And as I am a glutton for punishment, here is my second rondelet for Jane Dougherty’s poetry challenge #37. The rhythm is a tricky one, but I think we’re getting there.
Journey makers
We’ve travelled far,
You and I, through the great wide world,
We’ve travelled far,
Two backpacks, a tent, a guitar,
And we’ve watched the sunrise unfurl
Roads of diamonds, oceans of pearls –
We’ve travelled far.
Jane has set us the challenge of writing a rondelet this week. It’s another new form for me. I’m guessing eventually we’ll run out of new forms, but I think we have a few to go yet. I really enjoy these challenges – it’s good to play with new forms and be pushed a bit out of my comfort zone. Jane has given us a picture prompt, and a word – journey. Each week the number of people doing the challenge seems to grow a little, it’s so interesting to see how different everybody’s work is.
Fishing for mackerel
Shining treasure,
Generously heaped at my feet,
Shining treasure,
Gathered wildly, without measure:
We haul it home so we can eat
It freshly cooked and salty sweet,
Shining treasure.
I wore a rose
High at my throat
Loving to catch
The scent of it
From time to time
And then you tore
It from me, as
If I’d stolen it
And crushed it
With your angry feet
And now the scent
Sickens me.
Bjorn is tending the bar at the poets’ pub tonight and is asking for quadrilles with the word “rose” in them.
You should take a look at what’s happening over there.
This is for Jane Dougherty’s second microfiction challenge. The word she’s given us is retribution.
Photo ©Jimmy Fell
We’re burning them all. That’s what the Reverend said to do, and he’s right. They’re an abomination. Under that perfect skin, it’s just wires and bits of metal. They don’t even feel like we do. “Designed to give pleasure, not feel it”, that’s what he says.
This one’s a corker, though. Blonde hair, blue eyes, gorgeous. Came from some rich boys’ club, down west. Just like a real woman, they say, only better, because there’s no nagging or grumbling. Just “Oooh, that’s nice” and “Oh, you’re so amazing”.
So when she holds her arms out to me, I think “What’s the harm?” – cos no-one can see us in here. I’m strapping her in place, ready for the bonfire to start. Outside, I hear them gathering: mums and dads, kids, grannies and grandads. All here to see the fun.
So I lean in. I want to see what those rich boys get. And it’s amazing – I can see why blokes getting hooked, bankrupt themselves so they can keep going back for more.
It’s when I try to pull away, I realise. She’s holding me. I’m trapped.
That beautiful blue eye – that’s going to be the last thing I ever see.
Version 2
I wasn’t quite happy with it, so i’ve done a little editing.
We’re burning them all. That’s what the Reverend said to do, and he’s right. They’re an abomination. Under that perfect skin, it’s just wires and bits of metal. They don’t even feel like we do. “Designed to give pleasure, not feel it”, that’s what he says.
This one’s a corker, though. Blonde hair, blue eyes, gorgeous. Came from some rich boys’ club, down west. Just like a real woman, they say, only better, because there’s no nagging or grumbling. Just “Oooh, that’s nice” and “Oh, you’re so amazing”.
So when she holds her arms out to me, I think “What’s the harm?” – cos no-one can see us in here with all this wood and crates and stuff round us. I can hear them gathering, all around us, but we’re invisible.
So I lean in. I want to see what those rich boys get. And it’s amazing – I can see why blokes get hooked, bankrupt themselves so they can keep going back for more.
It’s when I try to pull away, I realise. She’s wrapped herself around me. I can’t pull free. I’m trapped.
And then I hear it. She’s laughing.
Jane has asked us to write a trillonet. She likes to keep us on our toes! The trillonet has to start with the words “The light is gone”. I’ve written her two. Let’s see which she likes best…
One
The light is gone, it’s left me sitting here,
Alone, in darkness, waiting for a sign,
To say the sun will rise again for me.
The warmth is gone, the last few rags of cheer,
I pulled around me, thinking they were mine,
But like the evening clouds, they’ve floated free.
The glow is gone: the world is grey and drear;
The colours faded, bleached as if by time;
There’s nothing lovely here that I can see.
You took my light, my warmth, my glow away,
Leaving me yearning for the coming day.
Two
The light is gone, we’re making our way home,
Wrapping ourselves together, seeking out
The warming comfort of each other’s skin.
