Day 19 PAD 2023

 

This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.

“Back Home”

So this is what goodbye taste like, saline mixed
with what could have been. My eyes water, transfixed
by the way the sky is turning blue. It won’t fix

the darkness of questions that sit in my throat,
scratching my palate with history’s dust motes
stirred when we went searching for life’s anecdote.

Pictures of your love story, faded, vintage
moments of youth. Smiles, with salted glass ridges.
Photos of life lived, now a waning image.

We let laughter fall between the tears we share
with the knowledge that too soon one of these chairs
will be empty. We swallow tomorrow’s prayer.

Poetic Form: Stornello

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.

Returning Home

 

Returning Home

 - for Dr. Michael Anthony Ingram

As all children do

he returns home as an adult

suitcase heavy with decisions

not from the past

but for the future

The porch light welcomes him

shadows move behind pulled curtains

He is not ready to open the door

so he sets the suitcase down on the steps

and walks to the end of the driveway

where the night sky is clear

He ponders if the constellations know their names

He wonders if anyone is gazing at the light shining from his home

For a moment he feels like a little boy again

wrapped in his mom’s arms

playing ball on the driveway

hearing his parents say they love him

A shooting star breaks across his vision

His head is flooded with a thousand shining moments

a galaxy of life

he begins to name the constellations

forming in his heart

He stands up

mumbling words of poetry

sending them out to the universe

to let them find their way

between the stars

He smiles

as he turns to see

that the door is open

Poetic Form 91: Paradelle

 

Maybe

Maybe I can find my way home to you.

Maybe I can find my way home to you.

See your eyes the first time, heart skip a beat.

See your eyes the first time, heart skip a beat.

My heart, maybe, can see your home. Find a

first beat. Eyes skip time. I to you, the way.

I keep losing my footing on this path.

I keep losing my footing on this path.

The journey has been hard walking alone.

The journey has been hard walking alone.

Alone, losing this journey, my path. I

keep the walking on. Footing has been hard.

Searching for a stopping point or marker.

Searching for a stopping point or marker.

A chance to turn around, to wait for you.

A chance to turn around, to wait for you.

For a marker, stopping around chance, you

turn to searching or to wait for a point.

A chance for my heart to keep time stopping

this journey around your eyes. You skip for

home, or searching, losing the way. Find the

marker. I can see a point to a hard 

beat. First, I wait! Alone, walking on my

path, footing has been turn to you, maybe.

Poetic Form #91: Paradelle

The paradelle form was created by Billy Collins as a parody to strict forms of 

poetry. Still a fun challenge. Here are the rules: 

• The paradelle is a 4-stanza poem with 6 lines in each stanza.

• In the first 3 stanzas, the 1st and 2nd lines are the same; the 

  3rd and 4th lines are also the same. The 5th and 6th lines are 

  composed using all of the words from the 1st and 3rd lines and 

  only the words from the 1st and 3rd lines.

• The final stanza is composed with all the words in the 5th and 

  6th lines of the first three stanzas.

Poetic Form 89: Rispetto

 

Little Blue House

There sits a little blue house at the center

of everywhere. The sidewalk curving around

a cul-de-sac named for someone they never

knew. At night the lights cut squares on the dark ground.

Shadows dash about, laughter echos off walls.

The door opens for friends, on the floor coats fall.

In the morning, the smell of coffee awakes

a little blue house where love mends all mistakes.

Poetic Form #89: Rispetto

The rispetto form is from 14th century Italy. There are two common variations:

Rispetto #1: comprises two quatrains written in iambic tetrameter (8 syllables).

Rispetto #2: composed of 8 hendecasyllabic (11-syllable) lines--

usually one stanza. (Option I wrote my poem in.*)

There are also two common rhyme schemes: ababccdd* 

or abababcc (older scheme).

