Please check out the latest WD Poetic Form Challenge. The current form is the rispetto.
For this week’s prompt, write a walking poem. The poem can incorporate any type of walk or form of walking. That includes plays on ideas like the walking dead and dead man walking–or even a Johnny Cash “I Walk the Line” thing-a-ma-do and what-have-you. Keep walking the walk and talking the talk.
Here’s my attempt:
“Nature Walk”
First, we see
a beaver, and then,
we see deer.
Of course, bears
and fast snakes of all sizes.
Once, even Bigfoot.
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…publish your poetry with the assistance of the 2013 Poet’s Market, edited by Robert Lee Brewer (yes, that Robert Lee Brewer). This resource is packed with articles on the craft of poetry, the business of poetry, the promotion of poetry, and actual poetry. Plus, it contains hundreds of poetry publishing opportunities, including listings for book publishers, magazines, contests, grants, and more.
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Want more poetry? I don’t blame you. Here are some previous posts:
- Shadorma: A highly addictive poetic form from Spain.
- WD Poetic Form Challenge: Rispetto.
- 5 Ways to Revise Poems.
walking the dog
by juanita lewison-snyder
so i’m walking the dog
and it’s just after midnight,
the air damp upon our cheeks,
it’s tongue lapping at
the marrow of our bones.
down the road
a street light flickers
then buzzes as if in code,
“…umbrellas tomorrow,
you’ll see…”
the night sky is heavy with
scent of a thousand fires
all quietly contemplating
the neighborhood hearths
that surround us.
it is on walks like these
that we pray,
you with your keen nose
pressed hard into the wet grass,
the tags on your collar, tingling
and i, focused on the constellations,
hopeful someone’s doing the same
back at us, from some other galaxy,
glad for the warmth of our sherpa jackets
and the tags on your collar, tingling.
© 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
A drip, then a drop, so I replace its top.
The last of the milk is gone,
Now my Rice Krispies won’t pop.
I must revive my body, so I make some coffee.
The last filter tears in half,
Now I have to go shopping.
Speeding past the limit, I see the ferry in the distance.
The last boat just left,
Now I have to wait another 30 minutes.
Finally at the store, “Cash Only” on the door.
The last of my cash already spent,
Now I must hit the ATM next door.
My PIN numbers pressed, I begin to feel stressed.
The last of its money is gone,
“Sorry. Your Transaction Cannot Be Processed.”
A sigh, then a laugh, I head back to my flat.
The last of the gas runs out,
Now it can’t get any worse than that.
With a can in hand,
And no cash for gas,
I finally reach the station,
Realizing the worst has come to pass.
My thoughts obscene, I just want to scream.
The last place I used my card?
Oh yeah, probably still in the ATM machine.
Sorry. Posted this in the wrong prompt. Should be for #216.
I’m Sorry, Please Leave
Just walk away from here my friend.
Nobody here wants you to stay.
In fact we want this thing to end.
Just walk away.
Your wants no longer hold a sway,
For wanton acts that did offend.
I hope you won’t repeat – I pray.
We must have time for hearts to mend,
As I can see no other way.
Until the day, for you, I send,
Just walk away.
I have to say, this prompt brought forth some brilliantly penned efforts. Don’t lose this one!
Walk With Me
Stepping stones
sight unseen
faithless man
will not proceed
Blind man laughs
his vision of
horizons amidst
your thoughts
The lovers dream
do not fear
that first step
together they fall
In her eyes
enchanted soul
captured in a moment
as eternity races
Walk with me
in clouds so white
as the mist
drowns us in each other.
As I look behind me,
treading charcoal sand,
I stumble around blindly
a mirror in my hand.
A mirror in my hand
which reflects the golden sun
and spreads the sun across the land
scorching everyone.
Scorching everyone
I am a demon waiting.
My feet become my winged lungs
and in my wake I’m breathing.
In my wake I’m breathing
fire upon the sordid ashes.
My mirror is a bladed keening
thrusting brazen cymbal clashes.
Thrusting brazen cymbal clashes
I feign to move forward still.
For every step I take mismatches
the steps I’ve taken upon that hill.
The steps I’ve taken upon that hill
are dappled, frozen footfalls.
