Tuesday Poetics A question of Color

Sunset on Waikiki

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

Til next time ~stay wild moon child ~JP

First Line Lyric Thursday – New Day’s Dawning

Dawn

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

Linked to dVerse OLN

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

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Joshua Ryan Radin / Kenneth A Pattengale
Beautiful Day lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Songtrust Ave

 

Til next time ~stay wild moon child ~JP

Storm Broken

Peter from Australia in 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

Linked to JusJoJan # 28 Storm

Til next time ~stay trippy hippies ~JP

The Deer and I

The Deer and I

Here where the artesian spring gurgles up through the ground, I pause. My intuition stirs, something. I glance behind and see him there, browsing amongst the fading autumn grass. I sense no fear from him, no tensing of muscle and sinew. Why should he flee? My soft pink form is no threat to him. I wonder if he knows, something inside, outside the bounds of human knowing. I would not harm him, nor his home.

Others are treacherous and wasteful, caring not for the needs of growing things. Contemptuous of all they deem lesser, and all is less. But for now, we are content to share this bit of world, the deer and I. I smile and he turns away from the warmth of sun on waning grass; away from me.

We drink from the stream,
with a warm delight – the same
the deer and I

For Haibun Monday at dVerse
and Just Jot It January – gurgle

 

Til next time ~Stay trippy hippies ~JP

Possibly Possible — A Quadrille

Whimsy Gizmo is our host for dVerse quadrille and asks us:

Scribble us a poem of possibility using just 44 words, including some form of the word possible.

Possibly Possible

the night is filled
with the auspicious
portent of possibility

for what the sun
will bring with dawning,
possible futures

lay aside the probability
of chance and dream
of hope and possibilities

throw open the window
of second chances and
all that is possible

word count 44

Til next time ~Peace ~JP

Shattered – a prosery tale

Image by Simon Giesl from Pixabay

Merril is our host at dVerse Poets Pub for prosery.

Prosery is a piece of short prose that includes a line from a poem. I will give you the line, and then you incorporate it into your prose piece. It can be either flash fiction, nonfiction, or creative nonfiction, but it must be prose, not a poem. And it must be no longer than 144 words, not including the title. It does not have to be exactly 144 words. Our prompt is:

there is nothing behind the wall
except a space where the wind whistles”
from “Drawings By Children” by Lisel Mueller

Shattered

She could still feel the ugly red pressure of the day it happened. The dull grey and orange of the sky, the torrent of air rupturing the early morning stillness like a sonic boom. The day the light died in his steel-grey eyes while he spoke the words that shattered her heart, her world, her soul.

It should have killed her. Pain like that should kill you instantly, like an arrow to the heart. But, alas, it did not. She pulled together the fragments of her shattered self and put them back together. Differently this time. Never again know the pain of love. She built a wall around her heart and to all who knew her, she seemed whole. But there is nothing behind the wall except a space where the wind whistles in hollow agony.

Word count 136

Til next time ~Peace ~JP

Pull of the Compass – a quadrille

Whimsygizmo is hosting this month’s quadrille over at dVerse Poets Pub and asks to polarize ourselves with a poem of 44 words, including “magnet.”

Pull of the Compass

Your voice reached my ears
and drew my eyes to you
with all the force of an electro-magnet
my heart followed
the way a compass points north
and then my mind
with unerring precision
I know in a manner unknowing
precisely where you are

word count 44

Til next time ~Peace ~JP

Hands – a Prosery Tale

Clouds over the surf

Kim from Writing in North Norfolk is hosting at dVerse today and would like for us to write a bit of prosery including the following line from D.H. Lawrence’s poem “Hummingbird:”

We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time’.

For an added challenge, we are limited to 144 words.

I take his gnarled hand in mine. Papery skin seeming somehow fragile. Hands that gently bottle fed a newborn kitten also struck fearsome taekwondo punches. Big hands, strong hands that made a little girl feel safe, that wiped away the tears and lifted the child back onto the bicycle. Hands that were meant for delicate technical work, not to be the home for needles and tubes. Brothers are weeping. We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time. Somehow the giant of a man appears reduced by the ravages of years. In my mind, I turn the telescope and see the young man diving from high cliffs into the surf far below. His hand caresses my cheek, wiping away one last tear. He whispers “don’t weep for me my angel” as I watch the light fade from his eyes.

word count 144

Til next time ~Peace ~JP

Blanket Weather – a quadrille

The quadrille over at dVerse Poets Pub this week is hosted by merrildsmith who asks us to use “blanket” in our poem of 44 words.

Bland tans and shades of faded ocher
blanket the hills, setting the scene
with splashes of brilliant canary and saffron
Autumn comes to lay her cloak
of colored leaves upon the fertile soil,
shielding tender seeds
from Winter’s chill
rich beauty, gone too soon

California Dreaming — The Mamas and The Papas

Til next time ~Peace ~JP