha, ha, ha… my daughter once named her little clock “Bell”, for its little, clanging ringerbell that sat at the top of it… One day I realized that Bell was missing… and my daughter,who is Not a ‘morning person’, explained that she had picked Bell up when her alarm bell went off… and threw her at the wall…
poor Bell…
January 21st, 2013 at 3:18 PM
hahaha, I can relate!
January 20th, 2013 at 5:36 PM
Love that one – so timely and true
January 20th, 2013 at 8:21 PM
Timely? Arrr arr arr!
Good one, Marjory. 
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 8:46 PM
GRRRRRR-(wait for it!)-OOOOOAAAAAANNNNNN!
January 20th, 2013 at 8:48 PM
‘xactly!
meg
January 20th, 2013 at 11:18 PM
Soooo glad you LIKED my timing….
January 20th, 2013 at 6:23 PM
Thank you all for your feedback. I am trying not to think of time as the enemy, so I will blame the clocks!
January 20th, 2013 at 11:05 PM
Linda,
you’re something. That is my clock exactly. And he has manifested himself not only by my bedside, but in my phone and on my laptop and in the car and on the fireplace mantel.
I am afraid it is an accusing spirit invading my life everywhere, and your poem is the whisper of its malevolent mantra.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:15 PM
Unfortunately true. My evil nemesis.
January 21st, 2013 at 5:45 AM
… Hourglass (2-hr actually) here…
January 24th, 2013 at 6:33 PM
Excellent Linda, but throw away your marker.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:53 AM
Morning, y’all. Good beginning=good day
Crack
You lie on your back
and try to read me.
Turn over again:
stare at your book,
and I’ll read your back.
January 20th, 2013 at 4:33 PM
I smile every time I read this one. Short and perfect.
January 20th, 2013 at 8:22 PM
That’s our Barbara!
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 5:36 PM
January 20th, 2013 at 6:24 PM
Hahaha. So true!
January 20th, 2013 at 11:07 PM
Ha! Liked this, Barbara!
January 20th, 2013 at 12:16 PM
A great start for this bright Sunday morning. Enjoying the work and repartee. Makes a poetic soul feel good. Walt
January 20th, 2013 at 2:02 PM
January 20th, 2013 at 1:23 PM
Rocking Chair
I sing
of weary limbs requiring relief
of babies lulled to sleep
I sing
a creaky tune with soft crescendo
an arching whisper wept
I sing
of hopeless, helpless, desperation
of sleepless nights’ desire
I sing
a melody of memories made
a song for safe-kept secrets
with every rock and sway
I sing
January 20th, 2013 at 2:01 PM
This is precious!!
January 20th, 2013 at 3:09 PM
Wonderfully well put!
January 20th, 2013 at 5:26 PM
A beautiful little poem of a comforting object.
January 20th, 2013 at 5:39 PM
Very nice – and the chair my 95 year old mother-in-lay rocked my hubby in comes to mind (it sits today in my front room)
January 20th, 2013 at 6:25 PM
This is a classic. How lovely and true.
January 20th, 2013 at 9:31 PM
This reminds me of my mother’s old green rocking chair. Lovely. Thank you.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:10 PM
Shannon,
this has the most beautiful rhythm…I loved it. So many songs and lullabies have come to me while rocking babies. This is precious.
January 24th, 2013 at 6:34 PM
Oh how beautiful, I felt like I was rocking.
January 20th, 2013 at 1:25 PM
Walt and Marie Elena, wonderful poems to inspire us to write, as always.
January 20th, 2013 at 8:24 PM
Thank you Shannon. Your rocking chair is, as Linda says, a classic. Beautifully expressed.
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 8:48 PM
Yep, what she said. Your chair rocks! (And your poem is great too!)
January 20th, 2013 at 1:42 PM
Yes, I enjoyed both!!
January 20th, 2013 at 2:00 PM
My Snugly Pillow
I
hugged it
And it came
to Life and Warmed
me. <3
January 20th, 2013 at 3:10 PM
Cute! I was going to write about my pillow, but the right words wouldn’t come.
January 21st, 2013 at 5:48 AM
Thank you, Erin!
January 20th, 2013 at 5:27 PM
Good one, Hen!
January 21st, 2013 at 5:49 AM
Aww… thank you, Jane!
January 20th, 2013 at 5:40 PM
What a nice, warm friend to have.
January 21st, 2013 at 5:50 AM
Yes, friend, the best kind!!
January 20th, 2013 at 8:25 PM
So sweet, Hen.
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 8:50 PM
That’s the kind of poem I had in mind with this prompt. You’ve breathed life into your pillow, Henri. Sweetly done!
January 21st, 2013 at 5:53 AM
Hee, hee… right on…. thank you, Walt
!
January 21st, 2013 at 5:51 AM
<3!
January 20th, 2013 at 11:12 PM
Henrietta,
so good. Erin, if I tried to write about my pillow…I’d fall asleep instead.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:16 PM
Me too! But my pillow’s had too many tears soaked into it. It’d probably flop…
January 21st, 2013 at 5:56 AM
… I have one of those too, Erin…
January 21st, 2013 at 5:55 AM
Ha… ha… Thank you 7!
January 20th, 2013 at 2:51 PM
I AM TAMARAH’S SHOE
Before the ground opened up on Tuesday
and from it spewed punishing hell demons,
I and my shoe mate warmed to the brown feet
of dearest Tamarah who lived and laughed
in that building across the way that sits now
in dusty rubble, pancaked floor on floor,
like all the others on Port-au-Prince streets.
Sweet Tamarah, where are you?
Barefoot under stones?
Who will come and save you,
the men or God’s angels from Heaven?
Before the earthquake tore the streets apart
and the hand of Death wrenched good souls away,
Tamarah danced inside us, a happy child
dreaming one day she’d teach young children
like her hero Miss Belinda at Grace Divine School
now gone to rock rubble and dust.
O how Tamarah could dance and sing!
Sweet Tamarah, where are you?
Barefoot under stones?
Can you cry out for help
so the rescuers can save you?
I am one of the two shoes of Tamarah,
stranded alone on this Port-au-Prince street.
All around me survivors covered in dust
resemble the ghosts of loved ones now dead.
They throw their hands up and they weep.
Like me the bodies lie lost on the streets
ignored like the earthquake debris.
Sweet Tamarah, where are you?
Barefoot under stones?
If only I could warm your cold foot,
find my shoe mate, be a family again!
#
January 20th, 2013 at 3:28 PM
Amazingly heartbreaking
January 20th, 2013 at 5:44 PM
I think (believe) that Tamarah is now warm footed, singing and dancing within a heavenly place.