My journey has been wonder filled,
less walking more baby crawls.
And here I walk, forward still,
mirror holding handy sols.
My feet a trudging drudging mill,
milling down these broken halls.
Walk A Mile
Walk a mile in my shoes
then maybe you’ll understand
how it feels
to be walked on
Walk a mile in my socks
in the gravel
blistered and bloody
leaving a trail of pain
Walk a mile in my world
on your hands and knees
scratching and clawing
for every morsel
Walk a mile
once
just once
while I smile.
Shadow
>”My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me.” ~Green Day, Boulevard of Broken Dreams
I know I’m never quite alone.
My shadow stays with me. I’ve known
this other me: we both have grown
through words and deeds, in hue and tone.
I walk. My shadow keeps the pace.
The darkness cannot quite erase
her silent presence: still a trace
of silhouette remains in place.
###
To stroll perchance to die
it happened along the path
moonlight peeking through the clouds
leaves rustling in the wind
I am content
and unaware
of the predator that stalks me
I only hear my own
footsteps on the dirt
as the creature behind me
silently approaches
my only warning
the last minute growl
as it attacks
savagely yet
seductively
my nightly stroll
comes to a bloody end
only to re-ignite
to the howl of triumph
as the beast both
wolf and man
has at long
last found a
mate in me
my nightly walks
along the forest
trail are now
on four legs
as I explore
and hunt side
by side
with a being no
longer myth but my
partner
in this strange new
wonderful
adventure I am on
all thanks to
an innocent walk
one moonlit night
Walking in Darkness
Allow me to turn
allow me to see
allow me to love you
allow me to be me
Whispers on shoulders
whispers of the breeze
whispers of silence
whispers through the trees
Falling in love
falling for you
falling more than before
falling on the floor
Let me share
let me in
let me show you
let life begin
Kisses of the past
kisses that last
kisses so gentle
kisses that make
our hearts shoot into the night
like shooting stars
that blast
Thought I’d try out a Shadorma- they are fun!
Snowy Stroll
Virgin snow
encasing my toes
as I blot
pristine white
with these bygone impressions
of where I came from
The form is different, but this has the feel of Adelaide Crapsey’s cinquains. I like it very much.
That’s exactly what I thought when I looked up Shadormas. Thanks for the comment.
SPRING WALK: A BONE TO PICK
I love coyotes – that weird wild
lonesome cry in the night
that just keeps wailing in the mind
and echoes out of sight.
I’ve seen them like a spirit
out of roadside weeds, a gaze
that disappears if I look twice,
like autumn valley haze.
I love coyotes even as I hate
the kill – a missing lamb,
its mother bleating in a dawning
dim. And fearful as I am
of finding, I go searching
down the rocks along the creek,
hoping I won’t find, in that
wild corner, what I seek.
What are fences to coyotes,
who clear them in a bound?
That’s where I find the lamb
they’ve brought to ground.
I know, in a coyote’s den,
the pups are hungry all the time,
their mothers on the hunt
for lamb. Must it be mine?
But look, this lamb’s almost
untouched, as if asleep.
What predator comes just
to kill, not eat, my sheep?
The last stanza really seems to turn around to the coyote being the trickster. Nicely done
Hiking the Gorge
We’re hiking the gorge,this poem written by stone,
down the path thick with leaves,and
stone steps cut into the steepest declines.
At the bottom, ice coats the shale ledge.
We watch our feet instead of the view,
too aware of how easily limbs break,
how quickly a slip could shatter something inside.
Ahead of us, two hikers call down to someone below.
When we reach them on the bridge, we lean over to see—
Three teenagers on the side trail
that leads straight down, behind the waterfall.
The hikers above, middle aged, our age,
are calling warnings about mud and ice
are calling Careful, Careful.
The teenagers wave and laugh
across the steep distance between us.
RUNABOUTS
When I was a kid I would walk to my grampses
who lived next door to each other;
these old men were spry and they liked to tell lies
how each was much more than the other.
They told of the cars that they drove as mere lads:
the Stutz and the trusty old Mercer;
each thought the other’s was mere fuss and feathers
and each thought the other’s was worser.
