For Tuesday’s Poetics where Mish is hosting, asks us. “Writing from a perspective other than our own is a great challenge. We’ve had some very interesting prompts over the years where we have climbed out of our comfort zones to look through a new lens. That has usually involved looking through the eyes of another person. I’d like to float a little further into the unknown and suggest we take the perspective of a color. (or “colour’ as we spell it in Canada)”
Amber Hues
Cattle in stark relief exposed black silhouettes juxtaposed against my gentle winter hue would you notice if I were blue perhaps shade of summer green but all unnoticed I remain unseen
Wait for the waxing pink moon as amber buds begin to bloom I am not some lifeless tone but fragile glass and precious stone, like the shine in lovers’ eyes I am fading sunset’s golden prize
Down the path to the river we go along the trail the fairies know to visit playful sprites and gnomes in muddy banks I’ll sink my toes where the sweet Fae Princess laughs in splashing waters burbling past we bow as one when her highness sings of ancient days of wars and kings as the chilling water prickles my toes I hear Daddy’s call “it’s time to go”
Heavy grey clouds today blocking out the sun I watch you turn away to go and the tears begin to come I happy with the time we share even when we’re far apart when I can’t hold you in my arms I’ll hold you in my heart
Yeah, I’m on a bit of a nostalgic trip today. Man I miss John Denver!
The idea here is I’m taking one line from a song and making it the first line of a poem. I have oodles of “prompts” in my jar, time to use them. This week’s song is “Beautiful Day” by Joshua Radin and the line I’ve chosen is the first line of the song, “Gonna wash the dust off my soul.” Here we go.
Gonna wash the dust off my soul rise up once again from night’s dark hole with brilliant colors, the portrait’s drawn twenty-four hours too quickly gone this day is mine to live as I will mine to use for good or for ill so many days are wrecklessly lost when hate and anger ignore the cost with love and light my spirit grows as I wash the dust off my soul
Gonna wash the dust off my soul Gonna listen to some rock ‘n’ roll No cares, come what may I’m making a beautiful day
Gonna drive my car to the sea Swim out far cause I believe That waves will wash the grey away I’m making a beautiful day Let me hear you say
Ooh, oh oh, my my I’m learning to fly Hey, hey, what’s that you said Let’s not forget we’re alive
Gonna climb that hill behind my house See what this place is all about Cause from above it all, you can’t help but say It’s gonna be a beautiful day It’s gonna be a beautiful day But let me hear you say
Ooh, oh oh, my my I’m learning to fly Hey, hey, what’s that you said Let’s not forget we’re alive
Gonna turn my enemies into friends What’s broken gets stronger when it mends When we all come together, this song will play We’ll sing, it’s a beautiful day That’s gonna be my beautiful day
Oh oh, my my I’m learning to fly Hey, hey, what’s that you said Let’s not forget we’re alive, that we’re alive
In the end, no one will know who we were, what we loved why we fought, or how we died In the end all that will matter is how well we lived today for each day, every moment is filled with glorious second chances to see the beauty in the sublime no one can change the past but let us change our futures make right now … the beginning
Your prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “the beginning, the end.” Write about the beginning of something and the end of something. Bonus points if your first sentence contains “the end” and your last sentence contains “the beginning.” <– Read that again. Have fun!
“The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach – waiting for a gift from the sea.” — Anne Morrow Lindberg, A Gift from the Sea
Peter from Australiain Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft urges us “come on poets, join me at the beginning. Let’s find that best first line:
see if you can hook yourself a new reader with upfront vivid images and unusual word use
Storm Broken
The storm left me broken as it swept through my life like August thunder leaving only the discordant buzz of cicadas the whine of a distant trimmer the static discharge of lightning that singes my lungs and eyes tears fall as I await the rain but none comes to quench the shattered spirit only the distant roll of thunder as the storm moves on leaving me dry and broken