Poetic Form 11: Abstract

Home

du-ring Du-ring DU-ring DU-RING

The phone is full of frivolous fluff

Sunlight shines in sight

Nu Nu Nothing to say

Just another sleepless night

Pop 

Pop-tart

Pop

Pop toast

Pop

Pop strudel

Cartoons clamour

The best day ever

Finding clues

Makes us feel clever

Oven beeped

Beeped

Beeped until canceled

Cycle through cycles

Clunk

Swoosh

Spraying until sparkling

Hummmm

Till they turn up the TV

A last groan

Aughhh

With a last dad joke

hee, hee, hee

Hun, what do you call...

Poetic Form #11: Abstract

There are a few different definitions for abstract poetry. The main idea is about how sounds, rhythms, and textures of the words evoke emotions rather than about the meaning of words.

Poetry Challenge Day 4: Wish

I Wish

“I wish,” she didn’t finish her thought

I didn’t know her but she sat across from me

Her hands were tense like knots

Her eyes dark and dreamy

I didn’t answer, the rhythm of the train

Filling the air between us

The window filled with color lanes

Greens, blue, and red rust

I was going home after a week

On the coast, selling possibilities

Trying to bridge the distance, I speak

“What do you wish? Loss of responsibility?”

She smirked at my attempt

But her hands relaxed on her lap

She sighed with discontent

“I wish I had a better map”

“That would show the hazards of life.”

I nodded in agreement

She turned back, silence a knife

Tempting me to bereavement

I Know the Devil Fancies Me

*inspired by a line from the song, “St. Ideas,” from Macklemore (in italics)

I know the devil fancy me

When the light fades from my heart

Walls are constructed in minutes

Doubt, in a hard hat, bossing the workers,

    megaphone turned up

Fear laying down bricks after anger applies the mortar

I guess Love is on an extended coffee break

    because the truck sits empty

And there is the devil, smiling over the blueprints

    of the house we will live in

He dreams of family dinners alone

Drinking his favorite spirits in a dark living room

“Oh what a life we will build,”

    he whispers into my soul

“Think of all the empty photo albums we will fill

    with what could have been

The minutes, the hours, the years recorded with just a dash

    on a headstone that no one visits

I promise you these will be hurtful years”

But that don't mean that *****  gets to dance with me

I grab a backpack, fill it with a few books,

    past love letters, paper, and pens

Turn toward the devil to throw him the keys

He rolls the blueprints tightly in his hands until the ink

    flows like blood between his knuckles

Hate drops the iron door he was preparing to hang

All construction stops

The devil takes my hand as if to dance, inquires

    “Where do you think you’re going?”

I pull free, declining the invitation to move

    into a house that isn’t home

“I’m joining Love for coffee,” I say as I walk away

House to Home

There is a blue hand towel

on the floor below the right corner of the dishwasher

It leaks sometimes

I don't know why

The front door is scuffed with colors

    from the different door decorations

There are socks

in crumbled balls on the living room floor

Crumbs under the table

Toothpaste on the bathroom mirror

This is a house

        With a yard that has a few dandelions

           Nicks on the wall

And the roof has been replaced

But this is also a home

Filled with bubble baths

Family dinners

And groans when mom says it is time to clean the rooms

Pictures hang on the wall

capturing moments of joy

The DVD player has the girls’ favorite movie

The radio the boys’ favorite station

The pantry

filled with cereal and Pop-Tarts

three flavors of chips

and boxes of blueberry muffin mix

The hour is late

Time for bed

Stories and goodnights fill

the hallways

As this house rest from being a home

Grey Morning

The rumble of the garage door breaks the silence

I step out onto the driveway

The sky is grey-blue

A quilt of clouds sit on the horizon

To the east a small smudge of rose filters through the clouds

But I know that there will be no rays of sunshine today

To the west a lightning show has begun

There is almost a rhythm to the strikes

Funny how the past generates so many storms

I turn toward my car, keys in hand

It’s going to be another cloudy day in my heart