2023.1 Shazam

Taking a nudge from the Allographic prompt today, starting with an Abracadabra:

Sometimes joy and labour are reversed, it’s true.
No matter how you try, the truth comes out.
High and dry, I find that I’ve no choice:
my options dwindle, one by one;
this sandbar looks like ending.
When did I fear wet feet?
I might get over
my head but, well,
there may be
no real
choice

Image found via the Know Your Phrase article about the phrase "high and dry"

[Image description: a watercolour painting of a dark brown, wooden rowing boat pulled up in the shallows of a tropical-looking beach just under a cluster of three palm trees. The sun is bright, but storm clouds are massing, and there is nothing else in sight, just the sea, beach, trees, and sky. End image description.]

2022.9 Tenebrae

A #Mothra, courtesy of Beth Hartley, via Poetry Non-Stop’s prompt for the day (inspired by an image from StormHour):

There
is a
beauty in contrasts:
opposites propping each other
up, providing a backdrop, swapping
light for dark, and vice versa,
all the while building to a crescendo,
dipping in and out, weaving a foundation for
loud that only works because the quiet came first.
And now that sudden hush as reality creaks, waiting, breath
held, for the cloudburst, the ecstasy of finally just letting go...

And oh, the relief, as all the loud and bright and
dark, soft and jagged, haggard and hopeful, tangle, the way
they’ve been waiting to, the way they were made
to take up space, even if just for
this one moment, this breathing, heaving respite
from holding still, from tamping down.
from that difficult frown of
hiding from the neighbours.
No matter now.
Just breathe.
There.

Image: Shower Over Jodrell Bank by Mark Boardman, via StormHour

I find Mothras difficult, it turns out, because my brain has mastered syllable counting at a pretty much unconscious level these days, but word-counting doesn’t fit my rhythmic nature! Or something. Anyway, it was nice to give this a go. Why not try it on yourself via the ever-present Concrete and Repeating Poetry Forms Spreadsheet?

(It was also very pleasing to discover the multiple meanings of tenebrae...)

2022.5 Unsung

Somewhat inspired by yesterday’s Poetry Non-Stop prompt by Linda Collins, this turned out quite concrete:

It’s my first time trying this kind of poem; I thought I’d start small this first time, and yes – enlisted the help of my trusty spreadsheet to keep me in check (so now you can too). Text below:

I appear to be

all whys and hows, not what

an act of translation should be:

dappled in the wisdom

of other tongues lapping,

the invisible ripples

you might feel;

I cannot tell

what

2021.15 Mainline

It’s not exactly the best idea –
ambling along while they all run.
Maybe you thought it helped:
resting, assuming you could ski
uphill, floating on momentum.
Never mind the discipline won,
never mind the camaraderie too:
intimacy forged by common fight.
Not for you the questing bonds,
glued to the notion that you?
Better off aloof, hiding the bitter
equations of effort spent on those
hampering your flow… somehow.
It’s not even as though
nobody notices, you lovely
dolt; count the actual thanks and crack on…

Catching up, catching up…!

This result from searching for The Tortoise and the Hare turns up all over Google but I can't find the origin, so can't credit the creator, sadly. Mine came from, of all places, Craft Brews and Running Shoes

2021.3 Eoster

It isn’t quite a year yet, though the day shouts,
unheeding joy bellowing in colours
picturebook bright, obscenely clamorous;
the careless yellow, purple, bronze,
and green, green, green of it all.
Birdsong beckons, clouds dance;
the wind and sunlight
gently caress
the chasm
between
us.

This is a form known as the Abracadabra, which was Day 4's prompt and I promptly went all emo on it. The form does suit emo, though. And I'm going to blame it on being ill. So there. And I used the Repeating Poetry Form tool to keep me in line.

Image of lilacs from FTD.com

2019.11 Dies Forte

Vent away, she says with a smile.
Eventually, I respond, it won’t be
Necessary. We ponder in silence.
Generally, she suggests,
Everyone needs some kind of release.
Anger isn’t always a weakness.
Nevertheless, I say. It’s firm, soothed with a tiny smile.
Carefully, we negotiate each shift of topic;
Echoing throughout: our shared agenda,
Itching to be heard, made real,
Surging tide beneath our keels.
Long silences are loqacious here and now.
I pause yet again, reach to touch her hand.
Victory is in the little things.
Impishly, she all-but grins,
Nods.
Gathering ourselves, we rise on cue,
Wander out into the sunshine,
Exiting a chapter that didn’t give us much to say.
Lost in the dazzle for a moment, she tips her head back,
Laughter arcing into free air.