January 20th, 2013 at 6:28 PM
A stunning poem, Salvatore. Marvelous.
January 20th, 2013 at 8:26 PM
Oh, Sal … straight to the heart …
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 8:52 PM
Brava, Salvatore! A wonderful piece. Thank you.
January 20th, 2013 at 9:35 PM
Oh, my. This is such a wonderful combination of strength and sweetness… powerful.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:15 PM
Salvatore,
ache and hope and awe and tears,
woven in a story,
tied onto hearts.
How beautiful, how achingly beautiful.
January 21st, 2013 at 12:38 AM
Sal, this is very touching and powerful. Nice writing.
January 21st, 2013 at 5:58 AM
O. M. Gee… This is stunningly, painfully, Beautiful!!
January 24th, 2013 at 6:36 PM
Stunning, Sal. Sad story of devastation painted with your words.
January 20th, 2013 at 3:29 PM
Aaaachoooo!
Because I’m so available
I’m taken so for granted.
I’m paid no heed until there’s need—
it’s just as if I’m planted
on desks, by chairs, beside your bed,
I wait until the issue
is colds and flus and other stews
and then, you need a tissue.
January 20th, 2013 at 5:45 PM
GBY
January 20th, 2013 at 6:30 PM
A great look at an oft-needed item, Jane. It is rarely that I see it as merry, but often I see it as indispensable!
January 20th, 2013 at 8:28 PM
If this poem had been written anonymously, it would have taken me a long time to come up with your name, Jane. This is very different for you. Shows me you have even more tricks in your bag than I thought!
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 8:54 PM
And she’s not easily fooled, Jane. Where’d you get yours, “Bag O’Tricks ‘R” Us”, too?
January 22nd, 2013 at 9:22 PM
Ha! No, I got mine from giveitashot.com–on sale! You two are a fit!
January 24th, 2013 at 9:44 PM
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 9:37 PM
Ha! I love the form, too, with the “extra” rhymes in each stanza.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:16 PM
Jane,
perfect. Perfect for the season, perfect.
I will thank my next Kleenex.
January 21st, 2013 at 6:00 AM
Hee, hee… me too…
January 20th, 2013 at 3:34 PM
I write in my library, so I’m always under the eyes of my friends.
My Library
Come on, I’ll take you everywhere
your willing mind desires to go.
In no time, I could be your lair,
surrounding you with tell and show.
My rows of spines will tease your dreams
and keep you reading night and day;
with me, imagination teems
with wonders to take you away
from yard work, housework—both absurd,
designed to make your muscles sore,
but libraries are built of words—
food for your soul—who asks for more?
January 20th, 2013 at 8:30 PM
Indeed! Nicely penned!
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 11:18 PM
Jane,
another one of yours that I want to hang on my wall…here beside the spines that tease.
January 21st, 2013 at 6:01 AM
YES!!
January 24th, 2013 at 6:37 PM
This is lovely, Jane.
January 20th, 2013 at 3:52 PM
Marie!! That poem needs to be in a book and being read to kiddos. I love it…the cadence and rhythm are so melodic such a fun and creative piece!
I enjoy how you string us along, revealing at the end your hero!! Fun idea, Walt!!
Smiles to ALL in the garden!
I’m not sure what to pick…so I’ll have to hold off on scrolling/strolling this poetic garden path…the afternoon sun is getting low-how did this day go by SO fast?
January 20th, 2013 at 8:30 PM
Thanks so much, sweet friend!
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 8:32 PM
You’re very welcome!! ♥
January 20th, 2013 at 8:56 PM
That’s my motto, Hannah! String ‘em along, then pull out the rug! Smiles.
January 20th, 2013 at 9:07 PM
That’s the way…keep em’ on their toes!! Smiles to you!!
January 20th, 2013 at 4:19 PM
(Actually, I’m not certain this poem qualifies, as my own stuffed rabbits definitely take umbrage with the idea of being considered inanimate. However… )
The Old Stuffed Bunny Feels Her Age
My fur is flat, my stitches loose,
my stuffing slowly leaking,
the threading that depicts my mouth
half gone, preventing speaking…
I never spoke? What’s that you say?
Oh, surely you are jesting.
Have I not whispered through the nights
when pain and grief were fest’ring?
I bore the crush of arms that squeezed,
and sopped your stormy weeping,
and sang to you when you were ill,
to lull you into sleeping.
You tossed me underneath the bed
when company was coming,
and now, amidst the dust and socks,
I lie here, sadly slumming.
Yet though I’m gray, much thinner, too,
I can’t be unforgiving;
I’ll comfort you, as you will me,
as long as we are living.
January 20th, 2013 at 5:48 PM
OH YES, I have a little dog I first planned to write about.
January 20th, 2013 at 6:33 PM
Both touching and clever, Katie, and perfect for the prompt. I very much enjoyed reading it. It reminded me of The Velveteen Rabbit, one of my all time favorite books.
January 20th, 2013 at 8:33 PM
KatiePie, my friend, do you EVER pen less than perfection?! Are you sending these gems out for publication in children’s mags? Or working on a collection for a book? My GOODNESS. I’d forgotten how good you are at this.
Marie Marie
January 20th, 2013 at 9:08 PM
Yay Katie! Glad you have assumed the perfection mantle. It takes the pressure off of me.
Falling from grace has its perks. Space to see things from a new perspective. A good write.
January 20th, 2013 at 9:22 PM
Oh puh-leeeeze. The pleasure of this place is the probability of plentiful perfectly perfect poets.
ME
January 20th, 2013 at 11:11 PM
Walt, you have a short reprieve, but [
] when your next birthday comes, and you are ‘older and wiser’, then you will have to again pick up the mantle of perfection. 0:-)
January 20th, 2013 at 11:49 PM
That would be Super Bowl Sunday, Marjory. Or as I’ve been calling it Super Birth Bowl Day. Or ketchup day (Heinz 57)
January 21st, 2013 at 11:45 PM
January 20th, 2013 at 8:41 PM
“I bore the crush of arms that squeezed,
and sopped your stormy weeping,
and sang to you when you were ill,
to lull you into sleeping.”
This whole thing makes me teary!! Yes, it does remind me of the Velveteen Rabbit and that always makes me teary!! Well written, Katie!!
January 21st, 2013 at 6:04 AM
Oh, me too!! I Loved this one soo much!!!
January 20th, 2013 at 9:29 PM
Aw, garsh, y’all… thanks.
*K8 quickly throws the perfection mantle back over Walt and Marie and the plenitude of perfect poets here.* You all can share the weight; I’m much too likely to forget and let the zombie bunnies get ahold of it, anyhow…
January 20th, 2013 at 9:32 PM
*shudder*
I don’t even want to THINK of what they might use it for.