Their old runabouts were as fleet as the winds
that used to sweep down from the prairie;
the stories they told of exploits dumb and bold
were exhilarating, and they were scary.
This went on for years as they twitted and chortled
about the old cars of their choosing;
in minds clear and bracing they still had gone racing
and none or the other was losing.
Walk
With the sun
Whispering spring wind
Winter deeply chagrined
Wants not to rescind
Winning’s fun
Walk
I just love this!
LIVING IN THE NOW</strong
The
path
I have
walked hasn’t
always been easy,
and I haven’t always made the
best choices along
the way. Yet,
I’ve no
re-
grets.
whoops – sorry about the incorrect closed HTML tag
:-\
The Way We Walk
I get mine from Mami.
And I didn’t grasp how fixed
her footprint was until mine
heeled in her framework.
It gives me the green light
to move with life, to exit
out of unmovable seasons,
but also to be achingly
still when the soul hikes
unprecedented peaks.
My voice strolls within
hers through the grasses
of life. Years of training,
where the tuition I pay
comes from the red
purse in my chest, because
Mami lines it with golden
nuggets, creates landmarks
unnoticed until I turn around
to gaze at the march of times.
this is gorgeous, especially the first stanza.
WALKING IN THE DARK
(a Kerf)
By night, Orion hunts.
Our sheep, bedded down in dark
under Stone Mountain, dream of grass and spring
even as heaven shunts
to a new season, an arc
in some grand pattern – a ritual fling
we give dates to, as if
we could bind it to our brain,
catch Trickster Life as the coyotes sing
of hunger. Puzzle-glyph
of flooding and blessed rain.
Will famished sheep eat thistle for its sting?
I’ve come back to this several times. I can’t claim to understand it, but it takes me to a dark night with sheep and a struggle of life and death.
Comprehensive
Caught in tie and blazer like zebra hide
we took the narrow path into the woods
the dip, the rise beyond, silent and alert
to any predator. The businessman who never
met our gaze, the winding stretch of bunglaows,
the privet hedge and sightscreens at the cricket ground.
At last we made the high street with our own kind,
creatures sweet on lemon sherbets from the corner shop,
the bus stop marking out the mathematics of survival.
We joined the herd entering the gates
sniffing the morning air for lost companions
counting the days until we shed this skin for good.
Walking Secret
Tiptoe round the edge of the spotlight
Stay in shadow as you creep into
his arms, heavy with the burden of
a secret.
So real, this complication that grew
in the darkness, under lock and key
You’d give it all to belong to him but
you’re his secret.
Slink in silence past the place where
his life awaits and follow him
down, you’ll see the rest of his sins
are secrets.
Furtive steps will lead you there
to sinister unkowns while you
satiate the omnipresent pull of
your secret.
Sounds like a walk becoming a stumble. Another nice job.
Thank you
Lovely, and I love the way you formatted it.
Thanks Sara.
The Shuffler
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle,
his sneakers were squeakers.
Never saw him lift his legs
up to take a basic step
unless you count stairs.
Even then, he would bend
forward into a walk/crawl.
Was not so irritating on carpeting
but a cringe inducer on worn wood floors.
Creative! And I think I know this guy.
Thanks, Marie!
There once was a shy girl named Walk
who barely summoned nerve up to talk
she smiled and she simpered
pup-like she whimpered
Until she met that hands-on-guy Never Balk
Six grade graduation
“You will walk.
You will sing.”
She says, her voice
deep and echoing
in the near emptied
auditorium
Dust motes float
on sunshafted light
As we, the class of then
stand straight
and as endlessly instructed
Inhale deeply and
SING as told
of storms
“walk on”
heads held up
“walk on”
storms
“walk on”
not being afraid
“walk on”
and melt into
sweet silver warbles
of larks and quiet giggles
wondering
wondering
all the while
why
tears sparkle full-fallen
in the creases of taciturn
teacher’s face as
she leads us
this last led rehearsal
toward the opening door
through which we will walk
and she will stay
still
A fond memory.
You done me wrong, I knew it all along,
I didn’t want to believe the truth.
My fear came true when I followed you,
On that one dark afternoon.
I told myself to walk away…
just walk away.
I saw you two meet at the end of the street,
He picked you up in his fancy ride.
