PAD 2022 Day 12: Counting

 This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2022 challenge and will be revised. 

PAD Prompt: Counting

Poetic Form: Descort

“Fall Sky”

I 

am looking at the stars on a clear fall night. 

A thought, like a comet 

crosses my mind… then my heart. 

I was seeing more stars than I had days left to watch them. 

I rotate on 

a tilting axis. 

There will be a time that my children 

will gaze at the constellations 

without me 

Time, a meteorite that survives our desires, 

crashes 

through my mind, burning up all my beliefs of forever after.

PAD 2022 Day 11: Power

 This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2022 challenge and will be revised. 

PAD Prompt: Power

Poetic Form: Stornello

“Power Over Me”

Like the cold wind during a December storm,

you fill the spaces between my bones, can’t warm

my hands or my breath while caught in your dark swarm.

I shield my eyes against the hail of regret.

The driveway a winter percussion duet

with the cement of choices I can’t forget.

PAD 2022 Day 9: Breaking

 

This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2022 challenge and will be revised. 

PAD Prompt: Breaking 

Poetic Form:  Rondine

“Caught in a Breakdown”

Caught in a breakdown, everything goes gray

including the sun as it warms others

as they share the joy of living. Mothers

waiting at the bottom of slides. Driveways

decorated with chalk. Laughter of play

becomes a muffled hum, like ears covered.

Caught in a breakdown.

Even though I know the truth, I misplay

the moment, nothing can lift the cover

off of my heart. Emptiness a brother

to the retching sadness that always stays.

Caught in a breakdown.

PAD 2022 Day 6: Blank in the Blank

 This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2022 challenge and will be revised. 

PAD Prompt: Blank in the Blank

Poetic Form: Minute Poem

Lost in the Moment

Like a Saturday afternoon,

during late June.

Bubbles floating.

Ice cream coating

smiles of my children. Hours measured

by swings weathered

from storms and years

of children’s cheers

as they learned to let their hearts fly,

feet to the sky.

Today my heart,

takes time apart.

Second Day MVICW Conference: Morning Session Love and Loss

  

 

The morning session for Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing Writers' Conference was centered on love and loss. Again, these poems were done during the open writing time, so they will probably be revised later.

The first part of the session was looking at how love is displayed through ordinary moments. It made me think about a somewhat joke that my wife thinks I'm sexy when I clean, so I went with that idea to a degree with the following poem.

“20 Years”

After 20 years together

She’s heard every line I’ve used in college

We’ve danced in bars

    And around the kitchen island

I still play my CDs loud in the minivan

    My six offspring 

    Moan as I sing to the 80s on 8

But we are all silent when she sings

Her first name is odd on my tongue

Her hairstyle changes 

    With the time left in the morning

We fall asleep too early

    Yet stay awake until the teens come home

This love was built on late night whispers

    But it is sustained 

    In the clean rows left on the carpet

    After I vacuum.

 

 The second part of the session was diving into loss through those ordinary moments. The poem I wrote is based from something my half-brother said after he lost his partner.

"Silence"

 

The hallway 

    Our pictures in your favorite frames

The kitchen

    Too much coffee sitting in the carafe

The patio

Sunlight reflecting off the flower pots

All is silent

    It feels like it will stay this way forever

Just yesterday your voice echoed off of the picture frames

Bounced on the table settings

And sank onto my skin like the sun

    As we sat drinking lemonade

I feel the air

    Still and unwavering

An emptiness

    Filling the space we shared

I am drowning in it

    Lungs burning

    My heart in a panic

    I am blinded by more than tears

If I open the door I know the world will be swamped

By this silence

I move slowly through the aching silenced

    of all the times I won’t hear you say

        “I love you.”

 

 The afternoon session was an ode to joy, but was broken into different elements, like food, a body part, a moment. This poem isn't joyful, but that is OK.

