Welcome to the PoCoChapMo ‘24 Feedback Corner!
This thread is dedicated to gaining constructive feedback and workshopping your poems. Whether you're looking for a fresh perspective, suggestions for improvement, or simply want to share your work, this is the place for you.
How to Use the Feedback Corner
Sharing Your Work:
Post Your Poem: Share the poem you’d like feedback on. Be sure to include any specific areas where you’re seeking advice (e.g., structure, imagery, tone).
Context: If helpful, provide a brief context or background for your poem. This can include the prompt you used or your inspiration.
Be Respectful: Remember that sharing poetry can be a vulnerable experience. Offer support and encouragement alongside your critique.
Giving Feedback:
Be Constructive: Focus on providing helpful and specific feedback. Highlight what works well in the poem and suggest areas for improvement.
Be Respectful: Always approach feedback with kindness and respect. Remember, the goal is to help each other grow as poets.
Be Specific: Offer detailed observations and suggestions. For example, instead of saying “I didn’t like this part,” try “I think the imagery here could be stronger by adding more sensory details.”
Workshop Guidelines
Workshopping Poems:
Detailed Reviews: If you’d like a more in-depth critique, mention this when you post your poem. Fellow poets can then take the time to provide a thorough review.
Revisions: Feel free to post revised versions of your poems based on the feedback you receive. This can help track your progress and show how your work evolves.
Ask Questions: Don’t hesitate to ask specific questions about your poem or the feedback you receive. Clarifying questions can lead to more insightful critiques.
Example Post
Poem: Whispers of the Night
In the stillness, shadows dance,
Whispers weave a silent trance.
Moonlight casts a silver hue,
Dreams awaken, pure and true.
Context: This poem was inspired by a word prompt about “night.” I’m particularly looking for feedback on the imagery and flow.
Feedback Given:
Positive: “I love the imagery in the first line; it sets a mysterious tone.”
Constructive: “The second line feels a bit vague. Maybe adding a more specific detail about the shadows could enhance the image.”
Engage and Support
This Feedback Corner is not just about receiving feedback but also about giving it. Take the time to read and respond to others’ poems. Your insights can be incredibly valuable and help foster a sense of community.
We’re here to grow together as poets. Let’s make the most of this space by supporting each other with thoughtful and constructive feedback. Happy writing and sharing!
Day 30 I struggled like Genevieve so I decided on satire ... Some sort of mangled elegy
The end is nigh! So hear my plight—oh friend!
Joy we shared, and pain, and grammar's bite.
Alas, all good things must come to an end.
But I write my p-cove chapbook tonight!
Day 30
Prompt: Write an elegy to the month...
Context: For whatever reason, I just could not get this one done - I tried, many times, and get slightly hung up on a different lament of a poem, and I know I don't HAVE to write something, but I wanted to, and since I hadn't done one yet, I wrote a Tanka to say goodbye to the month. Which my brain only let me do after I had given up for the evening... so it goes.
Poem:
We whisper goodbye,
To not wake those resting here,
Deep in their dreams, as
Calendar pages likes leaves
Fall from the tree on this night.
Day 28 prompt: Prompt: Write an ode to something from your past, or any past.
Context: I wanted to celebrate what usually isn’t considered a worthy subject for an ode. The moments in between the big moments, to the unimportant objects that make life a little bit easier but we don't get attached to. An ode to the people in the background who allow us to spend time with the people we love in the foreground, to everything that just exists without trying to be noticed
Ode to Things Left Untold
To the silence between words,
the soft spaces where meaning lingers,
to the breath you never notice
but carries you from thought to thought.
I sing for the forgotten hours
that never made the photos—
those quiet pauses between the laughter
where lives still happened,
where hearts still beat.
To the button barely hanging on,
the chipped cup at the back of the cupboard
that still cradles the warmth of tea,
to the broom that sweeps the dust away
without ever asking for thanks—
I celebrate you,
the unremarkable,
the unnoticed.
To the hands that fold the napkins,
the arms that set the table
so we can sit and speak our lives aloud,
to the voice that hums a song
while dishes clatter in the sink,
filling the house with music
only the walls remember.
For every object passed by,
for the pencils worn down to stubs,
for the doormat that bears our weight,
for the faded note left on the fridge,
for all the things that hold us
without ever holding our gaze—
I lift my voice to you.
And to the faces in the background,
the ones who wait while we linger,
the quiet presence behind the curtain
that makes the lights burn bright—
you are the steady rhythm
that lets us dance,
the stillness that gives shape
to all that matters.
For everything that exists without notice,
for the pieces of life
that never demand the spotlight,
I offer this song.
You are the unsung verses
in a poem that could not be written
without you.
Day 30 prompt: Write an elegy to September Context: I did try to twist it into celebration at the end but it sounded forced and didn't flow the way I wanted so maybe read the last part in a happy voice? HOW is this the end already??
Elegy to September
The golden days of summer fade to grey,
As shadows lengthen, creeping through the trees.
The warmth of August, now so far away,
Gives way to whispers on a cooler breeze.