ME
January 20th, 2013 at 11:23 PM
Okay Katie,
just perfect…I agree. I admire your talent. This is so sweet and lovely, and made me, an old man, want to hug a soft sad stuffed bunny. My daughter was so attached to her 80+ stuffed animals…all with names and personalities. I will have to share your poem with her.
January 21st, 2013 at 8:09 AM
‘so attached to her 80+ stuffed animals”
I think there’s a picture book in there, old man.
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 2:40 PM
Probably so! She was consumed with them and we could hardly move around the house. Will work on that…
January 21st, 2013 at 9:10 PM
Aw, that’s so cute! I have two childhood friends that I’ve never been able to get rid of: an otter and a hedgehog. A little weather beaten and worn (little sis got at them with her lip gloss), but I still love em!
January 24th, 2013 at 6:38 PM
I still have a Mr. Peabody dog with half a mouth, and one eye missing.
January 20th, 2013 at 5:17 PM
I like it!
January 20th, 2013 at 5:29 PM
I am old now, a bit edge-tattered, stained, worn out from use,
but there’s still life in me despite the use, love and abuse.
Once I was needed and sought out, kept busy quit a lot
providing the words and music others sometimes forgot.
Once I was regularly lifted, opened and held high.
Sometime, a gentle hand would smooth as in a lap I’d lie.
Or a caressing finger would slip o’er a page teaching
meaning and understanding to the young ones just learning
Now, I am just not needed. With the new technology
I sit gathering dust, a phantom of what use to be.
Now, what’s on my pages is old-fashion, lacking upbeat.
Organ’s been replaced with drums, horns, guitars, and phrase-repeat.
Sometimes, I am lifted and opened with a quiet sigh,
and my pages turned, smoothed, read before again left to lie.
In my heart I now the words I hold are still full of love,
and I will hear them sung again once we all get above.
Signed, The hymnal
January 20th, 2013 at 5:43 PM
This is sad and sweet…my grandmother just gave me two of her favorite hymnals…so special. Beautiful closing lines and poem, Marjory. ♥
January 20th, 2013 at 5:55 PM
Thank You, Hannah, There have to be some wonderful old hymns in them that are no longer known or sung (…’til heaven)
January 20th, 2013 at 5:50 PM
This is SO pretty! I love it! And, I’m happy to say, our church still uses hymnals to learn the parts.
January 20th, 2013 at 5:52 PM
Neat. I could never do the parts, but I love hearing them. Strick melody for me.
January 20th, 2013 at 5:56 PM
Well, I used to be alto, but now I play synth so I don’t really sing at all. When I do though, it’s always alto.
January 20th, 2013 at 6:03 PM
OK, let us do a duet! How about “I come to the Garden (not) alone” !
January 20th, 2013 at 6:24 PM
Haha! Sounds like a plan!
January 20th, 2013 at 8:36 PM
An idea I never would have come up with, complete with feelings one would just imagine would be true.
Thank you for this one, Marjory.
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 10:55 PM
Welcome Marie, Came to me as the “Music team” was calling the service to start this morning ….
January 20th, 2013 at 11:26 PM
Wow, Jane.
Lovely. I have several old ones. Yes, there’s something about holding those songs of praise in your lap that we don’t have in modern worship.
January 21st, 2013 at 12:55 AM
January 21st, 2013 at 6:05 AM
Lovely…
January 20th, 2013 at 5:36 PM
[...] Poetic Bloomings-It Is Alive-Prompt #91 [...]
January 20th, 2013 at 5:39 PM
Paperweight
Cool and calming,
charming is your dappled way;
gray dances gracefully with white,
bright slivers of mica shine on your surface.
Worth is, to me, much more than pure gold,
folded into my heart with shore-bound memories;
mysteries of mother nature riddle your core.
Pour of salted water trickles and flows,
shows me where you are,
darkened, dense and spherical, waiting in a sea-side pool.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin
This is a concrete poem…if you want to see the way it should look and the actual stone feel free to click over with the link to my blog.
Thanks for the great prompt…this poem made me feel happy to write.
January 20th, 2013 at 5:50 PM
Good that you feel good, and I can ‘see’ you paper-weight.
January 20th, 2013 at 8:28 PM
Thank you, Marjory!!
January 20th, 2013 at 5:54 PM
I LOVE this, Hannah!! “…mysteries of mother nature riddle your core…” That is so poetically put. It’s beautiful!!
January 20th, 2013 at 8:30 PM
I’m so glad you liked that, Erin!! Thank you!
January 21st, 2013 at 1:48 AM
You’re welcome! I really love all your poems! ❤
January 21st, 2013 at 8:41 AM
♥!!
January 20th, 2013 at 8:41 PM
NIcely done, Hannah! I went out to your site to see the photo. You describe it here amazingly well. Always lovely, and always the lady poet … <3 !
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 8:43 PM
You’re a gem, Marie!! Your words are such a boost, truly…I so appreciate you! ♥ Thank you!
January 20th, 2013 at 9:22 PM
I love the last line, ‘specially–gives such a real sense of the stone’s presence. Nicely done!
January 20th, 2013 at 9:24 PM
Thank you, Katie, I appreciate your thoughts!!
January 20th, 2013 at 9:33 PM
And I’m happy, you’re happy! Write on, Hannah!
January 21st, 2013 at 8:40 AM
Thank you, Walt!! Will do…tis good for the soul!
I was going to mention this is a form the “chained or linked rhyme,” it reminds me of a form you used before, Walt…I can’t remember what it was called…the last word of the line started the next line…it wasn’t a daisy chain was it? I thought you might like to see this one if you haven’t already!!
January 20th, 2013 at 11:28 PM
Hannah,
you drew this stone’s story for us! Well done.
January 21st, 2013 at 8:58 AM
Thank you, Damon, I’m so glad you enjoyed this!
January 21st, 2013 at 6:11 AM
“Cool and calming…” Mother Nature’s mysteries have such subtle, Awesome power! <3!!
January 21st, 2013 at 8:44 AM
Indeed, Hen!! ((hugs)) ♥
January 22nd, 2013 at 2:41 AM
!!!<3
!!
January 20th, 2013 at 6:12 PM
Hitchhikers
I have a pen that’s really not mine.
It hopped into my purse one night
as I slept in an exceptionally
big bed in a hotel room. One day it
said, I miss my notepad, so the next day
I opened my purse so the pad could jump
in. So now I have a pen and a pad
that really aren’t mine, but my muse
is eternally, verbally, inkily grateful.
