Tonight, our host over at dVerse Poets Pub is lillian in Poetics who, feeling nostalgic on the occasion of her 8th anniversary hosting at the bar, has resurrected for the third time, an ekphrastic prompt provided by the artist Catrin Welz-Stein. Catrin has enjoyed providing the inspiration for the pub-goers twice before and enjoys the interaction. I picked one of the four pictures which Catrin kindly allowed us to use…
I like to read out loud to turn tiny marks regimented on the page from text to sound filtered through eyes that read brain to comprehend a mouth that shapes my voice. Poetry or prose the writer laid words down wrapped round meanings all their own but which we readers too may catch and breathe out into space between mouth and ear reader and listener. Even reading aloud alone brings out meaning, makes it clear and once peeled from the page I sit and let the words hang there…
Tonight, our host over at dVerse Poets Pub is lillian in Poetics who, feeling nostalgic on the occasion of her 8th anniversary hosting at the bar, has resurrected for the third time, an ekphrastic prompt provided by the artist Catrin Welz-Stein. Catrin has enjoyed providing the inspiration for the pub-goers twice before and enjoys the interaction. I picked one of the four pictures which Catrin kindly allowed us to use…
I fell in love with Alice no, not Alice in Wonderland nor through the looking glass though this Alice famously admired her reflection in shop windows as she walked down the town.
She was not the girl next door eponymous heroine of the bereft Smokie who could not face a life without her nor the Alice in the driving White Rabbit pounded out by Jefferson Airplane – rather it was the plaintive harmonies of the McGarrigle sisters reviving a parlour song about a young girl wearing her favourite blue gown for the first time.
Little did I know that this Alice was no homely teenager but an American Princess daughter of a President denied her name for the tragic loss of her mother due to childbirth her father, Teddy, unable to bear his newborn daughter’s namesake she was condemned to be called Baby Lee until years later her father soothed by a new wife and five more children.
A feisty girl and woman Alice Roosevelt smoked and shot at Telegraph poles from moving trains but I prefer to think of the gentler image of the girl in the song in her Alice Blue Gown “Till wilted I wore it I’ll always adore it My sweet little Alice blue gown…”
The boy in the darkened room is trapped in the lifeboat of his bed he daren’t put his feet to the floor fearing the deeper darkness beneath the bed teeth or claws or something squelchy might suck him under he sleeps fitfully till daylight
Written for Melissa Lemay in Uncategorized over at dVerse Poets Pub, but unfortunately, I missed the boat for Mr Linky and so I am posting it on OpenLinkNight hosted by Mish… Melissa’s challenge was to write a Cento poem made up from lines of other pub-goers in the month of April which I misread and chose lines from the May “Magic 9” – Es la Vida…
This Cento draws lines from fellow poets at dVerse Poets Pub – Punam, Sunra Rainz, Laura Bloomsbury, Kim M. Russel, Jane Dougherty, Gillena Cox, Mary Grace Guevara, Melissa Lemay, Helen, Robbie Eaton Cheadle, Judy Dykstra- Brown, Reena Saxena, Paul Vincent Canon
In April the Challenge is A-Z other writing takes a back seat writing my blog fills my head and for this year I double dipped two A-Z themes I interbred – I wrote about Commodities and with a poem drove home what I said but now the challenge is complete it’s normal service in my head…
II
Back to the novel and down to the pub – the dVerse Poets Pub that is to virtual friends, poets all like me it’s not, however, all about the likes but novels, blogging or poems we certainly desire to be well-read but truly I must write for me the itch induces constant scratches – if that is you too please comment and like me…
Written for Grace in Poetry Forms over at dVerse Poets Pub who today invites us to use the Magic 9 poetic form whose rhyme scheme is derived from the word abracadabra – I have taken the liberty of using the form as a stanza form as I wasn’t done after a mere nine lines…
You can find my A-Z on Commodities with 26 poetry forms via the button at the top of the page and more of my poems via the Poems button.
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Grace in OpenLinkNight has been asking for a poem of our own choosing. A week or so ago, one of my grandsons – an F2 Junior Doctor, fainted whilst working on his hospital ward. He has fainted once before for much the same reasons as this poem explores… Junior Doctors as they are called, have been on a cycle of strikes for months now, here in England!
Fainting is not a feminine attribute Nor yet a signal effect of fear When the wave comes upon you like Canute You cannot command the tide “Disappear!” Long hours, small meals, emotional turmoil These will do the trick of draining blood Effects of low blood pressure you cannot foil And you will fall right where you stood Causing alarm to staff and patients But quickly picked up, handled with patience Nurses have seen these faints before and told The management of overworked young doctors Who, stress-loaded, sleep and food-deprived, folded Nurses cannot be the Doctor’s Proctors Can’t change the way the system’s moulded So Junior Doctors do the very best you can Demand more pay, less hours Take every chance to stick it to “the Man” For by your bedside we can’t bring now banned flowers…
Over at dVerse Poets PubLaura Bloomsbury in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft is our host and has asked us to write Ghazal using at least one of the lines by Pablo Neruda from his book of poetry – “The Book of Questions” in which he poses 320 questions and answers in couplet form, and she has asked us to use at least one of the six question lines she has selected. I found all six questions stimulating and linked them in this poem.
Why was I not born mysterious? – Sorrowful Then nations would smite down my enemy furious – angry
Why did I grow up without companions – lonely compadres and friends in this world so curious? – and unloved
And do unshed tears wait in little lakes – weeping lurking to ambush we unwary and drown us? – vulnerable
And Why does Spring once again offer its green clothes – landless springing up in the rubble of our homes mocking us? – homeless
How long do others speak if we have already spoken – quashed one hundred years, pleading, crying and dying in the dust? – and denied
Even hope itself may eventually die – we should be hopeless Isn’t it better never than too late for us? – flattened too.
How long do others speak if we have already spoken? – We still As long as it takes for you to hear us – cry out
And Why does Spring once again offer its green clothes? – bear children Because life must triumph, improbable, delirious – all we can
And do unshed tears wait in little lakes? – don’t hold back Yes but cry them, use them, water the dust – start again
Why did I grow up without companions? – seek new friends Because the world heard only another victim’s fuss – in a world of oppressed
Why was I not born mysterious? – we find other victims in common See the wonderful in the ordinary which is us – our voices raised together
There are no especially deserving winners – give us all our due no one deserves our land over us – “Equality now!”
Equal status and our own statehood – “Never Again!” with nobody ruling over us – “Give us Our Due!”
Borrowing these six Neruda questions – “Now!” the poet, Andrew, seeks to give voice to us…