A sensual kiss upon taken lips,
Causing me to stir inside.
I told myself to walk away…
just walk away.
At his place, you shared an embrace,
As your clothes scattered the floor.
The next sight broke me inside,
I couldn’t stand to see anymore.
I told myself to walk away…
just walk away.
I waited for his return after he took you home,
Then I knocked upon his door.
The look in his eyes gave no surprise,
Until he lay scattered on the floor.
I told myself to walk away…
just walk away.
I looked down at this man, gun in my hand,
His life was fading fast.
Blood pooling. Vengeance drooling.
What next? Take care of the other half.
I told myself to walk away…
just walk away.
You met your fate at the bottom of the lake,
A very grim price to pay.
You done me wrong, now you’re gone,
Now I can walk away…
just walk away.
(Inspired by the song “Miriam” by Norah Jones.)
No pun intended but truly so beautiful it is hard to just “walk away” Bravo!
Well penned.
Well done!
WALKING BACKWARDS
She is locked in on the ward
with the crazy people; she hates that
For one whole dark night, she stands at the window
Stares into the cheerless black,
wondering where she’s left it this time;
Every time she misplaces her equilibrium, her sanity
Her carefully crafted norm, she finds herself here
Or somewhere so alike here, it could be mistaken for here
She finds herself thinking, and then chides herself
For thinking in eccentric, concentric circles
Knows well that this kind of thinking is considered unhealthy
Albeit creative and interesting, to some, but no -
“Stop it!” her inner voice screams soundlessly,
“Keep this up girl and you will never see your semi-precious mind again
This time, it will have split for a skull more hospitable, less alienating…”
She ponders how close the words hospitable and hospital seem
And wonders idly if one was derived from the other
Then, as if with physical force, yanks her thoughts back from there
Tells herself to, look, look, look – you know you always do find it
You just have to focus, walk backwards in your head the way Big Bird
used to tell the kids, and you’ll remember where you last had it
Your mind will be right where you left it; just hope it’s not on a bus
Or in some stranger’s bed, or like the last time, on the ledge of a building,
Just hope that, she thought, as she watched the sun slice open the day.
Love the entire poem – but adore the ending and the image of the “sun slice open the day.”
Agreed.
So very deep, inclusive, haunting. “She misplaces her equilibrium” says so much, so creatively, and your ending creates a stunner of an image, emotion, and hope. Wow.
Walk
Just a walk
Just some talk
Why the balk
Why not talk
Just a walk
Grabbed her arm
What’s the harm
Just a walk
Just some talk
His glittered eyes gleam the night
Her banged heart drums in fright
Not just talk
No more walk
Stopped in fear
No one near
This feels staccato, like a rapid heartbeat. Very effective, I think.
This feels staccato, like a rapid heartbeat. Very effective.
well, so much for trying to edit a prior reply….
Ooh, this is chilling!
First Steps
One small step
There!
in carpeted
corridors
and fresh
red dusted
earth
to waiting
arms
or alone
they rise
they rise
on new legs
soft feet
set on
uncharted paths
Simple and charming!
Backing Walk-wards
I am backing walk-wards
with my hands out
for balance.
Because there are just
so many times
that the
words don’t come out
of my mouth the
way they
come out of my mind.
You think it’s bad
having two left
feet, try having two
left tongues.
It seems
that this affliction has been
with me since youth,
and is not the
affectation some may think
it to be. Okay, I’ll
admit that
pe-but-nutter and jelly is
not uncommon, and
I am surely not
alone with hypo-demic-nerdle.
But when I was young,
It took me a lot of
practice learning how to
zip up my ca-jet.
I’m not sure
which I mastered first, the
act itself, or the
statement
of same. And it seemed I
never used to tire of
watching my
mother make things on her
ma-sewing-chine.
And it came
right along with me as I
grew. Once, in high
school, we were
going to a football game,
and as members of
the marching
band, we hopped on
the bus first to get
the best seats.
Sally sat in one seat, and
Lynn sat two seats
behind. I plopped
down in between (we had
our backs to the
windows),
and I said, “There, now I’m
sitting both to next of
you!” And, on a
pleasant evening, I have been
known to go out for a
breash of freth air.
My propensity toward
this difficulty is with
me yet today.