January 20th, 2013 at 8:42 PM
Oh, this one made me chuckle! I love how each item in the poem has life, as well as the muse. NICE!
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 9:35 PM
Write your worded wonder with them, Marilyn, and they become yours. Even if only for the moment. Agree with my Partner!
January 20th, 2013 at 10:57 PM
January 20th, 2013 at 11:30 PM
Misky, you prompted a laugh in me too.
I pictured the two like those little shredded wheat people on the commercial…I guess the ‘leaping’ ‘jumping in’ parts. Ha!
January 21st, 2013 at 6:16 AM
Ha, ha… Love that commercial, 7! Misky… you are precious!! Love that title!!
January 21st, 2013 at 6:25 AM
Thank you! I’m glad it brought you a smile.
January 20th, 2013 at 7:00 PM
Tool
I’m used to fix a broken clasp
and I can grasp
a tiny nut
and lots more, but
that’s not the only stuff I do.
Perhaps you knew?
A needle-nose
that’s used by pros
can make adjustments on your specs.
I’m quite complex
when work requires
a pair of pliers.
###
January 20th, 2013 at 10:58 PM
I wish I had a few tools that would tell me what they could do…..
January 20th, 2013 at 11:31 PM
RJ, Love it! I appreciate your appreciation of the proper tools!
January 21st, 2013 at 6:19 AM
Yes… the proper tool makes life so much easier!
January 20th, 2013 at 7:01 PM
Writing Paper
No matter, writing art or crap,
use me, Foolscap.
Sketch out your thoughts,
connect the dots
or interview an expert source.
Just write, of course.
I’m handy, yes
if you express
some doodles, ponderings or just
a word, and trust
I’ll tell no one
your secrets – none.
###
January 21st, 2013 at 6:20 AM
!!!
!!
January 24th, 2013 at 6:40 PM
Love this, RJ.
January 25th, 2013 at 7:48 AM
Yes! Use me.. My mantra!
January 20th, 2013 at 7:01 PM
Calendar
Hey, you there. Yeah! You wanna date?
I’ll tell you straight:
I am your guy
so don’t be shy.
C’mon, let’s set the day and time.
That’s good. Now I’m
sure you can see
that you and me
can plan to have a great rapport.
See what’s in store.
You won’t feel swamped –
I’m very prompt.
###
January 20th, 2013 at 8:45 PM
HAHAHA! OH, how you make me smile! Each one is well done, but your calendar is my favorite. You are the master of form, word, and rhyme, RJ.
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 6:23 AM
I also like this one!
January 20th, 2013 at 9:19 PM
Oh, and all three are “minute” poems, from this last week’s “in-form Wednesday!” They are a delight to read aloud; you so totally have made the rhythm work for you. I think it’s the combination of long and short sentences, sometimes ending in the middle of a line… or maybe it’s just the perfect word-choice. At any rate, beautifully done!
January 20th, 2013 at 9:37 PM
I too bow to your mirth. The best on earth, Randi! Thanks for these.
January 20th, 2013 at 10:46 PM
Thank you – all of you. This was a simply wonderful animated prompt!
Also…I have out-of-town company this weekend, so I apologize for not reading (yet) and commenting. Even ‘though (as of late) I haven’t commented much anyway. Life intervenes, ya know? (But WRITING saves my sanity!)
And add to that: since I start classes again in a few days, well…anyway. I’ll try tomorrow and see what I can do.
Again, thanks!
January 21st, 2013 at 8:12 AM
NO PRESSURE, RJ! Pressure to comment sucks the life right out of it.
We understand!
Marie Elena
January 20th, 2013 at 11:33 PM
Two more great ones RJ. I was on the paper wavelength too in my offering below. Your items have a particular voice I really like.
January 20th, 2013 at 10:48 PM
Wow, what great poems posted! I so miss this site. Just up late night on Sunday and had to peek in. Here’s my picking from my garden…
—————————-
Writer’s Friend
I let you scribble on me,
and you do.
In red or black,
gray lead,
or inky blue.
I hold like fragile treasure
ev’ry thought.
You hope to keep
them near,
and so you ought.
I’ll hold this thought forever,
and a day.
Until you lose
me in the
the papered fray
of letters, bills and tax forms;
when it may,
in your life’s vast
array,
be thrown away.
Then I’ll feel wasted like this
lovely view,
unseen by God
or man,
dismissed by you.
You’ve written notions that would
warm cold souls.
You’ve laid words out,
if read,
would burn like coals.
Still I will lay beside you
at your bed.
I’m ready when
thoughts come
into your head.
So use me writer, I am
here for you.
So do with me
what must
all writers do.
A thought I cannot make–but
I can keep,
at least for now,
what makes
your still heart leap.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:11 PM
Hey, my pencil’s still up for that debate, Damon!! Love this poem! It is AH-MAZING!!!!
January 21st, 2013 at 8:15 AM
What a great read! So glad you stopped in, Damon. And we’ll take you whenever we can get you.
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 8:53 AM
Damon!! There, I’m glad to have a name now…I think I’d heard and then forgotten…anyway, good name!!
Your poem brought me on a journey…the emotional insides of a writer’s journal.
I like how you make us feel for it…see all of its wonderful facets.
T”hen I’ll feel wasted like this
lovely view,
unseen by God
or man,
dismissed by you….
You’ve written notions that would
warm cold souls.
You’ve laid words out,
if read,
would burn like coals.”
Love these next to each other…really highlights the importance of keeping a journal.
Though, maybe your poem refers to a writer’s notebook…probably but I’ve been meaning to get back to journaling so this is how I read it.
Great writing, Damon!!
January 21st, 2013 at 2:45 PM
Thanks Hannah,
the prompt just pushed it out of me. I’m not a good journal-er, but do keep a tablet beside my bed, in the car, etc. They have stories. They are our friends.
Glad you liked this.
January 21st, 2013 at 1:14 PM
Beautiful, Damon. The rhythm and rhyme scheme flows so well, without being in-your-face, and makes me smile. But it’s the meaning that delights me, ‘specially in that last stanza.
January 21st, 2013 at 2:46 PM
Glad you enjoyed it Katie, it was fun to write. The last lines surprised me too.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:02 PM
Well stated,7, So glad you stopped in the “Chat” – enjoy your classes.
]
[some day you may wish you were back in class again.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:35 PM
About to finish my last assignment Marjory.
SO I hope to be here more soon.
(Uhhh….’more soon’…is that ungrammatical?
Nahhh….it sounds like something gramma would say.)
January 21st, 2013 at 12:58 AM
That works – gramma can’t be wrong!
