Gathering Daisies—Wea’ve Written Weekly

Is there nothing to be found

Carved like names into headstones

Forever declaring births and deaths

Of the people who once found faith

On slow walks through this field?

.

Like a tree rooted in death

Looking for peace in the cemetery,

I try to find my bit of happiness

Slowly pushing aside the graves.

***

I wrote this poem in response to the Wea’ve Written Weekly prompt on Skeptics Kaddish. This week’s prompt poem is “It’s a Stretch” by Steven S Wallace. If you would like to read the poem or participate in the prompt, visit the post here: https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/08/31/w3-prompt-18-weave-written-weekly/

But more specifically, I wrote this poem after reading Murisopis’ response to the weekly prompt. I was inspired by the poem’s focus on the tree roots grinding through the bodies of the dead trying and failing to get sustenance from them. The poem is well worth a look. You can find it here: https://murisopsis.wordpress.com/2022/09/02/looking-at-a-dead-tree/

On a clear autumn day—Wea’ve Written Weekly

On a clear autumn day, one bare tree stands as bones in a house of death.

***

I wrote this poem in response to the Wea’ve Written Weekly prompt on Skeptics Kaddish. This week’s prompt poem is “It’s a Stretch” by Steven S Wallace. If you would like to read the poem or participate in the prompt, visit the post here: https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/08/31/w3-prompt-18-weave-written-weekly/

Claiming Hope and Family—Free Verse

Light morning mist connects a stand of leaves over trees

Except for the dead one centered in negative space

Like a black hole accreting layers of life

Just outside the event horizon daring you

To risk spaghettification

Frozen in time beyond

The point of no return

Sucked into

Geosynchronous orbit

With that woman

You’re not sure

You still know.

.

And yet, the house

Still shines in the sun

With the copper-colored roof

The trimmed bushes and tidy lawn

And the cutesy painted boards claiming hope and family.

***

A free verse poem has no set pattern for line or stanza length. Rhyme is not used, or it is used sparingly. The line length and the rhythm or the lines are dictated by the natural rhythm of speech or other concerns such as emphasis on a particular word, image, or idea.

Silent in the Wind—Free Verse

Intention is a dead wind

Failing leaves frozen in time

Fixing the field of tall grass

Bent before the dead wind

Holding breath in your chest

Until you strangle on your words

Frozen and quiet in death.

***

A free verse poem has no set pattern for line or stanza length. Rhyme is not used, or it is used sparingly. The line length and the rhythm or the lines are dictated by the natural rhythm of speech or other concerns such as emphasis on a particular word, image, or idea.

Black Clouds on the Horizon—Rondel

Black clouds on the horizon

Like the black toes of the dead

Snow falls steady overhead.

Snow falls quiet as the season.

.

Taunting free will and reason.

Taunting everything she said.

Black clouds on the horizon

Like the black toes of the dead.

.

Like splitting logs before the setting sun

Both fire and anger painted in red.

Snowing where the days liqueur had led,

And digging until the grave is done.

Black clouds on the horizon.

***

A rondel is a French poem with 13 lines. It has a rhyme scheme of ABba abAB abbaA. The capital letters indicate a repeated line. If you would like to read more about the rondel form or any other poetic form, check out the Shadow Poetry site here: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/rondel.html

Grey Skies Blanket the Dead—Flarf

When you are talking death imagery,

Can you get more obvious than a black and gray blanket

Embroidered with a death’s head moth?

Yes. The answer is yes.

.

It could be two Mexican skeletons

Dancing in sombreros and frilly dresses.

Looks like we got some scary trees

Leafless and silhouetted in shades of gray.

Of course, we got the horde of zombies

Backlit and shadowed by a horizon of flame.

.

But what about death under a fuchsia sky

Warm and cozy like homemade knitting?

The quick twisting of yarn and old fingers of grandma death.

Her house is always clean, and she has cookies.

Everybody likes cookies.

.

And she wants to know when it was you last ate.

And who is the lucky girl you have been dating.

And what about your job? Are you still working at that factory?

What ever happened to getting back to school?

Oh, honey, you could be doing much better.

You really could.

***

FLARF is a wild style of poetry that started as a joke. People noticed that no matter how bad your poems were Poetry.com would tell you that you had won their poetry prize. Then, they would try to scam you out of your money. So devious poets started sending the crappiest poetry they could write to Poetry.com. Even that would win the poetry prize. These poets began sending each other their crappy poems, and eventually it became a legitimate poetry style. If you want to read more about the FLARF or any of the other poetry terms, check out the glossary of poetic terms from the Poetry Foundation at: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms

Google painting is a type of collaging that primarily uses internet search results and Google’s search prediction capabilities to generate quasi-random phrases. The technique helps jumpstart creativity with strange juxtapositions, broken syntax, and internet speak.

Keller the Little White Mouse—Choka

When the pine boughs wave

For the graying clouds bringing

Gusts of wind and rain

I think to the small red hill

And covering grass

Sweetly tucked into his bed

With twigs hammered in

As his burial markers

Eyes closed in his final sleep.

***

Choka is a long Japanese poem that alternates lines of 5 and 7 syllables. The poem must end with at least two 7 syllable lines in a row. If you want to learn more about choka or other syllabic poetry forms, you can visit Word Craft Poetry #TankaTuesday at: https://wordcraftpoetry.com/tanka-tuesday-poetry-cheat-sheet-for-tanka-tuesday-poetry-challenges/

Pulmonary Embolism Blues–Sonnet–Poetry Scavenger Hunt

In fearful hope, I lie here in this bed.

Hoping, fearing, lying here in my bed.

If I sleep tonight, will I wake up dead?

.

I got the doctor’s in the morning.

I gotta see the doctor in the morning.

But he only wanna look at one thing.

.

Sees a broken leg. Not the knee I sprung.

Lookee: Broken leg! But my knee is sprung?!

Ain’t look at no heart or no broken lung.

.

He really would’a sent me to the E.R.,

I think he should’a sent me to the E.R.,

But he’s such a good’n busy doctor.

.

At least, that what the other doctors say.

They also say, I should’a died that day.

.

I wrote this blues sonnet as part of Muris’ poetry scavenger hunt on the A Different Perspective page. If you want to participate, check out her page here: https://murisopsis.wordpress.com/2022/03/30/looking-forward-to-poetry-month/