The Creative Moment Challenge 1

 

The first The Creative Moment Challenge was to create a piece of art centered on the emotion sorrow. Here is my first draft of a poem and then using my original idea I crafted a shadorma poem. I talk about the process in our latest episode: The Creative Moment

Like a solitary tree

on the horizon of the mixed grass prairie

Sage and cactus speckle green

in sea of sun drenched buttes

You wonder what storm could bring

A single seed

to such a dry land 

break the ground apart 

drop it deep enough

to give this tree a chance

A chance to grow

All alone in this world

Shadorma: Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines for poem / stanza.

Like a tree

solitary on 

horizon 

of the mixed 

grass prairie. Sage and cactus 

speckle green in sea

of sun drenched

buttes. You wonder what 

storm could bring

a single seed

to such a dry land, break the 

ground apart, drop it 

deep enough

to give the tree a 

chance to grow

all alone

in this bare world. You sigh as

you feel your heart beat.

Poetic Form 76: Elegy

 

Thoughts of a Son (an Elegy to Time)

I remember holding you

while mom rested. The Vikings

playing on the hospital 

TV. Remote on the bed 

rail. I wouldn’t give you up to

anyone, not even mom.

The world was brand new again.

I felt like everything was

possible. You learned to crawl,

then walk, and then run. We read

books in the middle of church.

Took walks so we could touch the

bark on the trees. Watch squirrels

play tag on the limbs. I tried

to show you how to reach the

horizon before the sun

burned away all the colors.

But now, now there is silence

at the dinner table that

echoes in my heart, leaving

me wishing I knew how to

stop the sun from falling so

far below the stars we use

to watch on late summer nights.

A baby boy grew into 

a child that became a teen

that stood inches above me.

Today you are a young man,

but time holds you as my son.

Poetic Form #76: Elegy
The formal definition of an elegy is a song of sorrow or mourning. 

Today, though, poets have written elegies for the ends of things, a life,

a relationship, even a football season. There are no rules on form. 

With an elegy the message matters.

Poetic Form 1: Bref double

The Park

There is a small park

next to our home.

No swings or slides,

just a variety of birds and trees.

My daughters like to see how

the seasons leave their mark

on the tree’s branches,

how the flowers turn to leaves.

There are robins and larks

that build their homes that my girls

always want to see. It sparks

wonder I leave unidentified.

They see beauty in the variety of bark

and wings, as only a heart can betide.

Poetic Form #1: Bref double

A Bref double is a 14 line French poetic form consisting of three quatrains and a final couplet.
There are a few variations for the rhyme scheme. I used:

axbc
xaxc
axab
ab

Poetry Challenge Day 27: Massive

Believe Again

It’s early in the morning

    but the sun has beat me to the sidewalk

The neighborhood is up

    Figures move in kitchen windows

A jogger ahead of me

    A new puppy taking its owner on a sporadic walk on the road to the left 

Music playing from my earbuds

Water trickling down the curb ways

    to storm drains

    from last night's rain

and sprinkler systems

I enjoy the morning

    like I have for 42 days now

Each day new but the same as yesterday

Ahead I see a massive puddle

    at the T-junction 

        of Elm Drive and Sycamore

The reflection of

trees

    mailboxes

    and houses

move across the surface as I approach

Until I am standing at the edge

    and all I see is the endless blue sky 

The world I’m in is now below

I pause the music

I wonder

    Is this a puddle from the Wood Between Worlds?

    Can Aslan see me standing there?

Like a child I become dizzy with the possibility of magic

    Suddenly the wind pushes at my back

        as if to say

        “Believe

            and jump in”

Is this like platform 9 and 3/4 at King's Cross Station?

The water seems to hold a parallel world

Can I call the Goblin King like Sarah did?

Is the choice between a red and blue pill just in the heart?

For a minute I stand at the cusp

    of reality and childhood belief

I bend my knees, just a little

    The wind

    again, strong at my shoulders,

    speaks 

Instead of pushing me

    It brings white petals down from a nearby

    Bradford Pear tree

Like little clouds

    they populate the puddle

    Crushing my own blossoming childhood view of the magical world

    reflecting at my feet

I turn to face the wind

I am surrounded by the petals

    Like a swarm of fairies, they bombard me

        covering my shirt

    One sticking to my glasses

I feel something inside my chest crack

    Another gust of wind

        Surrounded again in a wave of white petals

        I faintly hear a lion’s roar

            I bow my head in reverence of the moment

I turn back to the path I was on

    I hit play

        Music fills my head

But my heart takes flight as I step into the puddle

    heading home

Poetry Challenge Day 1: New World

To the Old Man Gardening During the Pandemic 

It is April 1, 2020

This is no joke, though

It’s late morning 

I am walking for the ninth day in a row

You are sitting on a yellow bucket

sleeveless black puffer jacket 

dark button-down work shirt

brown pants

and a black flat cap on your head

The lines on your face shows the years like a tree stump

The trowel in your hand moves slowly

    clearing away dead leaves

    turning up soil

A few purple tulips dot the garden

By summer your garden will be in full color

    but for now

there is work to be done

We nod hello, quickly

I’ve got earbuds in

 and a black hoodie on

I don’t know your age

    but you are old enough to have gone through the Great Depression

two world wars

Black Monday

9/11 

And now this moment in history

As I turn the corner

heading home

I wonder how many times you’ve seen the sky fall?

How did you deal with each fear?

What losses did you endure?

I do not resist the urge to look back

You are moving the yellow bucket a few feet to the left

    bending down you clear more dead debris

    working the top soil for the flowers to come

I smile

as I consider how much of your old world

is just the same as this new world