 

“My Shoulders”

My shoulders hurt almost all the time

    A quick movement

    A different angle

    Will bring a jolt of age to my teeth

I’ve carried so much over the years

Thousands of circles soothing my children

    Father and daughter in orbit with the moonlight on the floor

Moved my whole home into a house overnight

Piggybacks

Parental expectations

    I’ve shouldered for decades

My shoulder hurt almost all the time

The world seems to have lodged a spur

    Into my collarbone

I can’t lift my arms up

    To hold back the onslaught of its icons

I cry tears of pain

    Of frustration

Holding myself up against the door frame

    Fearful of the weight my children

    Already carry on their shoulders

        As they dart down

            The front steps

 

April Poetry Challenge 2021: Day Twenty-Six

 

Day 26 Prompt: (Blank) World

Form: Trimeric

“Nothing in this World Lasts Forever”

A minute, a second, a lifetime,

all find the ragged edge of ending.

Nothing resists decay forever,

not even our love.

All find the ragged edge of ending.

Even our initials carved into a park bench

read by strangers stopping for a moment.

Nothing resists decay forever.

Letters crumble, photos fade,

technology crashes into the void.

Not even our love

will be remembered past

the stories we tell our children.

Poetic Form 100: Glosa

 Why Write Poetry

Whenever the question comes up,

the poets all say the same thing:

the only poem we’re interested in is the next poem,

the one not written, the poem of tomorrow.

“The Next Poem” - Billy Collins

I have read that poetry is not needed.

That the world will revolve without words

that rhyme or follow meter.

This might be true

for a life void of crayons,

or animals made with dixie cups,

glue, and construction paper.

I reply that poetry is in a child’s song,

in tears of a lifetime breakup,

whenever the question comes up.

All art draws a line for our souls.

Bringing the unimaginable

from abstract to concrete,

to keep us from drowning

in a sea filled with waves

caused by life, by everything.

A brush, a guitar string, or these

words I search for to create a moment

for the reader to take wing.

The poets all say the same thing.

A poem is a present we send

to an unexpected world not knowing

if anyone will appreciate the 

painting inside the paper and bow.

Every word a small piece of truth

to inspire the lonesome,

the joyful, and the budding artist.

Poets write to stitch the fabric of living

for the pages of history. It’s known

the only poem we’re interested in is the next poem.

So, take these lines at this time

as a chance to see the frame

of a life lived, no matter how far away

from the emotions pulsing through

your veins. Grab a brush, a pair of scissors,

tap a tune that defines the depth of woe.

The world will turn, no matter what art is not created.

But the colors and emotions will be faded. 

I’ll be living, feeling the edges of a new rhyme though,

the one not written, the poem of tomorrow.

Poetic Form #100: Glosa

The Glosa or Glose is a Spanish poetic form that uses a quatrain from another 

poet’s work to structure the poet’s poem.

The form guidelines are:

1. A cabeza (or motto) – the quatrain borrowed from another poet, whose 

authorship must be acknowledged

2. Four 10-line stanzas, each ending with one of the lines in sequence from the cabeza.

3. The rhyme-scheme requirement is lines 6 and 9 rhyme with the final word of line 10 

of each stanza.

Poetic Form 54: Acrostic

Semiophor

Caught between the past and the future,

hidden possibilities revealed when

identity is plucked from the trees that 

linger in pastures found by knowing stories.

Directions discovered in DNA but

rerouted when the will finds its reflection,

enlightening a soul that collects life, old and

new, between the beginning and the end.

Poetic Form #54: Acrostic

The Acrostic form spells out words on the left-hand side of the page using the

first letter of each line.

Poetic Form 52: Catena Rondo

Twenty-two

Twenty-two years gone by today.

One man, one woman, building a life

through moments of joy and strife.

Twenty-two years gone by today.

One man, one woman, building a life.

Six names born into the world.

Each with their own talents furled.

One man, one woman, building a life.

Six names born into the world.

Late night cries during storms.

Stories told in blankets kept us warm.

Six names born into the world.

Late night cries during storms

of rain and tragedy. Our story

tells of the power of love’s glory.

Late night cries during storms.

Of rain and tragedy. Our story

unfolds with each new day.

Even when we don’t know the way.

Of rain and tragedy; our story.

Twenty-two years gone by today.

One man, one woman, building a life

through moments of joy and strife.

Twenty-two years gone by today.

Poetic Form #52: Catena Rondo

The catena rondo is composed of a variable number of quatrains with a rhyme pattern

of AbbA. The first line of each quatrain is also the final line of the quatrain. Then, the

second line is the first line of the next quatrain The final quatrain repeats the first quatrain

word for word. There are no rules for meter, syllables, or subject matter.