If I attempt to read this
poem out loud for
someone,
I must pay close attention
to read it exactly as
written, or else
what ever was flopped
gets flipped. And
then it is no
longer funny. Which is why
I keep my hands out
for balance—
as I back walk-wards.
Ellen Knight 3.21.13
(write a ‘walking’ poem)
Elllen – so very very much in such a deceptively simple way – Brilliant poem
A wonderful compliment from a poet who had already covered just about every other angle of the topic. Three Cheers, my dear.
funny, clever poem…backing walk-wards….
Unique!
A Walk through Spring Woods
These woods ar private, I am on this path alone
no one ewill hear my steps as they crackle on last
yeaers leaves, or snap a fallen branch in two.
The day is sunny, warm and clear and all the little
green shots have decided to appear before me
as if I were a magician who waved a wand
saying “Spring be here” and “Winter be gone”.
Spring beauties are blooming on their fragile stems
that spreawl across the gound, the small pale flowers
peaking from bunches of old leaves. I do not pick them,
nor the violets, a rack of which sing their purple
song from every spot where the sunlight is
unrestrained. Jack-in-th-pulpitss spread their
sermons where the moss covered rocks have
gathered,silently. But I will listen to the songs
of birds that ring from every corner of this wood
in green jubilations. Here the.ground is
also green with leaves of countless
unknown plants unfolding even as I watch.
Winter has exited, stage left, I believe and
left behind puddles from melted snow where
tiny laervae swim back and forth. Already
insects buzz and now I see the sprawling
poison ivy with its leaves of three. Beware!.
The ground feels spongy beneath my feet
and I look down to see whole familes
of trount lilies blooming small yellow trumpets -
such cheer, such industy. . I am the intruder
in these busy woods where everything is
determined to grow and flourish in every
spot of land.
Already my feet are growing tired, I could sit
on a rock to rest, but I recall the knowledge
of snakes who enjoy the sun among all
this crumbling limestone ridge. This world
is not mine, and though no one has made
me feel unwelcome, I am none the less an
intruder and it is best to quietly walk away
and let this small parcorner of the world
cheerfully continue the work of each new day.
MarianV – a beautiful classic feel! What a walk this has been!
I feel like I went on an adventure. Love it.
And a little bit of Stephen King fan fic/poetry:
The Walkin’ Dude
Randall Flagg,
they call him here,
though he has so many names,
other monikers from all the other places
he is known.
The clocking of the worn down
heels of his scruffy cowboy boots on
wet pavement (though whether it’s water from the
weeping stones, or something far more sinister is questionable)
is also known.
You feel that spike of dread
at his avid grin, the skulls of fire dancing
in his eager gaze, and though at first you might think
you’ll be okay, in truth, the outcome of this encounter is already
known.
And all that is left for you now,
is to hope that something, anything at all,
distracts him from what he is probably intending to do to you
right now (oh god) but it’s too late because here (have mercy) God
is unknown.
Diana Terrill Clark
Ooooh SHIVER Domino…. very SKingy!
very Kingish…verrrrry
Decidedly Kingish and wonderful!
First and Last
First tentative steps
that lead
inevitably
to running,
laughing all the while,
then sobbing in dismay
at baby’s first
tumble.
A lifetime of steps,
and it is
unknowable
where they will
lead that child
in his life.
Unimaginable the miles
the old man has walked
and the places
he has been.
And in this far distant
future, at the end,
it is certain that
the last tentative steps
lead inevitably
to infirmity
and dismay
at grandpa’s
last tumble.
Diana Terrill Clark
Oh Diana – had the same notion but love the way you circle the life cycle with yours beginning and ending with a tumble – great work!
I wish I could even say I had the same notion. A “wish I’d written this,” for certain.
This calls to mind a photo-essay I read years ago, called Gramp. The author’s name was Jury, I think. Very powerful writing. Thank you.
an older rondel
Uneven Ground
Sometimes we walk uneven ground
but seek the well-worn paths we know
through woods and pastures, past a row
of pear trees, tracking pulse’s pound.
Across a twisty life, we’re bound
to shun treacherous highs and lows
Sometimes we walk uneven ground.
and seek the well-worn paths we know.
