Second thoughts

I wouldn’t usually consult the Oracle on a whim, but the OctPoWriMo prompt suggested it, and I thought she might be offended if I ignored it. I used the ‘Love’ word set this time. I usually stick to the ‘Original’ and ‘Poet’ sets.

 

You promised me love,Screen Shot 2018-10-21 at 10.47.55

the sun and the stars,

if we joined our souls

to the same sweet song,

to touch two dreams

with light and night,

soaring music of the heart.

But the river runs ever on,

and I wonder, is this a nest

 

of vipers?

 

 

 

 

Time slips

This serpent’s tail poem is for the #OctPoWriMo prompt, time stands still. It a variant on a loop poem.

 

If I could hold a moment in my hand

Sands of time stop their slipping,

Dripping rain and falling leaves,

Weave such a mesh of memories, I would.

Should I be given just one wish,

Finish a phrase begun but never uttered,

Muttered in the silence of the night,

Light, I’d make of our dark faces.

Embrace the time we have ahead

Instead of grappling from the past

Last words, and take a happier course.

Remorse brings tears, spilled sand.

Hand, let lost time go and seize a star,

Far above in the night, and on the morrow,

Sorrow will have gone, a rudderless boat,

Floating at hazard, cast adrift.

Wanting to be happy

For the #OctPoWriMo challenge, on the theme of ‘what do you want’ a cleave poem, sort of contrapuntal poem.

 

 

Is the wanting                       to be happy

worth the waiting                 in the end

do I want it,                            like the bird needs to fly,

because it’s there,                  the sky calling.

Does the hand reach out      in the wind

to pluck the only apple         that balances, swaying,

on the tree                               where blackbirds sing

or does the eye                        for the simple joy of it,

treasure the laden branch,  the juice and the joy of it

fluttering-leafed                      to join the song of the wind

with pure life                           in the autumn sky.

At the morning of the world

A fable for the world’s end in the form of a triolet, written for the #OctPoWriMo prompt.

 

At the morning of the world there was a tree,

And its broad branches all new life contained,

It sheltered squirrels, blackbirds, you and me.

At the morning of the world there was a tree,

It’s evening now, there’s nothing much to see—

Earth’s beauty squandered—we should have remained

At the morning of the world. There was a tree,

It sheltered squirrels, blackbirds, you and me.

 

Are they shadows?

A bit of madness for the #OctPoWriMo prompt in this triolet. I’m taking ‘free write’ to mean I choose the form.

Are they shadows running through the trees,

On feet so swift? Flickers of the light,

Leaves silver-shivered in the fitful breeze.

Are they shadows running through the trees?

I am the only one that ever sees

The things that run when twilight turns to night.

Are they shadows running through the trees,

Leaves silver-shivered in the fitful breeze?

Hanging to the edge of autumn

For the OctPoWriMo challenge, a terzanelle. I’ve slightly modified the last lines, as in a villanelle. This is the first time I’ve tried a terzanelle, and I quite like this form. I’ll probably try it again.

 

When hanging by my fingers to the edge

Of autumn and the golden falling year,

Red berries jewel garlands in the hedge,

 

Flutter of feasting birds is all I hear.

Clutching in my hand the last warm rays

Of autumn and the golden falling year,

 

I look for you—ahead are cold dark days.

Must I face them without you by my side,

Clutching in my hand the last warm rays?

 

I wish I was a hare to crouch and hide

From slings and arrows that the darkness brings—

Must I face them without you by my side?

 

Somewhere in the last dusk blackbird sings,

I hear you calling not to cede and fall

From slings and arrows that the darkness brings.

 

Sunburst through the clouds lifts night’s dark pall,

When hanging by my fingers to the edge,

I hear you calling. I’ll not to cede and fall

Like berries from the garlands in the hedge.