The leaves, once bright, now tumble to the ground,
Their colors dulled by autumn’s quiet hand.
The air grows crisp, and silence wraps around,
A prelude to the frost that claims the land.
The sun sinks lower, slower in the sky,
Its fading light a memory of fire.
And though the world prepares to say goodbye,
September lingers, filled with soft desire.
With every shiver, every falling leaf,
The echoes of the summer still remain.
But in the chill, there stirs a quiet grief—
The winter waits beyond this fleeting strain.
Day 26
Prompt: Write an Elegy to the month.
Context: I tried the ABAB rhyme that Herb mentioned should be used, but I am not good at rhyming, it just doesn't come to me easily at all. So I have the feeling that part didn't work out, but I tried to make this reflect the month of PoCOChapMo. On a side note, I don't know how I ended up with only 26 days, where did the 4 days go?????
Starting in infancy with fear of the words not yet taught, of steps on feet never used in this world thrust upon me.
Hands guided me as my first steps were taken, words spoken with encouragement and gentle corrections given by transparent souls.
Stanzas of infinite possibility in a new world I now see, letting me move as the comfort of trying comes to me.
Haiku glide from my fingers with sonnets and tanka near, as words come with elegance and the confidence of steps I trust taught from this short life cycle.
Day 25
Prompt: Write a blank verse poem about how to use such a power to effect a transformation. This could be any transformation... in yourself, nature, society, mankind.
Context: I watched a video about Blank Verse poems and tried to create in the form explained. I do like the way I can totally ramble without stopping, but I do hope I got that rambling part right.
Title: Good with Evil
With the touch of unknown cursed blessings, humans rise like the dead of the future to come as they crawl across the land, scourge upon the forests of the gods untouched to view their use in the task of building the world into a good that will overcome the beasts that dwell upon the claimed world ungiven but owned by rights of the good for all who are worthy, decided with eyes glazed with the lust of power over all seen before them, power granted in acts of cruel, power granted for claims of good in a world yet to be tamed.
Through the claims of good, evil comes with its fist of steel, wood, and stone as man tortures the world to break its will, its body into one that suits their for the purpose of good, as though the world has no use but to give its body over to be raped by the mines of progress and the butches by the cleavers hungry to feed the never ceasing jaws of civilization, screaming with howling winds of pain, struggling with mighty waves crash against rigs of steel, quaking with the rolling torment of a body trying to extinguish the flames of progress, as the human disease persists in its acts of good.
Quiet rings through the world's empty peace as the axes of past rang for centuries with their mutilating blows no more swung in these lands now scatted with the bleached bones of disease no more, as scorched grounds green with new life's scabs grow new flesh of a world now pure with skies washed with rains for time unknown as waters flow with the memories of battles lost and won, with the passing moon life anew crawls from scares healed over sun's cycle of care the world breathes life free of civilizations good.
Day 24
Context: This was supposed to be a Ghazal poem for this prompt. But I was not understanding it, and giving I am already playing catch up I decided not to try and learn it. So, I just used to other parts of the prompt. I did decide to wrap it up with a haiku for some reason unknown. LOL And I seem to always write in three-line stanzas, not sure what's up with that. I seem to have weird poetry habits forming with no sense behind them. LOL
Prompt: Explore themes of love, loss, and longing.
Title: Somewhere we wait.
I know I love you…
or I will love you once I have found you
because I know you are somewhere and waiting in knowing like I am.
Months of loss
Years of longing
Decades of love.
I hold no faith of a god in my heart
only the faith of your existence in the world
prayers to be heard in your dreams as I hear yours in mine.
Even if death finds me before we find each other
I will go content and happy because you are there
somewhere.
In this world we wait
Your gentle breath in wind's touch
Whisper our love notes
Day 14
It wasn't my time to go,
I had so much left to grow.
A future planned, to see the land,
But fate played a different hand.
A single mistake, careless and swift,
My life was gone in a sudden drift.
Loved ones left to question why—
Too young, too soon, for me to die.
It feels like yesterday, yet years have flown,
Seasons passed, though I remain alone.
As dawn returns, I greet the sky,
But trapped here still, I wonder why.
The walls meant to hold me have crumbled away,
Returning to nature, no story to stay.
If I am forgotten, am I set free?
To pass to paradise, at peace I'll be.
Unfinished business now fades from view,
Nothing remains for me to do.
Goodbye, old haunt—I'll find the light,
As colors fade and all turns white.
Revision/little tweak/tweaking rounding out skeleton
Day 23
C.L.A.S
Finding Her Way Back Home
Winds spinning confusing seasons
enticing shadowed back roads
winding offbeat tracks
lacking guiding, grounding principles
My eyes
looking down puddles reflecting
foggy impression of what I should be
Holding tight
torrential flash downpour
spring last night
Summers burning hotter
perfect shade welcoming
reminiscing, laughter
Rich flamboyant erotic reds wanting to come
muted orange hues entice internal spice
yet, vibrant shocking mellowed yellow
soothe my overthinking mind
Full circle round
allowing us to cuddle tight
hibernate together all winter found.
