Monthly Archives: May 2011

Learning Iambic Pentameter

I am reading the book The Ode Less Traveled” by Stephen Fry.  At a point in the first section the reader is instructed to stop reading and get out pen and paper and compose sentences in iambic pentameter and I am working on it.  This was just to have fun and vent a little of my frustration.

I wish that pentameter wasn’t so hard.
I practiced and practiced but often it jarred.
If practice makes perfect then I will prevail,
though readers may wish I’d decided to bail.

I’m reading a book and the book says to cease,
take paper and pen and give muse it’s release.
Don’t fret about rhyming just count the beat,
so I’m tapping my foot while brain feels the heat.

Keep banging the keys but am I improving?
Can I make words fit beats and still be moving?

A more learned poet than myself commented “I WISH that penTAmeter WASn’t so HARD (iamb, anapest, anapest, anapest). That’s a fun and useful meter” – obviously I need more work on this but as with any tool it takes practice before it feels comfortable.  Back to the journal…

I Smell a Rat

Sunday Scribbling prompt: Flock

the rodent tendencies will out
though you try to choke them cloak them
into submission they don’t need
your permission to socially engineer
your rear guard is breaking rank
the tanks are rolling bowling over
all the principles despicable in an
under cover way blunder over bruises
make up stories about glories unseen
unknown unshown in lofty dreaming
hear the screaming downstairs
no scares nowheresville is where you live man
you ain’t getting out soon blue moon
won’t be shining round here we don’t like no
messin’ second guessing
there are those who flock
to all your glittery jittery jiggle the lock
the key was lost so long ago
and so the ticket you can’t pick it
you don’t know what side of door
you stood on hood on susurration bout
the conflagration you can’t put the fire out
now all your alibis are leaking squeaking
by the skin of teeth
no scrubbing bubbles for this trouble
see the mirror reflection clear
except the cracks no taking back
you’re too far gone sing swan song
mama’s baby gone wrong don’t go
sneaking round breaking down
you’re not strong losing ground
the smile is slipping curtain ripping
canoe tipping point the finger once
twice thrice you’re history drown in
mystery we see through you
hate to be you

The Song

I heard a whip-poor-will this morning
singing outside my window
and wanting to join the chorus
I stepped outside in the still dark
and found myself on a strong branch
felt the roughened bark
against bare feet
spreading powerful wings
I took to sky and joined
morning dance
we wheeled a pattern clear
then came together circling
round and round

in that exquisite moment
I knew I was exactly
what I was supposed to be
a sense of deep knowing
welling up inside needing
wanting to tell the world
opening my throat
to let the joy escape
but a whip-poor-will can only sing
the song she has been given

Color

Prompt: Kalaidoscope 21 words

royal purple hues locked
scarlet intricate steps
exploding lapis lazuli patterns in
deep forest of mathematical beauty
divided by golden perfection

Two In The Morning

flawed logic happens
at two in the morning
when all is quiet
and darkness rests
on squinting eyes
as I turn it around
looking at it from midnight angles
or angels I’m not sure
but I do know that come the dawn
nothing makes sense
or holds clarity
that abounds
at two in the morning

Metamorphosis

blinded I could not see
where the road would lead
deafened I could not hear
the call of voices that would save me
but in the brokenness a secret
revealed that can’t be shown
nor sung by any choir
when I would lay down and die
at the very moment of darkness
drawn to light and air a birthing
a bursting of star matter
shrieks forth screaming to sky
to color from deepest red
to softest royal purple
unfurled uncurled stretched
beyond all belief
I rise again and find my heart
in flight sustained
unstained

image credit – deviant art mement_mori_by_sheerheart

I Would

I would have life be poetry
yet there are too many hard edges
anger flays words into shreds
and daily minutia is poison
that spreads throughout the paper
evaporating ink before it can dry

I would stray from the path
picking through leaves in deep shade
turning them this way and that
just to see the light reflected
but a bell is ringing
and I must hurry to dusk

I would hear music in daylight
birdsong and wind whispers
heartbeat cadence with every breath
yet drowned out by cacophony
a million voices clamor for attention
see me, hear me, give me

I would have life imitate art
instead of the other way around
though cloud brush strokes are perfection
patterns of grass waving on prairie
are rivaled only by the whorl of whelk
I confess to understanding nothing

Summer House

afternoon is slowly fading
soon lights inside will beckon
warmly glowing faces showing
smiles and chatter welcome
friends again we gather
sidewalk stepping quickly heading
front door opens waving all in
to the house the home the place
we eat and drink the glasses clink
piano playing softly fire burning
hearth is turning evening chill
of outside darkness into yearning
firelight and memories making
times when we were younger
times when we under spells
of brighter days lighter ways
thought we’d stay forever never
changing stretching on into the future
still I hear the music laughter takes me
back and I am once again sure
best nights sounds sights
held inside that summer night
a glow that rivals evening stars
lives on in friendship hearts like ours

Heart Dust

Prompt: immortality

I will be dust
one day and even
my words
will blow away
but I will be a moonbeam
that catches your eye
and leaves you staring into the dark
because you have known my heart

My Soul Rests

Sunday Scribbling prompt : May

Gone for a moment
days when my soul
was mired in gray sucking mud
struggling like some fragile thing
to break free.