January 21st, 2013 at 6:25 AM
Ha, ha, Love it!!
January 20th, 2013 at 11:05 PM
My Windows
Smooth, clear, unmoving
unless I lift you. Luring
light in, shutting cold out,
you are always there for me
to follow the world–children biking,
people walking happy dogs,
postmen carrying packages
to front doors. When I turn
to face my backyard, there
you are again, showing me
miracles–buds opening,
hummingbirds darting,
whirling in air, trees loosening
leaves in November’s wind,
and rain sliding down
your lovely panes like
a waterfall. You are
my glass book.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:31 PM
OH, Yes, Sara, Windows do tell and share so many thing. Great choice.
February 22nd, 2013 at 5:51 PM
Thanks, Marjory.
January 20th, 2013 at 11:37 PM
I love windows too. Particular ones. And they deserve to be animated here, they are passionate as panes, and silently entice us to view the art of the world outside. Thanks Sara.
February 22nd, 2013 at 5:51 PM
Thank you.
January 21st, 2013 at 6:27 AM
Ohh… “…you are my glass book…” I LOVE this thought!!!
January 21st, 2013 at 8:17 AM
As do I. Sara, this another in which I see a children’s picture book. I think you should get on that.
Marie Elena
February 22nd, 2013 at 5:50 PM
Thanks, Hen.
January 21st, 2013 at 2:50 PM
Love the idea of the “glass book.” Interesting, Sara, that you had this in personal form, yet viewed through your own eyes,. I went “autobiographical,” haha. This is reassuring, lovely. Amy
January 21st, 2013 at 10:58 PM
Ah, ever Amy. Thank you.
January 24th, 2013 at 6:29 PM
Thank you so much, ladies, for your lovely comments. I so appreciate hearing what people think.
January 21st, 2013 at 12:13 AM
Hot Tea
It begins with heat.
A fiery sun coaxes her
from seed to emerald leaf,
picked and laid to wither
under searing rays.
She fades from jade
to bitter brown.
It begins with heat.
A rolling boil invites her
to a steaming bath,
turning clear water
to molten bitterness.
She steeps slowly
inside the pot.
It begins with heat.
Lingering long enough
to melt a bead of honey,
I hold her in the embrace
of a green chipped mug
as she warms me
from the inside.
January 21st, 2013 at 1:28 AM
Yes, let’s meet for tea.
January 21st, 2013 at 6:29 AM
Oh, this is ohh so Comforting!!
January 21st, 2013 at 8:20 AM
… and your poetry is just as smooth. LOVELY!
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 2:48 PM
Henrietta had the word…’comforting.’
I felt that warmth and coziness and soft ease.
You did this so well, One Inch.
January 21st, 2013 at 2:48 PM
“Fades from jade,” nice internal rhyming. Very nice. Now I need a cup of African Red Bush tea!!
January 24th, 2013 at 12:24 AM
Thank you for the feedback! This one was fun to write. Yes, it would be amazing to enjoy a real cup of tea with you good people. *sigh*
January 24th, 2013 at 6:43 PM
Soothing and beautiful.
January 21st, 2013 at 12:17 AM
Here’s one I wrote for the minute poem prompt. I was a little late in posting it, but it kind of fits this prompt as well.
The Sea
Her folds of foamy green she pulls
From rocky shoals
With weary arms,
Her fading charms.
About her in her last despair,
She droops her hair,
Sheds salty tears
To calm her fears,
And on the sand she softly sighs,
She moans and dies,
A wave of blue
To form anew.
January 21st, 2013 at 12:28 AM
Oh, I guess not. The sea does have a life of its own, doesn’t it?
January 21st, 2013 at 1:01 AM
…and you captured that life before she moans and dies.
January 21st, 2013 at 1:45 AM
Thanks, M!
January 21st, 2013 at 8:21 AM
Hear, hear!
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 2:47 PM
She’s so close, we should be working on her epitaph, thanks to oil companies and cruise lines.
January 21st, 2013 at 6:31 AM
Ohh… I so wish to be there…
January 21st, 2013 at 1:06 PM
Oh, this is just lovely, Erin!
January 21st, 2013 at 6:16 PM
Thanks everyone! Smiles to all of you!
January 21st, 2013 at 12:29 AM
The Book’s Tale (a Renga)
Within me is laughter, joy,
Sorrow and sadness,
You’ll find in me heartbreak, grief;
In me is wisdom, folly,
And beauty, majesty, love;
You’ll find all this mixed in me,
Between two covers,
Written on pages of white.
January 21st, 2013 at 1:04 AM
Hoooo. a sassy little book speaking out!
January 21st, 2013 at 1:44 AM
Yeah, but I just realized that I did the form wrong. It’s supposed to be 5,7,5,7,7,5,7,5, isn’t it? I did 7,5,7,7,7,7,5,7. Whoops!
January 21st, 2013 at 9:58 PM
Welllll… I guess that wold be a new “Erin-poet-form”
January 22nd, 2013 at 11:13 PM
Oh dear! I think the world would be better off without that kind of thing.
January 21st, 2013 at 6:33 AM
Love these words…
January 21st, 2013 at 8:23 AM
This speaks, Erin. You are a such a natural poet.
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 6:18 PM
Thanks, Marie and Hen! You two always manage to make me blush…
January 21st, 2013 at 2:52 PM
Erin,
remember….the best forms are flexible, not rigid.
They move with earth and wind,
with mood and thought they bend,
but do not break.
January 21st, 2013 at 6:17 PM
Damon, you are so sweet! Thank you! ❤
January 24th, 2013 at 6:43 PM
Excellent, Erin!
January 21st, 2013 at 1:00 AM
[...] Poetic Bloomings prompt #91, It’s Alive [...]
January 21st, 2013 at 6:52 AM
Hypnotic, Invidious Light
Invidious candlelight,
light so soft embrace,
embrace, entrance my gaze,
gaze into light, burnt bright,
bright and warmed emblazoned dance,
dance flickered across the walls,
walls succumb to wickless nubs,
nubs of hypnotic, invidious light.
January 21st, 2013 at 8:30 AM
Hypnotic, indeed, as the comforting “soft embrace” becomes a source of almost agitation or discontent as it flickers on the walls. Nicely penned!
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 2:55 PM
You made my mood flicker with this, Misky.
I felt my eyes and mind fall into that waning, still soft focus on that small light in a dark place.
You do such a great job of invoking thought and emotion with your work.
January 22nd, 2013 at 2:37 AM
Loved the form with this one!!
