Today at dVerse Poetics, it is Open Link Night. We do not write poetry to a prompt but instead share a poetic offering. Come join us! Enough creativity to go around and share. I wrote about an unusual happening today.
Driving home from errands today,
Running full tilt through the high grass
On the shoulder of the road,
Was a woodchuck.
Like a hamster on steroids,
Galloping. Only word for it.
I slowed down and he
Passed me in.a.blur.
I wondered, where was he headed
In such a rush?
Was he hurrying to get back
To his family?
Did he have an appointment
And was late?
One doesn’t usually see woodchucks,
Groundhogs, whistle pigs, ground squirrels
Running by the side of the road.
One usually sees them on TV
Amidst a flurry of photographers
And people, all waiting for Phil
To foretell the weather –
How much longer would winter last?
Tell us Phil.
Let us take your picture Phil.
Let us roust you out of your warm, dark
Burrow and thrust you up in the air
For the crowds to see and scream
And flash lights in your confused eyes.
This year, you bit the wretched mayor
For doing that to you.
Personally, I applauded you and
Wished you had done it sooner.
But this whistle pig running
Down the side of the road…
Did he know about horses?
Was he having a fantasy
Of being a tall wild stallion
Through long prairie grass?
I don’t know.
I just know it was an odd occurrence
And it made me smile…hugely.
This is linked to dVerse Poetics. We have been asked to write octets and some have chosen to write about the theme, of the road or travel. Some have written different forms of eight line poetry and different journeys.
public domain image
Once a wizard from another
Universe told me: accept your
Death as a given – you will be
Freed from fear of dying, freed from
Fear of living. Pull your sword and
Step forward. Step onto the road
And don’t look back. Follow the clouds
As they race in the sky. Live free.
I have reblogged a friend’s pics of hanami and now I am getting ready to post azaleas from my yard – enjoy the beauty on all fronts!
This gallery contains 39 photos.
Originally posted on Mild Musings from a Mediocre Man:
As a “poet,” you’d think that I would be all inspired and writing furiously, haiku after tanka after nature poem, but it’s not the case. Seriously, it is intimidating. I can’t…
Source: Amenic 181/ StockPhoto
Today, at dVerse Poets Pub, Meeting the Bar, Anna has given us directions to bring out the inner logophile in us, to think about our diction or word choices as we write our poem; to build a poem around a favorite word or collecting a vocabulary, maybe to write in the style of a poet we particularly admire. Are we using too many of the same words or phrases? Try building a poem around a favorite word or collecting our vocabulary before writing your verses. She challenges us to find new expression.
I am a longtime admirer of T.S.Eliot, Emily Dickinson, and Basho. Their style and use of simple words or a unique word to convey thought is something that deeply impressed me when I first began reading them. I am using this for dVerse MTB and also as the optional prompt for NaPoWriMo16.
Smell of Rain
Petrichor – odd word.
When a sudden summer shower
Drenches the parched soil,
Or blesses the newly dug soil
Of my garden –
This is that smell.
I do not stand in my garden
Inhaling that marvelous scent
and say in a worshipful whisper:
But I do breathe in that fragrance
Willing it to fill me – entirely.
Absorbing it slowly – savoring, relishing –
Treasuring it and praying that one day
When I am old and away from such smells
I will remember: Petrichor
I will close my eyes and again smell that fragrance
Of rain on dry soil and allow that memory to
Lead me to gentle sleep.
The prompt today is from dVerse Poets Pub is “brother”. The prompt for NaPoWriMo14 is conversation. I have combined the two. In this conversation, my father speaks to us and to me. He is the young, cocky kid on the left. Deceptively slow moving and good natured, he won awards for his marksmanship – he was a sniper. He rarely spoke of WWII and never spoke of Gypsy and Pete without weeping.
“…We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, For he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother…”
William Shakespeare “Henry V”
魂の兄弟魂の兄弟 – Tamashī no kyōdai – Brothers of the Soul
Who could tell our future
that day in Paris,my 21st birthday .
Standing beside the two of you,
Gypsy and Pete,
Looking into the camera
We trained together
and survived Omaha Beach –
When one fell,
The other two would reach down to
raise him up,
Our guns blazing,
Muzzles hot to the touch
and smells of the ocean,
Of blood, of human waste, of death
all around us.
The three of us pushing our way to safety –
Stepping over bodies
and slipping on puddles of blood
on the sand,
and sleeping that night
entwined like puppies
at peace after a day of romp.
Would we have wanted to look
into the future on my birthday
and know that within two weeks
Gypsy and Pete would die.
That I would die at 60 –
My heart exploding in my chest
and sending deadly shrapnel
throughout my body
to kill me within minutes.
That day years ago
the two of you died,
My heart broke within me.
more dear than those left behind
in that small town,
on that poor farm
that since that day,
Only at the birth of my daughter
would there be someone I would love as much.