I

weary of this life that never eases

into plenitude and yellow dawns,

where mist is décor, dreamy drapes,

not the cold rags of winter,

encroaching with brittle

fingers, brittle bones;

long for spring, the

green light at

the pier’s

end.

 

A nonet for Colleen’s prompt—Try & Live

Red tail lights

A double nonet (or inverse, not sure which) inspired by Macbeth. I counted syllables rather than words.

Photo ©Thennicke

682px-Light_trails_from_car_window.jpg

Time

flies fast,

indistinct,

on swallows’ wings,

instant memories,

and all our yesterdays

are like red tail lights, crawling

into the dark while we race on.

Dusty death beyond the horizon,

a rosy dawn that never breaks.

Golden lights strung out behind,

will we be forever

too foolish to stop

and watch them shine?

Brief candles,

too soon

gone.

Poetry challenge #5 Nonet: the entries

The challenge running through last week was on the theme of war and remembrance. Who could have known that there would have been another layer of horror to add to the unbearably monstrous pile we’ve already accumulated in our role as most intelligent, civilized and advanced species on the planet?

There was, as usual, a wealth of poetry inspired by this most emotive theme. Here are the nonets.

First was Ben Naga—couldn’t agree more.

THE PATH TO PEACE

No more rage, no more hate, no more war
No more rage, no more hate, no more
No more rage, no more hate, no
No more rage, no more hate
No more rage, no more
No more rage, no
No more rage
No more
No

~~~~~~~

https://bennaga.wordpress.com/2015/11/11/the-path-to-peace/

 

Next, Peter Bouchier’s poem,

Armistice

fight
your way
towards peace
so that you may
bloom like a poppy
the battlefield is wide
there is room for all of us
carrying our ammunition
we will move in the line of fire

the fields will colour a shade of red
once we have overcome the foe
fighting deep within ourselves
peace will only prevail
when our blooming hearts
beat like war drums
as we march
towards
love.

The link to his blog with the poem’s illustration is here:

Ken’s poem: I particularly like the way the first and last words rhyme.

War No More

Gaze into the distance,imagine
as they fade on the horizon
illusory images
of a place in time when
poppies need not grow
with thoughts of war
lost in a
distant
haze

https://rivrvlogr.wordpress.com/2015/11/11/war-no-more/

This one: Veterans’ Day is from Greg who was inspired to join in for the first time. Welcome, Greg 🙂

Elusive trope. Sharp, aggressive imagery for a heartless subject.

Remembrance

fallen by the muck of saving face
signatures written in bad faith
the brambles of politics
the sharpest point of greed
the strange bed fellows
their conspiring
and plotting
petty
games

http://elusivetrope.com/2015/11/11/remembrance/

 

Kris the Bard tells a whole awful story in this double nonet.

In the bleak quagmire of no-man’s land,
My best friend, wounded and trapped,
Buried to his chest in mud.
He begged for our help.
We had our orders,
We passed by
And left him
Living
Still.

Dawn,
Weary,
Those still left
Alive after
Charging hostile lines,
Pointless, bloody slaughter,
Trudging home found him again,
Buried to his neck now, in fear
He begged again; my last bullet.

In a similar style, from Kerfe and Nina (don’t know if this was a collaboration). Visit their blog for more war-inspired poems

He was doomed to watch his friends die.
Life seemed increasingly bitter.
He never mentioned the war
after the funeral.
But he was alive.
He did not care
to try to.
Gave up.
Scared.

Eyes
echoed
things they did.
Directionless,
but what choice was there?
It becomes part of you.
He never mentioned the war.
Life seemed increasingly bitter.
Only regrets and flashbacks remained.

 

Merril Smith ends on a hopeful note. Thanks for that, Merril 🙂

On Flanders Fields the poppies grow now
Hiding the bones of the fallen.
Red blooms instead of red blood
But do the ghosts still walk
Crying and in pain?
Peace has not come
To take root.
But plants
Hope.

Kat Myrman sent in this very touching double nonet.

Tomb of the unknown

 

Janice end this trio of poems with a nonet written after the Paris outrage.

Why remember?

Why remember on remembrance day?
Let’s remember to reflect on
war, our tragic addiction
to deadly weapon fire,
and bold young heroes’
sacrifices,
squandered on
tainted
peace.

Peace

Resounding to the heavens, joyous
dove songs mark terror’s overthrow
bombs and guns are obsolete
dictators have no sway
confused violence
has stepped aside
for reason
love and
peace.

Terror

What glass shards pierced their murderous hearts?
What dark horrors tangled their minds?
Who schemes murder in God’s name?
Resisting fear’s poison,
I grasp for answers,
How to oppose
madness with
peaceful
heart.

https://ontheland.wordpress.com/2015/11/14/war-and-terror-jane-dougherty-poetry-challenge-5/

This is Geoff’s contribution based on memories of his father and grandfather. I like the image of the wasp. ‘Oh Death, where is thy sting’ etc.

1939

‘No response received; we are at war.’
The wasp is drunk on rotting fruit
Spins slowly. Disturbed it jabs
Its sting, thoughtless who’s hurt.
It’s instinct. It knows
No better. We do.
Yet still we
Let them
Rot.

Some lovely lines in these poems. Thanks to all of you for joining in. Tomorrow’s theme is going to be another new one.

 

Poetry challenge #5: Nonet

Something different this week. Well, it was to me. A nonet is a nine line poem with a syllable pattern of: 9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1. Simple. If you like, you can call your poem a stanza and add as many of them as you like. For symmetry, I added a second stanza going backwards, working up to nine syllables.

As it’s the 11th of November today, an appropriate theme would be war in any of its forms, taken from any angle.

1280px-Szinyei_Merse,_Pál_-_Meadow_with_Poppies_-_Google_Art_Project

 

Along the brow of the hill, poppies,

Wind ripples, red petals blowing.

Voices whisper messages:

Seek no heroism,

No glory in death,

Celebrate life,

Selflessly

Sharing

Love.

 

Dead

Listen

To the wind.

Petals scatter,

Roots stir the deep earth,

White graves empty of bones,

Full of grief and wasted lives.

Yearn not for pomp and circumstance,

Nothing’s so sweet as the blackbird’s song.