January 21st, 2013 at 9:05 AM
[...] Poetic Bloomings: It’s Alive Prompt #91 With Real Toads Sunday Challenge: Chained Rhyme Poetic Form: Chained Poem [...]
January 21st, 2013 at 11:04 AM
When did you start smoking?
So he comes home last night
and he’s all excited about something
and he bursts into my room with a
bottle and in his Dale Jr jacket.
Next thing I know he’s all over me
trying to warm me up, and I’m like,
Seriously? But OK I let him cause
tt’s been a while and I like the attention
And then just when I’ve finally given in
And I’m kind of humming nicely
He’s like WHEN DID YOU START SMOKING?
And I’m like is this a joke? Since like forever
Only you never even noticed you dipstick
Cause you never even ask me how I am
Except when you need something
And I have to watch you going out
With that plush-assed bitch all the time
With her fancy name and showroom perfume.
And he just looks at me like what are you talking about?
And right then I broke down. Just broke down.
And he just starts yelling at me.
And I’m like I don’t even care anymore.
You’re just a selfish user,
and I have had it with this relationship.
And he didn’t have the first idea what to do.
It was kind of funny, actually. His mouth
flapping open and shut like a broken intake valve
There he was, just a silly little brat having a tantrum
in his NASCAR shades, with a shovel in his hand,
and three feet of snow all the way down the driveway.
Well serves him right – and you can bet
SHE didn’t lift a finger to help him.
January 21st, 2013 at 12:32 PM
I’ve often wondered what our snowblower thinks about as I lavish attention on the car…
January 21st, 2013 at 1:22 PM
Andrew – you are brilliant! I don’t think I’ll ever think of our snow blower the same again.
January 21st, 2013 at 1:01 PM
Love, love, love this! What a hoot…
January 21st, 2013 at 2:57 PM
Genius, Andrew, absolute genius!
January 21st, 2013 at 6:22 PM
Oh my gosh! I would have never guessed that this was about a snow blower! Sheer genius, Andrew! I love it!!
January 21st, 2013 at 7:59 PM
Oh, My. Word. BRILLIANT!! LOL!
Marie Elena
January 23rd, 2013 at 8:00 PM
How fun…
January 21st, 2013 at 2:37 PM
Marie, I love your poem for this. It’s a nighttime interactive picture book. Sub it, girl. And Walt, you do have a way with words. Love it.
Just Call Me “Hang”
Look, I know you
don’t like me or my
habits, but it’s just
how I’m made.
I was part of you
not long ago and
still can be found
around your edges.
You don’t have to cut
me from your life so
quickly, so happily.
I can’t help how I
latch onto things
and make you angry.
I know your temper
F=flares when my full
name is used in that tone.
‘Hang Nail,’ again!
January 21st, 2013 at 3:01 PM
Great Claudsy,
Dang things do hang on everything!
January 21st, 2013 at 3:03 PM
Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.
January 21st, 2013 at 10:12 PM
Hang-it-all, but you did a good job Claudsy.
January 21st, 2013 at 11:18 PM
Thanks, Marjory.
January 21st, 2013 at 6:25 PM
Ugh, those darn hang nails… Wonderful job, Clauds!!
January 21st, 2013 at 11:17 PM
Thanks, Erin. They’ll get ya every time.
January 21st, 2013 at 8:01 PM
Oh my goodness — this is just soooo unique! Only our Clauds can take a hang nail and make it poetic!
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 11:18 PM
hahaha Oh, Marie. Love it. I have no idea why, but my central character popped into my mind as soon as I saw the prompt. It just wouldn’t go away. I had to tell his story. So glad you liked it.
January 22nd, 2013 at 2:33 AM
!!
!!
January 21st, 2013 at 2:44 PM
[...] 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil Haven’t planted in quite a while, but Poetic Bloomings asked for poems that personalize an inanimate object. I looked toward the first thing I saw for my [...]
January 21st, 2013 at 2:45 PM
http://sharplittlepencil.com/2013/01/21/burnout-poetic-bloomings/
if you want to see it “in its own element.” Otherwise, here is comes!
Burnout
How could one who was
once so delightful, dancing,
brimming with cheer,
turn out such a burnout?
Was a time I was wickedly
comely; some said it was
a certain spark
that lit me from within
A blaze of glory,
my euphoric past…
Now I’m worn down and
perhaps a bit dimmer
Please give me a chance
to shed some light on
my matchless existence
until, used up, I
f
i
z
z
l
e
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Haven’t planted in quite a while, but Poetic Bloomings asked for poems that personalize an inanimate object. I looked toward the first thing I saw for my inspiration… one of those old hippie candles with the psychedelic patterns!
January 21st, 2013 at 3:07 PM
Sister, you could’ve wrote about anything, and I’d love it as much. You’re back and that’s all that matters. Our very animated inanimate (sometimes) poet lives abd breathes. A very good thing!
January 21st, 2013 at 8:04 PM
Ditto that big time!! Welcome back, lady poet. Good to see you writing. You haven’t lost your touch!
Marie Elena
January 22nd, 2013 at 2:32 AM
I am so happy to see your words again, Amy!!
January 23rd, 2013 at 11:29 AM
Amy, always an inspiring pleasure to read!
January 23rd, 2013 at 8:03 PM
De lightful – do not hide under a bush!
January 21st, 2013 at 5:25 PM
MY HERO, JOE
(a shadorma)
The object
of my desire may
not be a-
live, yet he
fills me with life every day…
one cup at a time.
January 21st, 2013 at 8:06 PM
LOL! You scared me for a second there, Paula! Thought maybe you were two-timin’ a certain fella.
Good one!
Marie Elena
January 21st, 2013 at 10:08 PM
He is my kind of guy….
January 22nd, 2013 at 12:36 AM
Yes!! Joe, the superhero!
January 22nd, 2013 at 2:30 AM
…mmm… Organic coffee and a morning drive…
January 23rd, 2013 at 11:27 AM
We have a mutual lover er-um I mean love
January 21st, 2013 at 6:04 PM
[...] by Poetic Bloomings #91: It Is Alive!; and posted for Day #79 for the “100 Days of Fall/Winter 2012” [...]
January 21st, 2013 at 8:44 PM
Radiant Wall Panels
Our house was lonely, dark and dreary,
“Tear down those walls!” in sudden fury
My patience truly put to the test
Oh, Radiant One, I love you best.
Can you imagine muck and ruin?
Somewhere there was trouble brewin’
It’s over now – I must confess
Oh, Radiant One, I love you best.
Above the fields, the buzzards hover.
Mothers and children all seek cover.
While we are safe within our nest
Oh Radiant One, you are the best.
Panels of glass will shatter and fall
Paper protects you? Not at all.