What makes a simple thought profound?
Some slight of light, some caw of crow?
Some wisp of wind parts weeds to show
where we might stumble and fall down.
Sometimes we walk uneven ground.
Terrific repetition – great poem as usual – but here today there is this line …”Some wisp of wind parts weeds to show” that just whistles through my soul and has me stop and exhale… WOW
Thanks, Pearl.
Jane, this is a perfect rondel and the first two lines say it all. Great job.
Retreat
It’s time that I went walkabout,
went face to face with fruit and seed,
reintroduced to want and need,
forced to unravel truth and doubt.
I get to be so settled in,
the wilderness a world away,
even my soul’s dark woodlands stay
a landscape where I’ve seldom been.
Complacency hollows us out
until we’ve lost who we could be,
our greatest hopes no longer free
our possibilities in drought.
When I don’t know what I believe,
it’s time that I went walkabout.
“Walkabout” not sure if I’ve ever heard the term – whether created or simply used beautifully – I love the notion and the poem within it is placed.
I believe the expression comes from Australia. the first time I heard it used was by Crocodile Dundee.
Hmmm…. In the early days of motoring there were cars called runabouts; presumably called that because folks no longer needed to walkabout?
I’m loving this discussion. The idea of walkabouts does come from Australia, where indigenous people have a sort of spiritual quest to live off the land and pay attention to the landscapes of their own selves as well. William, I’ve heard of runabouts, but now I want one, don’t you? Thanks, all.
Nancy Sinatra’s boots were made for walkin’
and man you better do some fast talkin’
for she has a long lasting sole,
for grinding your lies into a hole.
Short, power-packed and left me with a satisfied smile for good ole Nancy and her magic boots:)
When a poem walks out on you
What to do when a poem walks out on you?
Do you file for divorce and steer off course in-
to uncharted waters? Sail the ocean blue
for days seeking ways to effectively win
back its affection, probing the ocean floor,
wooing, pursuing, courting it back to shore?
What if you realize it wasn’t meant to be?
Do you untie its wings and let it go free?
Oh, my. Jac, this is fantastic. I absolutely love this piece.
great read making me miss my bus
Nice one!
Agree with De – Love this one… and moreover sure to remember it… great image –
And poems really do have a life of their own, and sometimes just refuse to written.
WOW. My favorite for the day, Jac.
<3
Incredible and so clever!
oh – am I glad I stopped back in here before turning my ‘puter off for the night… I LOVE this!
Limerick Ode To A Vigorous Old Lady
By Madeleine Begun Kane
An old lady with spring in her walk,
Moved so quickly that people would gawk.
When asked if a gym
Was the source of her vim,
She replied, “Jim, Kim, Henry and Hawk.”
Madeleine Begun Kane
… and when those fellows heard her reply,
they all visited her, by and by.
But she looked them all over
and went straight to the clover
with a totally different guy.
Your limerick spurred mine. I hope you don’t mind; I mean the reply in appreciation of your skill
Ah a Mad limerick to leave me with a smile to take into my dreams…. and… as a coda an inspired response …..
from PressON
Oh to be counted among such company…
ahahaha – excellent…
Weight To Go
Walk into the store, weigh the salad
Every day more rabbit food.
I want
Gooey pizza
Hot wings
Tacos
Today I eat salad
Only salad
Garden fresh
Only I still crave the bad oh full fat caloric dressing sigh maybe tomorrow
Walk into the store, weigh the salad…
Such a sad, lonely poem
All in the perspective – could be sad could be seen as as very disciplined and filled with satisfaction:)
Wrong Move
Bumping into Death
I hastily walked away
giving no pardon.
He forgives my faux pas, for
Social Grace will not save me.
WOWEE short and so very tightly powerfully written. Hooray for you
Good one. This has a strength to it, and yet it is a brief poem.
Emily would approve.
Doing double duty:
Walking Blues: A Rispetto
They say he came down with those old walking blues,
just up and walked out of that door, down that road,
kept walking til he had worn holes in his shoes,
a trail spread behind where he’d lightened his load—
He left plans abandoned and dreams long faded,
his old worn out memories and tired broken hearts.
bitter resentment with those who had traded
him something for value for all his spare parts.