I gratefully turn my face
to sun, to wind
to sky that lets me
spread damp wings,
glistening, drawing strength
from air and dreams.
Greedily breathing in.
The world fills my soul,
soul swells until it fills the world.
I am fed and in turn feed
as I commune with trees,
dancing their spring sign language
speaking of new growth
and hope.

My bones tied to moon
to earth cycle,
yearning…to what?
The answer escapes me
like the butterfly that
stays just long enough
for me to fall in love a little
and then flies off
crushing me with impermanence.

Days will lengthen
but nights bring songs of cricket
and mourning dove.
Honeysuckle and gardenia perfume
lay heavy on damp skin.
Summer wine tastes sweet.
My soul rests.

Itty Bitty Computer

Teleread had a blurb about a 25 dollar USB stick computer that has been developed by David Braben.  It has a usb port on one end and an HDMI port on the other.  Plug a monitor into one and a usb hub to the other for keyboard and mouse and you are in business. I am going to be watching for this little gem.  It will probably ship with Ubuntu and Mr. Braben plans to use it to promote computer science studies in schools.  I love the cost and the size and it would be great for schools for both reasons but I also see a creative venue.

A friend wondered how many would go through the washing machine and dryer but I have a solution for that. I hope someone will take the idea and run with it – a whole line of jewelry – maybe something steampunk?  Maybe I could get hubby to create something for me – I’m sure we have some little bits and pieces of metal around here somewhere. Maybe a case that attaches to your keyring for the guys?

What about wireless kiosks?  There was no information about the amount of memory, but with external an external hard drive that shouldn’t be much of an issue.  A computer you can carry in your make-up bag in your purse.  My grandmother would be astounded.

Contagious Poison

trying for a little more structure…prompt: toxic

You speak a poison with your voice
without a thought for how it spreads.
Unlike a virus, make a choice,
a stealthy creep to other heads.

A covered mouth would save us all,
instead you choose to open wide;
each word spews forth with bitter gall
and ripples soon become a tide.

Unfocused anger, snide remarks,
an upturned mouth now flattened out.
The watch pot is stirred, the fire sparks,
once hopeful hearts now touched by doubt.

I ask the question to the light.
Why is it hard to cling to good,
so easy to lay down the fight
and let a sadness chill the mood.

Oh what we’d hold by building up,
instead of always breaking down;
medicine to an empty cup.
Can peace be catching where there’s none?

Xunbuntu

I am writing this post on an older IBM thinkpad T30 running Xubuntu. Xunbuntu is a flavor of Linux that is easy to install and meant to run on older machines that don’t have the same resources as newer ones.  So far it is fast, clean, and pretty.  The interface is Mac-like with frequently used programs in a customizable dock.  I haven’t even had time to play with all the software and there is a lot more available for download.  I can watch youtube videos which was not possible on an older machine.  Unfortunately the sound card is not functional (it wasn’t before) so no listening to music but other than that I am very pleased with it.

This laptop is about six years old. It was running xp but barely, boggy and ugly.  If you want to do a lot of graphics or are a heavy Microsoft Office user then this probably isn’t for you.  If you just want to be able to write, email, internet, play a few games – this seems to handle it beautifully. And it didn’t cost anything but a little time.

 

Cloudy Day

a thousand voices raised
emptying hearts on pages
that fly across satellite paths

I dig my pen into the paper
press with rigid anger

ridged paper like braille
this never ending spiral
makes no difference

my head aches with wanting
to feel something other
than nonchalance as though
I am not a part of this
as though I am above
as though I am not enough
I would write a brightness

but there is none in me today

there was a man carrying a cross
in a nearby churchyard
as though we needed a reminder
his faux crucifixion an affront
as though walking around
carrying a piece of wood
could save anyone
or bring on an Easter
bring forth spring

I long for sun
while my heart fills with
dusk

just a cloudy rainy day and a bad cold…maybe it should have been titled “as though”

Once Upon Spring

As the bear slowly rouses from slumber
leaving the dark and coolness of the cave,
grumbling and hungry I step out and stretch
for warmth of sunlight, shedding winter scruff.
Yellow warmth swells my dry and empty heart.
Turn of season ripened like red berries
to bursting, filled with sweet juices promise,
greening of trees, honeysuckle breezes.
I will write the lesson of seasons change,
filling my world with blooms of lush language.