Poetry: Sijo for Two (NaPoWriMo day 20)

The NaPo prompt for day 20 was to write a poem in a traditional Korean poetic form called sijo, in English of course. Sijo is a specific form with a little flexibility unless one wished to exercise poetic license to color outside the lines. Since these are only three lines of 14 to 16 syllables each, I wrote two for Tuesday.


Marvelous Melancholy

I forgot about something important. What being bored feels like.
Oh, how I long for the days when I could do what I wanted.
Now I can’t just up and do, up and go. I mustn’t fall on my ass.

***

A Taste of Tint

Like yellow, it has never been one of my favorite colors.
Did I ever favor any one color over another?
I’m starting to like orange. Never saw a color I didn’t like.


Look both ways. Then smile. Sing a song, “I’m Alive!”
Mind the gaps for forgotten sorrow or the taste of color.

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #205 (uncanny)

Click image for Sammi’s Blog

Magic Music

Music finds my mood,
picks at my soul
it finds my feelings,
uncannily,
making music mine.
Is our love for sound and music
the saving grace of life?
Or is it our destiny
not to think about it twice?


Listen to the music but look to see it both ways.
The gaps between the notes, a place where angels play.

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #199 (element)

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Petrichor Remembered

Loved the feel as I stepped down to the trail.
Recent rains changed everything. I loved the smell
of dry leaves and trees and soil,
natural elements like the scent of petrichor,
a feeling that gives me chills today,
just thinking and remembering. All in with nature.


Look both ways. All is nature, a mistress to everyone.
Mind her gaps for secrets to survival.

Sammi’s Weekender #197 (call)

Click for Sammi’s blog.

I wrote two poems because I liked this prompt.


Happy Raspy

The young, talented, beautiful Irish busker’s angelic voice,
unique and indescribable, called to me from Grafton Street.

Her glancing smile and raised brow calls all to pay homage
to the gift that brings me to resonated tears. My raspy old poem.

***

Yo, Billy Boy

When we said, “Call for me,”
we invited a friend, always a boy,
usually Jimmy, to stand outside and yell,
“Hello, Bill (or Billy)” loud enough
to be heard from any part of the house
and responded to, if anyone cared.

***


Look both ways on Grafton in Dublin.
Mind the gaps in such a marvelous voice.

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #188 (languid)

Click to go to Sammi’s blog

 


Oi, Nineteen: Lust Laughs at Love

Normally chic, now
nearly naked, she lounged in his lap
slovenly taking in
the stunning sunset,

Lamenting his languid,
lackadaisical lovemaking,
leaving his heart listlessly
lost to his long love song.

Feeling inferior
yet yearning to reggae
he cajoled and coaxed playful
music to prove she danced
not too fast for him.

Their love withstood the storm.


Look both ways in love and lust.
Mind the gaps as perfection is myth.

Be lovingly entertained.

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #170 (jostle)

 


Die to Live

Time’s shadow condemns fools
to imprudent neglectful ignorance,
to deep suffering, lost love,
mindless hearts of stone

—pitiful loneliness.
On my knees I cried out.

I was my enemy.

Her hands rose; lightning shocked
me dead. I awoke, jostled to new life.


Look both ways.
Watch yourself and check six.
No fool minds the gap.
Be not the fool.

***

dVerse Poetry: Quadrille ‘garden’

Many thanks to Victoria Slotto for hosting the dVerse, Poets Pub bar for this prompt. Our play is to write a quadrille (44-word poem) that uses any form of the word garden.


***

Hortus Art

Neither musician nor gardener am I,
yet their music I love. My camera
captures beautiful flowers, botanically
cultured or randomly given by
nature’s pressing flora.

Perceived beauty touches every sense.
In wind, rain, desert’s secret bounty,
all life contributes to more life.

Love it.

***


Look both ways into the magical world of horticulture,
to the earth, air, and sky.
Mind the gaps for contributing animal life.

 

Click here for a link to the links of all the other participants.

dVerse Poetry: OLN, “Just Sayin'”

Thanks to Lillian for hosting the bar and suggesting OpenLinksNight for favorite sayings. Mine was by Eric Hoffer, “The search for happiness is one of the chief sources of unhappiness.” My poem gently follows that theme.


What do I want?

What do I want?
And you, the same?

Everlasting life?
Perfect existence?

Is it happiness?
What exactly is that?

Heath and wealth
Both common goals

But is there more?
What is enough?

Love, perhaps, or
in my perfect world?

Let’s compare notes.
You show me yours

And I’ll show you mine,
In the balance it hangs

Every important thing
about life and time.

What do you want?
And, for me, the same?


Look both ways for love and opportunity, but look within for love.
Mind the gaps for unhappy steps.

Friday Fictioneers 7/17/2020

Many thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for orchestrating Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story based upon a photo prompt (and thanks to Jean L. Hays for that), with a beginning, middle, and an end in fewer than 101 words. This is my third venture.


 

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Genre: Ironic (flash) Fiction
Word count: 100

***

Lobo and Robin met and married at the University of New Mexico following his return from Vietnam in 1970. He was from the Atchafalaya Swamp region of Louisiana, she from Montana ranch country.

Doc Robin, as she was called, was an internationally known infectious disease specialist. Lobo, a highly sought after free-lance journalist.

Their 50th anniversary party was planned for Saturday night on their rancho near Albuquerque.

“What’s in the box, Robin?”

“Designer surgical masks for the party.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“Not really, Babe. But it would not do for our quests to go home with COVID-19.”

Lobo howled.

***


Click blue frogs for link to inlinkz

Look both ways to plan a party.
Mind the gaps of the ironic mind in a literal world.

Poetry: Wistful Notes


I was there when it emerged
on our record player
Mom named, Victrola.

Faced battles with
courage, pup-love,
school basement dances
chaperoned by nuns, invaded
by my future.

I miss names like Judy and Denise,
Eleanor Rigby,
Barbara Ann, and Peggy Sue.
And Mary Ann, Marianne, oh, Mary Anne.

Smoke rolled
under sleeves in white tees,
cool as John T’s Greased
pompadour hair.

Tight pants, juke boxes,
hangouts, and rumbles.
Woodies that would pop-up
to say hello and embarrass.

Old-fashioned rock,
older now than ragtime then.
Oh, god. I remember.
That first album cover, long hair
would get me suspended.

The Beatles, the Stones, Dave’s 5, and
Monkeys Saturday mornings.

Magical times.
But the music owned me.

Spoke to my soul,
hot cars, fender skirts, moon hubs,
glass packs.
Hello Vietnam.

Slipped a hand under
smooth 70s soulful jazz.
Loved that shit.
Still do today.
I want it back.


Look both ways for them good ol’ days.
Mind the gaps between the notes.
That’s where the music plays.