Within your sturdy arms we rest
Oh Radiant One, I love you best!
January 22nd, 2013 at 2:28 AM
January 23rd, 2013 at 11:26 AM
Marian, love it! suddenly my ordinary dry-wall is not ordinary at all!
January 24th, 2013 at 9:26 PM
So very unique! And great form, Marian.
Marie Elena
January 22nd, 2013 at 12:55 AM
These are both on the same topic…
Life in Your Smile
You smile at me
Just like you used to
When you were here;
A frame you look through
Now, and there’s life
Still there in your face,
The life that shone
Through you, that captured
Everyone you knew.
But now how I long
For your real life,
For your real smile,
Your real face that
I could feel, the glass
That separates
Your face from my touch
Is traced with tears;
Still there’s life in your
Face and smile,
Though its just in a frame.
January 22nd, 2013 at 2:27 AM
…<3…
January 22nd, 2013 at 12:39 PM
❤!
January 24th, 2013 at 9:25 PM
Oh my …
Hugs …
Marie Elena
January 25th, 2013 at 1:19 AM
And hugs to you too. ❤
January 22nd, 2013 at 12:57 AM
(A Haiku)
Your life shines through the
Glass of your frame; you’re still here,
And still, you are gone.
January 22nd, 2013 at 2:25 AM
“…you’re still here,/And still, you are gone.” I can relate…
January 22nd, 2013 at 12:40 PM
Thanks, Hen!
January 24th, 2013 at 9:23 PM
This one took me a moment to grasp in full. You’ve captured so much in so few words, Erin. I think this haiku is one of your finest works so far.
Marie Elena
January 25th, 2013 at 1:18 AM
Oh gosh…thank you Marie!! I have three pictures of my brother in frames in my room. This is about one of them: my favorite one. At first I couldn’t even look at his picture without crying, but I’ve gotten over that stage a little. Still have never been to his grave though…I couldn’t handle that.
January 25th, 2013 at 10:49 PM
As long as he is in your heart – he will be with you.
Each step comes with its appointed time. It not yet, the time for that visit.
January 22nd, 2013 at 10:54 AM
Hedgehog
You are a whimsy
of dried pod leaves
and young birch sticks,
paper thin straw
in jagged strips,
black tack eyes and
round nose, no lips.
You keep me company
in my office space,
while I seek the words
that give me chase,
you make me smile
as you keep pace.
And when my hands
stall and give me pause,
our eyes meet
you know my cause,
and when I’m done
I swear I can hear
your soft applause.
January 23rd, 2013 at 11:24 AM
I’m grinning from ear to ear Michelle. You really do make it feel alive
January 24th, 2013 at 6:46 PM
Love this perfect piece of whimsey, Michelle.
January 24th, 2013 at 9:21 PM
Add me to the “loves.”
Marie Elena
January 26th, 2013 at 4:52 PM
Thank you ladies.
January 22nd, 2013 at 12:01 PM
An Inky Tribute To A Dying Pen
Milk, flour, eggs, popcorn. I write a list.
Groceries on the back of recycled
paper. Last month’s calendar page, writing
on the back of December – when Christmas
held the days together with plans and gifts
and food, and then the pen skips blue to white
lines of partial words, ink drying, stutters
with dying words, and I wonder if pens
have limited numbers of words in them.
Maybe two thousand, or if it’s really
expensive maybe two billion. And it
refuses to write parsnips, so I ass-
ume my pen would rather forget parsnips.
And then I realise that this isn’t
my pen. I’ve never seen this pen before.
Someone must have used up all but the last
four words, and left it in my care to mourn
over – dispose of in a civilised,
sensitive manner, and so I toss it
in the bin, and look for another one
with more words left in its inky barrel.
January 23rd, 2013 at 11:23 AM
You never cease to amaze! another beaut.
January 23rd, 2013 at 3:22 PM
Thanks, Janet.
January 24th, 2013 at 9:19 PM
Yes, Janet — there is no end to Misky’s talent. No end.
Marie Elena
January 25th, 2013 at 4:51 PM
January 22nd, 2013 at 6:05 PM
I’ve written about the inanimate.object which ensures I.survive each day, thanks for the prompt
http://llmcalling.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/allow-me-to-care.html
January 22nd, 2013 at 6:09 PM
When you need me
You need only call
Reach out your hand
I’ll catch you when you fall
I won’t weigh you down
I’ll lighten your load
Take me with you
Down each and every road
I have no need
Of anything from you
Just take me with you
In all you do
Hold my hand
Allow me to care
Say the word
And I’ll be there
January 23rd, 2013 at 8:14 AM
Welcome, Emma. I’m not sure I recognize you. How did you hear about us? Your words and your site are inspiring. Hoping we hear more from you!
Marie Elena
January 23rd, 2013 at 2:57 PM
… yesss…
January 22nd, 2013 at 7:37 PM
Desk Tray Blues
I’m sitting by the printer, could I move please?
Too much incoming and I’m full already.
I know the last thing you shoved into me
was not necessary. Who needs to keep a copy
of the printer test? The garbage can is next to me,
the shredder next to that, but I get all the crap.
I think we can get rid of two or three competitors
for waste around here. One, the computer:
She writes more crap than that computer can process.
Two, HER! She has to eat every time she stops to think
about the rest of the crap she’s going to type into the computer!
And Three: the waste can because she’s obviously not
putting junk mail, junk reports, or junk notes into it.
Empty me please, I can’t hold another sheet of paper.
I’m meant to have two shelves …she thinks there are three.
I’m made to make things neat…I look like a junk heap. Help!
Just throw me in that waste can and put me out of my misery.
January 23rd, 2013 at 11:21 AM
January 24th, 2013 at 9:15 PM
Judy, this is hysterical and SO unique!!
Marie Elena
January 22nd, 2013 at 10:32 PM
First try at posting – enjoy reading everyone’s writings.
Scarf
By David De Jong
How I envy your time and particular place,
Caressing my love’s neck and silken face.
Your arms gently flowing, yet nestled tight,
All her allure and constant splendor in your sight.
She carries you slipped neatly beneath long golden hair,
Turning other’s haphazard glances powerless, fixed into stare.
Each breath whispers, of her enchanting perfume.
Everyone’s jealous of your place in the room.
Emerald in her eyes, embellishes your trim,
Soft, sleek, fully complete, yet supremely slim.
Glistening beads, adorning your weaves,
Match singing charms, beneath her sleeves.
Your tinsel strings shine, but fail to compare,
With gold and silver hues, iridescent in her hair.
Shield her from relentless rays of the sun.
Brighten her smile, with splashing colors of fun.
