Category Archives: Poetry Maybe

Chell Speckers Nightmare

ForThePromptless – S. 3, E. 9 – Lapsus Linguae

A noun that refers to a “slip of the tongue”.  Malapropisms and spoonerisms are two examples.

It was a dark and stormy night...
It was a dark and stormy night… (Photo credit: jpstanley)

 

We, on a stark and dormy night,

Brawled under the clankets, eyes shut tight;

Fhosts were gloating up our stairs,

Woblins and Gitches creeping in pairs.

A morrible Hummy banged on our door –

We shushed each other and listened for more.

Dronsters and Magons were under the bed

Bire freathing creatures that hadn’t been fed.

We didn’t cuss, we didn’t fry,

We kept sterfectly pill so as not to die.

Foney bingers tapped the window pane,

Wad molves howled in the pouring rain.

We fruddled in a hightened heap

And then, somehow, we fell asleep.

Suddenly, as if night never was

Morning came, as morning does.

The sky was shining, the sun was blue,

Dom and Mad had not one clue.

As if last night had never been,

As if we’d sad a hilly dream.

But we KNOW what happens in the dead of night

When we set so gared we can’t talk right.

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The Closest of Confidants

Two little girls in bed, playing with Japanese...

We were kids pretending, playing roles

Being the characters, wearing the clothes

Making up stories, saying the lines

There were no limits and no confines

But no matter who we decided to be

You were you and I was me.

Together now it seems as though

Our grown up selves are just for show.

The walls come down, the pretense dies

We see through each others thin disguise

No matter how old or long apart

You know my honne, I know your heart.

We are at peace and safe and free

When you are you and I am me.

Prompts for the Promptless:  Honne is a Japanese noun referring to the behavior and opinions someone truly believes in– often displayed with one’s closest confidants.

Summer of ’78

78 summer dana 001

sun-kissed cheeks

under sunshine hats

giggles and shrieks

scooping up crayfish in a minnow net

plastic shovels in bright yellow pails

tiny bare feet making sweet love letters

pressed in the summer sand

78 summer kris 001

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trifecta buttonTrifecta Challenge:  Describe summer in your own words. Thirty-three of them exactly, of course.

Just Get It Off Your Chest

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres depicts the Comt...
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres depicts the Comtesse d’Haussonville, wearing a dress. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I won’t digress. 

 I won’t suppress.

I’ll  express – tonight’s a mess!

With my finesse to hide duress

He’ll never guess

the cause of my distress.

Unless –

I confess.

I hate this stupid dress!

trifecta buttonTrifecta Challenge:  This weekend we are asking for a thirty-three word confession.

My Inner Emily

Emily dickinson
Emily dickinson (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Daily Prompt:  Unleash Your Inner Dickinson.  National Poetry Writing Month is nearly at an end. To celebrate it, try your hand at some verse.

Huh.  I thought I just did that.  And how come I didn’t know it was national poetry writing month?  Do you suppose I wasn’t informed on purpose?

No matter, another poem probably won’t kill us.  Well, me, anyway.  I don’t know about you.  I just hope poor Emily doesn’t roll over in her grave.  Or come back to haunt me.  Because I am about to update one of her poems.

A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!

Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

by Emily Dickinson

A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!

Your prayers, oh Passer by!

From such a common ball as this

Might date a Victory!

From marshallings as simple

The flags of nations swang.

Steady—my soul: What issues

Upon thine arrow hang!

A Prompt!  Help! Help! Another Prompt!

by grandmalin

A prompt! OMG, another prompt!

Give me a break you guys.

Such a seemingly simple request

Might cause INSANITY!

You prompt and prompt and never stop

The stress is making me mad.

Hold on, my soul:  No worries

Just write something really bad.

The only thing I like better about Emily’s poem compared to mine is the use of the word “swang”.  That is a truly awesome word.

And this post, my friends, should prove once and for all that poetry writing and appreciation is really not my strong point.

elders
elders (Photo credit: sbpoet)

Broken

Broken chair
Broken chair (Photo credit: Martin Bartosch)

See these beat-up pieces, this broken-down chair?

Bedraggled, battered, neglected, bare.

Like me it is wasted,  the worse for wear,

Hurt and defeated,  filled with despair.

We are worn out, broken, beyond repair.

 

 

 

 

The Trifecta Challenge this week is 33 words about anything you want.  Your piece must include at least one
hyphenated compound modifier.

Now see freaked-out me completing a first draft which ended up being exactly 33 words.  So it’s as is, with very little editing.  Why mess with a happy accident?  Next time I will try to be more cheery.

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April Friday

In my mind, April is my brothers month, just like May is mine, and June and November belong to  my sisters.  He was born on the 19th, a Good Friday in 1946.  It’s been half a year already since he was ‘stolen’ from us, no longer a child of course, but still a child of the earth and the universe and lost to us much too soon.

So here’s a rather melancholy tune for our last April Friday.  Poetry set to music.  I guess I’m still in my saudade mood.  Bring on the rain.

A fairy offering wishes, illustration by John ...
A fairy offering wishes, illustration by John Bauer to Alfred Smedberg’s The seven wishes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Stolen Child

(Words by W.B.Yeats-Music by Loreena McKennitt)

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats
There we’ve hid our faery vats
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries

Come away, O human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

 

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light
By far off furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles
Whilst the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.

Dream Fairy
Dream Fairy (Photo credit: Alexandria LaNier)

Come away, O human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

 

 

 

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams

The Visit (Loreena McKennitt album)
The Visit (Loreena McKennitt album) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Come away, O human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

 

 

 

 

Away with us he’s going
The solemn-eyed
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

Smoke and Mirrors

The Enchanted Forest
The Enchanted Forest (Photo credit: isoLord)

 

This forest is enchanted with devilry and spells.

It pulls me in and holds me where black voodoo magic dwells.

Bewitched, afraid and powerless, lost and all alone

I cannot think what alchemy has turned my limbs to stone.

Cold and icy fingers are clutching at my heart

What wizard worked this sorcery, who changed the light to dark?

Some ancient incantation, some trickery, some scheme….

That’s all I need to free me from this nightmare of a dream.

The witching trance is much too strong, impossible to break.

Out of the mystic rising now the runes spell out my fate.

Why can’t I turn my eyes away and just refuse to look?

Why must I face this prophecy, the ending to my book?

The divination now reveals the truth it won’t conceal.

Life is an illusion.  None of this is real.

The Enchanted Forest
The Enchanted Forest (Photo credit: isoLord)

 

Trifecta Challenge Week Seventy Two:   using the 3rd definition of alchemy – an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting.

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Bear Has A Bad Day

Trifextra challenge – We are giving you three words and asking that you add another 33 to them to make a complete 36-word response.  You may use the words in any order you choose. Our three words are

remember, rain, rebellion

 

Teddy bear
Teddy bear (Photo credit: macieklew)

 

No toys at the table, remember?

Please put Bear away.

No baby, wait –

What are you doing?

Hey!  What’s this?

A three year olds fierce rebellion,

Flinging Bear out the patio door

Into the pouring rain.

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