Poetry challenge #35: Pebbles

I thought I’d return to the pantoum for this one. The instructions are set out clearly in shadow poetry.

I’ve added a few words you might like to use, but don’t feel obliged. I have to say that since I forgot all about the words when I came to write the poem!

Here’s the pic, the word suggestions, my pantoum is below, and remember you have a whole week to write your pantoum (or other form if you don’t get on with pantoums) and post the link in the comments.

Have fun!

Bright, smooth, shore, blue, reflecting

1280px-Gfp-pebbles-on-the-ground

The strand is strewn with sunlight,

Sea-polished gems of stone,

Reflecting sun and moonlight,

The only treasure she will own.

 

Sea-polished gems of stone,

The colours of the deeps,

The only treasure she will own,

From the halls where the Selkie weeps.

 

The colours of the deeps,

Matched by the clouded sky,

From the halls where the Selkie weeps,

For a love that will never die.

 

Matched by the clouded sky,

White foam sighs on the shore,

For a love that will never die,

She dives and is seen no more.

 

White foam sighs on the shore,

Reflecting sun and moonlight,

She dives and is seen no more,

The strand is strewn with sunlight.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

63 thoughts on “Poetry challenge #35: Pebbles”

  1. This is not a Pantoum, because I am not a poet, but I love writing. I think it is interesting what your challenges conjure up in my mind. I am going to post it any way, it brought back memories for me.

    WASHED UP ON THE SHORE
    By: Patricia Salamone

    Washed upon the shore from far away,
    or have you been resting here for many a day.
    No matter where you come from you bring a story with you.

    Did you come from deep below the sea,
    or did you travel here from where I would like to be.
    No matter where you come from you bring a story with you.

    Did a small child pick you up and plop you here one day,
    so another child can pick you up and take you off to play.
    No matter where you come from you bring a story with you.

    You feel so warm beneath my feet and smooth in my palm,
    when I come here again you will probably be gone.
    No matter where you come from you bring a story with you.

    If I pick you up and take you home with me,
    will you tell me your story or will your story be me.
    No matter where you come from you bring a story with you.

    1. It is a poem, whatever you think πŸ™‚ A ‘poet’ would probably just fiddle around with the words to get the lines to flow in a rhythm, but the words are the words of a poem. Love it!

      1. You know, I’ve been writing ‘poetry’ for a couple of years and I think I’m getting better at it, but I still wouldn’t call myself a poet, or feel in any position to criticize another poet’s work. It’s an art form that many of us touch at the very edges. I’m just flattered that you enjoy what I write πŸ™‚

    1. The back is fine (touch wood) and I’m sleeping without medication (wonderful!) but the house signing is for next week and being France, there’s so much still up in the air, like have the irrigation pipes that the neighbour laid been taken away, have the sheep been penned up, have the utilities been cut etc etc. I’m so excited about it, I’d almost forgotten I have a book coming out the same day!

    1. I’m glad! I’m on a learning curve too. At first these forms seem difficult, but it’s just a question of ordering your ideas to fit in with certain rules. Sometimes the poem is better for being given a formal structure.

    1. Just back to internet land. I prepared the post early this week because I wasn’t going to be here. Sorry about missing yours. I promise faithfully it will go in with next week’s. I’m too knackered to start editing posts now.

      1. Camping out in the house we’ve just bought in the back end of beyond. I lay awake all night listening to absolutely nothing. It was as if the world had ended.

      2. It was just very strange. The house was absolutely silent too. Couldn’t even hear any mice scratching in the attic. All day we counted three cars and a a hedge trimmer went past. And the sky! We could see the stars! Coming back to town to find that the refuse collectors were on strike was a rude shock too.

  2. I am sitting by the bright blue ocean reflecting on how to move forward though the deep wet sand that pulls me in- yet my mind can only see what is ahead of me. My spirit only knows that the shore is as beautiful as the smooth blue ocean.

  3. Magnificent and mathematical in selection. It is the photo speaking and the sea revealing itself. The only treasure worth knowing in the brief moment of existence.

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