Terrific – I now have a wonderful example of a “rispetto” and a beautiful poem to “boot.”
Nancy, you did it!
THE AUTUMN OF THE YEARS
When red leaves
drift by my window,
I recall
sunshine days
and long walks, before the fall
of our schemes and dreams.
Ahhh – such nostalgia and so beautifully wrapped in drifting leaves !
Beautiful!
Course Correction
As I walked down a wooded path
I chanced upon a lazing snake.
I’m not sure who was startled more,
but with his tail he gave a shake.
We stared each other down a bit
to see whose plans would be divorced.
He tongue-flicked twice, rattled again.
I quickly chose to change my course.
Pitch perfect rhyme – A great read!
Great title for a cool poem.
Thanks, ladies. I’m thinking of working on this to turn it into a rispetto.
A Pale Yellow Walk
I’m taking a walk with forsythia,
surrounded in scent,
drawn in like a bee,
and stung drunk by bright yellows,
staggered pale by silken chalk.
And for a week, perhaps two,
I’ll wander transfixed
walking deeply into buttered yellow.
Ahhhhhhhhhh what you’ve done here with color ””’ walking deeply into buttered yellow” it really doesn’t get much better than this!
Yes! And this: “staggered pale by silken chalk.”
Lovely.
Love that last line. It’s like being bathed in butter.
THE DRUNKARD’S WALTZ
Walk me along again, Willie,
please march me straight up to the bar;
my poor head is feeling so silly,
a Scotch will restore me to par.
Then I will go, willy-nilly,
straight home while I smoke a cigar
if you will just show me, dear Willie,
the place to await the streetcar.
Oh yeah, love it.
I can hear it being sung! Really truly hear it and smell the wood of the bar and cigar smoke
Thanks. The song that inspired it was written about 1905, I believe.
FORETASTE
I slowly paced my way along
a beach that beat the ocean’s song,
watching the sun’s chiffon sarong
enfold its closing eye.
I came at length to tire, and lie
on rocks that lay athwart the sky,
content to watch the shorebirds fly
into the last of light.
The arcing birds fell to my right,
surrendering to the shrouded night.
I saw my footprints meet the flight
till both became one prong,
but ever on the ocean’s song
kept measure, like a muffled gong
reminding me to come along;
reminding me to come along.
What elegance in this poem – great repetition and the ending – but it is the elegance that strikes me most
Beautifully written. Is this a particular form?
Thank you both. The form isn’t specified, as far as I know; I did borrow from Frost’s Stopping By Woods for the last stanza.
Star Walk
Stroll with me along this strand,
shine my song and hold my hand.
Fold that infinite dipper into this
ebony soup and scoop me out
something I can believe. Surely
if we connect the dots just right,
bid these pinpricks a fine flight,
all of that inky forever will come
together and give us room to grieve.
.
I love this, I love this, I love this! “connect the dots” wonderful.
Superb.
wow lovely way to end lunch before mundane work
Ah De – the PL crown sits firmly upon your head – the familiar “inky” is there slipped effortlessly perfectly placed in a poem that is just simply wonderful.
You just placed another star in the sky.
under the spring moon,
re-arranging my stray thoughts
while taking a walk
Beautiful, Adriana. No better place for some “spring cleaning.”
Indeed! On both counts.
Love “rearranging stray thoughts”. Wonderful image – lovely poem
I’m surrounded by walls
We all are, enclosed, directed, guided, led
down the green mile of life
protected from freedom and truth
the blind leading the blind
Break down those walls
Bust out of your prison cells
Walk through the fields and dream
of a better life for you and your offspring
Be a radical
what a great manifesto for uniqueness, powerunit!
Thanks. It’s not what I intended, but it’s what came out 8~]
A call to Life!
Yes !
Edification and Enlightenment (A Tanka for Malala Yousafzai)
She pushes ahead
Through inconceivable storms,
Advancing her cause.
Student-turned-tutor-of-life,
From which we have much to learn.
great tanka, Marie!
Yes agree with Adriana and we both heard “When You Walk Through a Storm” love it:)
Thanks Gals! Malala is such an amazing young lady. Praying her peers here in the US see her for who she is, and learn to appreciate their own freedoms.