Around us, leaves are scattered and are blown,
The evening wind is throwing them about;
We tread them underfoot, we feel them cling,
But we don’t care, the wind can howl and moan,
The fire is lit, the supper’s been laid out,
The door is open wide to let us in.
And we’ll sink into friendly light and heat,
Warm our cold hands and soothe our tired feet.
I think the second one is a little bit hobbit-y…
Summer loving
Happens so fast
Tastes of cider,
Barbecue and
Strawberries;
Feels like sunshine
Warm upon my winter skin;
Smells of cut grass
Roses and vanilla,
Sends a skylark
Soaring through the
Atmosphere,
Lights me up
Like ligntning
In a summer storm.
Summer loving
Happens so slow,
Apples ripen
Through the summer days;
Summer evenings
Drift towards the twilight,
Maybe there’s music
Floating on the breeze;
Lights me up
Like sunset
Lights the ocean.
Walt at Dverse asked us to borrow a line from another poet and write a summer poem. I kind of cheated. It’s not really a line from a poem – but I’m sure you’ve all seen Grease…
I need to credit Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey who wrote that original iconic song. Summer Lovin’ indeed.
It rains all day, on and off, gentle pattering against the window, not loud enough to drown our conversation, but strong enough to make us pause and look outwards, at the garden dissolving like a painting under water, colours blending and merging. At first the thirsty ground drinks it up, then eventually sickens of it, turns away, lets the water run down the path and out to the lane. Each rose holds a million tiny mirrors, the cranesbill holds its face up to be washed clean. Each blade of grass is jeweled with crystals, each leaf is gem studded. I hold a fortune in my hand, then let it fall. We stand in silence, all words lost, showered away.
Each drop a secret
Summer rain whispers into
The flower’s cool heart
A Haibun – it’s Monday atDVerse and we are asked to write a haibun on the subject of rain. We’ve had quite a lot of that this last week or so – I consider myself an expert! – in rain, if not haibuns!
Jane Dougherty has started a microfiction challenge. I have been back to writing poetry for a few months, now, but this is the first story I’ve written, so I feel a certain amount of trepidation. I don’t know whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that I have a 200 word limit.
Anyhow, time to dip my toe into the water of microfiction. Looks a bit chilly from here!
We don’t go upstairs to the attic rooms. Not since our last governess went away. We like it down here, by the fire, where we can keep warm. It’s so cold up there. We hate to feel cold.
We like to read. We read together.
No, we don’t like to play. We used to play with her – chase, and hide and seek. We ran all over the attic, in and out of all those tiny rooms. There are all sorts of things up there – old wardrobes, trunks, piles of photographs. It was fun, but now, we prefer it here, nice and quiet. We snuggle up close and read our book.
My brother thinks you have pretty hair. Our last governess was pretty, too, but mummy was the prettiest of all.
We do hope you’ll be kind to us. Our last governess was so mean. She made us do arithmetic, when all we wanted to do was read our book. She ran away from us when we chased her. She hid so well, we never found her.
Do you like to read? You can read to us, if you like.
It’s a ghost story.
This is for dverse again. I promised myself no more poems today, but a friend is on her way to Rome, so this sculpture has been on my mind.
You carved me
In the moment of transition,
The victory of change,
When I armoured myself
With my own skin.
Flesh transformed into
Wood transformed into
Stone
As if I have hardened
Over the years
Frozen here
In my fear
And my hope.
This is a pantoum for Jane Dougherty’s prompt on pebbles. It’s not a form I’ve come across before, and it’s a bit tricky, but I’m sure it’s good for me. Here goes:
I’m thinking now of all the time we spent,
Heads together,with the wild gulls crying,
Carefully choosing – some stayed, and some went –
And all the while, the sea sighing.
Heads together, with the wild gulls crying,
We chose one if it gave us pleasure,
And all the while, the sea sighing,
As we amassed our glittering treasure
We chose one if it gave us pleasure
We brought it home, a fragment of our past,
As we amassed our glittering treasure:
A twisting shell, a sea-worn piece of glass.
We brought it home, a fragment of our past,
When you were young, and muddy, and ran wild
A twisting shell, a sea-worn piece of glass,
A stick, a stone, all treasure to a child
When you were young, and muddy, and ran wild
Carefully choosing – some stayed and some went –
A stick, a stone, all treasure to a child:
I’m thinking now of all the time we spent.
Sarah writes poems 
.jpg){kind=link}