Florescence sequence: Day night sleep

For Colleen’s weekly prompt, a syllable-counting poem of my invention. This is a sequence of three Florescence poems, three lines of six, six and nine syllables respectively, with a rhyme on the sixth, twelfth and eighteenth syllables.



Beneath the bird’s egg blue
of sky by rain washed new
and clothed in heaven’s hue, all seems clear,

though in the darkest night
the brashest city light
casts shadow black and white—monochrome.

Yet take my hand, we’ll run
till days and nights are done
swept up into the sun, there to sleep.


Pictures and Poetry challenge 3

Thank you to






for joining in last week with your stories that explained the uneasy look of the child on the escalator. Apologies that once again I wasn’t able to reblog all of them.

I’ve chosen a couple of lines from Francis Ledwidge this week from his poem The Dead Kings. The Turner seems to illustrate them, or one aspect of them, to me. I’d like you to write a poem, any kind of poem, inspired by the words, the image, but also by the title of the poem and the fact that it is a war poem. Ledwidge didn’t write poems from the trenches full of mustard gas and fox holes, but full of longing for his native countryside and observations of the countryside he saw around him, even when it must have been shelled almost out of existence.


A few stars glimmered through the morn,

And down the thorn the dews were streaming.

From The Dead Kings




Hope this appeals. Looking forward so reading the results.

Forgot to add, if you join in, please leave a link to your poem in the comments by next Tuesday and I’ll try to reblog.

Words and pictures poetry challenge 2

Thank you for responding to last week’s challenge. The reblog buttons seemed to be out of action for some reason, so here are the links to your poems:

Ken at Rivrvlogr

Lisa at Tao Talk

Kerfe at K

Merril at Yesterday and Today; Merril’s historical musings


The tritina is a form that sounds easy…but isn’t. I’m pleased you gave it a try and even more pleased at the results.

This week I’ve chosen a painting for inspiration. It’s entitled Moscow Metro and it’s by Michael E. Arth. It’s an arresting scene, a moment caught on canvas, and I find myself thinking about that girl, who she is, where she’s going, and what the intense expression on her face signifies.


I wasn’t going to inflict a particular form, but I think a cascade might be appropriate.

Have fun and post the link to your poem in the comments. I’ll reblog if the buttons work for me this week.


Words and pictures poetry challenge: 1

I have finally decided to start a new series of prompts, lines from poetry interspersed with paintings. I’ll try to make this a regular Wednesday challenge.

The poet I have a chosen is one for whom I have a special affection, Francis Ledwidge, the poet of the blackbirds. He was born at Baile Shinéad (Janeville) in County Meath and killed at Passchendaele 1917 when he was 29.

My father, who was a poet, introduced me to Ledwidge and claimed some family link. Certainly my father’s mother and my mother’s grandfather both came from the Dunboyne area, about twenty miles from Baile Shinéad, and of course, that is my name, so why not a link? Ledwidge even looked rather like my dad.


This is his most well known poem, written for Thomas McDonagh, poet, patriot and political activist, on hearing of his execution for his part in the Easter Rising.



He shall not hear the bittern cry
In the wild sky, where he is lain,
Nor voices of the sweeter birds
Above the wailing of the rain.

Nor shall he know when loud March blows
Thro’ slanting snows her fanfare shrill,
Blowing to flame the golden cup
Of many an upset daffodil.

But when the Dark Cow leaves the moor,
And pastures poor with greedy weeds,
Perhaps he’ll hear her low at morn
Lifting her horn in pleasant meads.


For the challenge, I propose choosing three key words from the poem, words that strike you in particular, and use them as the end of line words in a tritina, inspired by Ledwidge’s poem. The exact rules of engagement with the tritina are here. If you want to join in, just leave a link to your poem in the comments before next Tuesday when I’ll post them all.

The words I have chosen are: sky, rain, slanting.


Lost bird


I watched a bird’s flight cut across the sky,

Above the blowy trees and through the rain;

A path it made though all the world was slanting.

What kilter was is gone, the world is slanting,

And oceans pour to drown the watered sky,

Their feathers floating through the bird-fish rain.

You are not here to join me in the rain,

To hold me when I slip; the slope is slanting,

Sliding after bird gone in the sky,


The feathered, clouded sky where rain is slanting.

The blue is shrinking

My poem was selected for the Ekphrastic challenge this time. Thank you, Lorette C. Luzajik. You can read all the chosen poems here.

Painting: The Best is Yet to Come, by Lorette C. Luzajic (Canada) 2019


The blue is shrinking, the pale space the space ships see,
unencumbered with lights and the debris of human lives.

Soon the blue swill will swell, grow green with algae,
brightly speckled with pretty plastic tops, lids, bags

and all the gaily strewn paraphernalia we cannot live without.
The ocean groans already and the thin crust we cut like pie,

digging out the best parts, throwing the rest away. Choking,
we might discover too late, is worse than living without.