Keep her warm as the cold winds blow.
Compliment her beauty, make her glow.
Take care of my love, ever so sweet,
Or I shall cast you down at my feet.
January 23rd, 2013 at 8:10 AM
DAVID! WELCOME!
Marie Elena
January 23rd, 2013 at 11:21 AM
David, this is gorgeous, tender, enchanting! Welcome:)
January 23rd, 2013 at 3:01 PM
Soo Lovely…
January 25th, 2013 at 7:59 AM
Lovely to read. Your descriptions let me see clearly.
January 25th, 2013 at 9:18 PM
Thanks all for the warm welcome – appreciate it.
January 23rd, 2013 at 11:19 AM
My Colombian Comrade
Can there be too much of you, darling?
I suppose only time can tell
You’ve been with me for a long time, dear
And oh, you know me well
Full-bodied, faithful companion
You never disappoint
Rousing easily life’s passion in me
My slumb’ring senses you anoint
Ravishing Colombian lover
Bold, brawny fruit of desire
Rushing through me like an ebony sea
Keening a beautiful fire
And all of life’s vexing indictments
Its pestering perplexities
Dissolve in your glow like the sun-drenched snow
And other minorities
Can there be too much of you, darling?
Life would be cold without you
So I’ll take my chances for your kiss enhances
Everything else I must do
Darling, you know how to please me
Your pleasure I cannot decline
Good morning kiss of Colombian bliss
Coffee, dearest coffee of mine
© Janet Martin
January 23rd, 2013 at 3:04 PM
!!
!!
January 24th, 2013 at 9:11 PM
giggle giggle
Marie Elena
January 23rd, 2013 at 7:19 PM
Snowflake…come to Life
The
fragile
snowflakes drift
dusting the Earth
soft.
January 23rd, 2013 at 7:54 PM
sigh…so serene.
January 24th, 2013 at 3:49 AM
They were soo Lovely tonight… thank you, Janet.
January 24th, 2013 at 7:14 PM
January 24th, 2013 at 7:48 PM
Yes, the moon is mesmerizing!!
January 24th, 2013 at 9:09 PM
*sigh*
Marie Elena
January 25th, 2013 at 5:50 PM
!! <3 !
January 25th, 2013 at 10:43 PM
Neat – the lovely snow is sifted down on you. Enjoy its beauty for me as I watch the rain drops!
January 26th, 2013 at 2:55 PM
January 24th, 2013 at 7:19 PM
Here’s one from a month or two ago at…
Full Moon
Somewhere the air
Holds in its mouth
The words that I would say
I want to be
Brave; vulnerable
But you’re too far way
Tonight the sky
Is full of you
…your iridescent glow
But you are the
Man in the moon
A fantasy, I know
Why is it that
When you are full
I seem so very small
In fact, I touch
My face to see
If I exist at all
January 24th, 2013 at 7:44 PM
Oh, wonderful!!
January 24th, 2013 at 9:08 PM
What is it about the moon that is so romantic and, well, mood-inducing? Beautifully penned, Janet!
Marie Elena
January 25th, 2013 at 5:29 PM
And those last three lines are just perfection. Wish I’d written ‘em!
January 25th, 2013 at 8:13 PM
Thank-you:)
January 24th, 2013 at 7:21 PM
Green Jar Full
You are
antique glass
A shapely jar,
the green shade
Peculiar to
a certain era
Sitting where
you sit
You witness
all that goes on
in this room
The centre,
the hub
of our house
But stately
as you have
proven yourself
to be
You hold
your own
counsel
With your
fitted lid
and knobby top
From certain angles,
you appear
crowned
Especially
at sunset
when light
Passes through
your cover
Turning it
amber or gold
Within your
cavernous base
You hold
many sizes
and shapes
of marbles
And highly
polished stones
They fill
the space there
So tightly,
no light
gets through
You might
imagine yourself
An hourglass
if you
Were given
to such
Flights
of fancy,
Are you?
When I daydream
And my glance
falls on you
As it often does
I find myself
studying
the various shapes
You hold within
Wondering,
trying to recall
from where
they came;
the blood red
Flat stones
– so dark
They might
be mistaken
For black –
did I buy them
Were they a gift
How about
the striated whites;
opaque some
of them, others
quite transparent
And my favourites,
those sapphire blues,
Again, I can’t recall
their origins
But know
it doesn’t matter –
There is
a world
within you
green glass jar
and it gives me
some odd
comfort
to have you
sitting there,
housing all
those
marbles
and stones
and witnessing
our lives,
keeping counsel
as you do.
January 24th, 2013 at 9:06 PM
Your glass jar sounds lovely and intriguing, Sharon. I happen to be a lover of marbles and stones, but have never done anything about it.
Marie Elena
January 25th, 2013 at 8:16 PM
‘There is
a world
within you
green glass jar’…oh, I love it! I could see the colors swirl and gleam as I read. Beautiful!
January 25th, 2013 at 10:38 PM
What a comforting picture you paint of you little full glass friend.
January 24th, 2013 at 7:42 PM
This is so very unique! Loved “…those sapphire blues…” !!
January 25th, 2013 at 9:50 AM
Boom Boom Betty
Takes me 30 minutes to get her ready,
takes another 10 to tweak and twist,
check every lock, every bolt,
test the reach of the brass
to feel like she wants to play…
…and yeah baby! she wants to play!
I whisper gently “be good tonight baby”
she bounces my hand s back to me
with delicate ease – her response to my touch artistic
it’s not me, it’s her
it’s us
we make the beat
we back the track
rhythm in her heart, rhythm in my blood
boom boom!
the beat goes on
she holds firm
she fires my soul
from the crash to the sizzle
from the snare crack to the bass beat
she rocks, she rolls
she plays me
right through the set
I play her like a lover
like no other
shake rattle and roll
the beat goes on
Boom Boom Betty!
all night long!
Iain
January 25th, 2013 at 10:35 PM
What a fun, alive music partner.
January 25th, 2013 at 10:47 PM
In true Iain with two eyes style!!
Marie Elena
January 25th, 2013 at 6:02 PM
<3!! The gift of music…
January 26th, 2013 at 11:12 PM
This is an old poem.
I have no idea if anyone will even see it, but some of the poems people have written remind me of this one. It is an incomplete sentence and has no punctuation, but it describes one of my poetry journals devoid of much inspiration at the time.
My Journal
Blank book covered with splashes of paint
fanned out with a giant’s comb
containing words slowly sputtering
from a mind hoarding its showers for another time
January 27th, 2013 at 12:01 AM
Now I wish I could delete my poem. It is not a personification; it is a description.