June 14, 2011

Conch Shell

Prompt from Word Gathering: write an etheree poem
Margo Roby defines the etheree as such: "The poem is ten lines. The first line has one syllable, the second has two, the third has three, and on until the tenth line which has ten."

Photo Prompt from Magpie Tales
Pink
spirals
out to pink
tinged with coral,
sanded in beachtones-
treasure chest of sea-sounds,
surf and sand sealed in its spire,
pearl of the deep, vessel cradling
Neptunian strains, bottled message,
each conch shell a beachcomber’s pandora.*


*Beyond the traditional meaning of "pandora," which refers to the mythological creature who opened the forbidden box of evil, it can also refer to a handsome fish that lives off the Mediterranean coast (Pagellus erythrinus), a mollusc (genus Pandora) the lives on sandy beaches, or a stringed musical instrument (from the word "bandore").

June 12, 2011

Bright at Last

Prompt from Poetic Bloomings: choose a favorite line from a favorite poem to use as a springboard for a new poem's title and theme
Something that I enjoy even more than traditional poetry is the lyrical verses of many old-time hymns. They are also poetry, in their own way. I have many favorites among them, but one that has been on my mind today is Be Still, My Soul, by Ka­tha­ri­na A. von Schle­gel. This poem is taken from the second stanza of that hymn, and the line "All now mysterious shall be bright at last."

Someday
we shall flee this clouded world,
throw off our dingy cloaks of sorrow like
penniless strangers no longer destitute,
dissolve the filth of our tears in perfection.

And we,
who now walk homeless on this earth,
shall keep mansions in cities of gold, all
uncommonly crafted, and we shall live
eternally at home with the eternal Life,

In whose
radiance will flee shadowed imperfection,
drab fragments made whole, dimmed souls
enlightened by sun-surpassing glory, and
'all now mysterious shall be bright at last.'


June 05, 2011

How Sweet the Spring

Prompt from Sunday Scribblings: sweet

©EJ 2011

How sweet the sounds of spring-
baby birds awakening to new life,
pubescent trees laughing in sunshine,
promised rains knocking on driveways.

How sweet the sounds, the smells-
humid air pregnant with honeysuckle,
grasses sighing after springtime rain,
flowerbeds fresh from sunny ovens.

How sweet the sights of spring-
a world awash in rainbow hues,
promise of life after ancient winter,
watercolor greens and blushing yellows.

How sweet the start of spring-
that season of arousal, giving birth
to long awaited blush of color,
wellspring of consciousness.

Blossom

Prompt from Poetic Bloomings: write about color

©EJ 2011
Sweet spot of white in
              a monochromatic world,
bohemian butterfly
              emerging from verdant asylum,
              spot of wild whiteness
                           within a peaceful crowd of green
achromatic star in leaves of grass,
              celestial blossom.

June 03, 2011

He Goes Out

"I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more."
                                                                                          Richard Lovelace

He goes out
from his refuge, his
home, to strive
against foes
of his homeland, to
war, that he might live in peace.

He goes, not
loving to leave, but
engaged by
honor, by
duty to his country,
his motherland, his mistress.

He goes with
God and gun in hand,
armed and brave,
competent,
to win freedom for
his home, his wife, his children.

June 01, 2011

Pipes

Prompt from We Write Poems: write a piku
The "piku" form is a cross between a haiku and the first three numbers of pi (3.14). It contains three lines, with 3 syllables in line one, 1 syllable in line two, and 4 syllables in line three.
This set of pikus was inspired by my time at the Scottish Games last Saturday. I am quite proud of my Scottish heritage and was thrilled to spend time with other who were like-minded. There were games, demonstrations, clan booths, food (Irn Bru, anyone?), and of course, BAGPIPES! Hope this poem brings a sense of their beauty to you.

Drone of the
bags
echoes drumbeats

keeping time
for
melodies sung

on chanters,
played
by artful hands:

bagpipes are
a
beautiful thing.