Day 29
Prompt: Find an odd form, see what happens....
Context: I pretty much gave myself the list I found and about an hour to just write some things. For whatever reason, the Fibonacci poems captured my imagination for the moment - thematically they are all over the place - but in the middle of writing them I did have an idea of what to do with a random line I wrote weeks ago. Primarily for my own amusement I also threw in a Monostitch... and then a perhaps slightly less than "honest" try at an American Cinquan.
Some of the results are below - some are silly little poems, but not all of them, so I apologize for the thematic whiplash.
Poems:
Fibonacci Poems
Don't Cry
It’s
Now
The End.
I must go
But, please do not cry
We’ll see each other tomorrow
Destructive Doubt
I
Can’t.
(I lie.)
I’m afraid.
What if this all fails?
Better to not try it at all.
It Crawls
It
Crawls
The dark
Sharp teeth shine
Claws rip tender skin
No escape this time, I succumb
(Less Than) 7 (Not So) Dirty Words
Well
Dang!
Oh poop!
Fiddle sticks!
Oh fudge! And the rest
How creative we get sometimes.
Garden Ghouls
I
See
The Ghosts
Of neighbors -
Halloween draws near
This year their house looks amazing!
--
Monostich
Too Late
Well, damn.
--
American Cinquan
Grand Theft Poetry
I think
Therefore I am...
Definitely stole that
Don’t call the poetry police,
I’ll hide.
---
... whatever this is that came out of my brain.
As Luck Would Have It
The drunkard's walk and happenstance,
So much of life is all just chance,
But sometimes feels ‘twas fated so,
As if right here’s where all roads do go.
This poem now has come to its ends,
So, here’s to you my fortuitous friends.
Day 27 blank verse Power
I plant my self in soil so deep with love
In darkness I shall grow beyond your ken
And ripen into me alone once more
Until I blaze into the dawn of day
Expand beyond all hope and trepidation
Oh fear not growth nor healing pains to come
For once the sun hits gentle leaves with light
I will spread wings of powerful creation
And take flight
Ghazal This has been difficult what do you think? How can I make this work? Loss Hollow tree hit by a lightning bolt
Grief strangles me in his hold
You fell like a leaf in autumn
You would you have been told
And yet you could not change
Striding forward oh so bold
Now we sit in sorrow alone
Loss is always dark and cold
Day 28
Prompt/Context: I was finishing up working on some photos and sitting at my laptop in a somewhat reflective mood about creativity after seeing a post from another photographer about refocusing on their love of the craft and this sort of just came tumbling out of my brain...
Poem:
Do you remember your first time?
No, not that one.
The first time you made an idea real.
The first time you realized creativity called you,
Knowing then, or maybe not realizing yet,
How it would drive your dreams,
And haunt your waking moments too.
When that shutter click chemically came to life in the dark.
When pencil on paper produced feelings,
Some you may not have even known you had.
When your body flew so freely across the stage,
When words spilled out onto the page.
When the rest of the world became quiet,
When your mind was clear yet vibrating.
I don’t know if I remember THE first,
But I do remember so many firsts,
And seconds, thirds, fiftieths and hundredths.
I remember falling out of love with it all, and back in,
Being called back to create again and again.
So, do you remember your first time?
I don’t know if I do, I’m not sure that it matters,
Because I am sure, we’ve all felt that feeling.
Day 26 prompt: Write a ghazal. What is something or someone you long for, and how does that longing shape your experience or perspective?
Context: I was struggling to write something that I didn’t find completely cringe, for some reason. Everything I was writing felt like someone making fun of people in love or one of those “eat, pray, love” mass produced signs you can find at Target. Then we found out that there are two mice who took shelter in a cupboard in my dad’s house (he lives near the country and the temperatures dropped quite significantly, and that’s where he keeps dry food for the dogs). We’re arranging the logistics to capture them and then release them in the right spot, but in the meanwhile we placed a webcam to make sure it was indeed mice we were dealing with, so now we have out personal "rat cam" and I also busted both my dad and my husband leaving food for the mice each night because “they’re guests until we catch them”.
Anyway, here’s a ghazal from the point of view of a house mouse.
Curled in a Paper Box
I gather the crumbs while you sleep through the night,
The cat’s eyes are watching, but I keep through the night.
The wind hums of winter, the cold on its way,
Yet I dream of warmth, how we creep through the night.
For you, I scavenge, steps heavy with fear,
But love knows no rest when I leap through the night.
Curled in the box where the paper smells sweet,
Heaven is ours, the dark sweeps through the night.
Your breath, it is soft, and your whiskers like silk,
I stay near your side, though I weep through the night.
No corner is safe, but your touch makes me bold,
Danger and love both run deep through the night.
My beloved, I wander in shadows alone,
But find peace in the warmth that we keep through the night.
Day 27
Prompt: Powerful forces and their ability for transformation... written in Blank Verse.
Context: I think today has bested me a bit. While I was concerned blank verse might make my brain a little mushy, the bigger problem was just getting something on to the page at all. I think I may have forced this one a bit, but (mostly) I think I got the meter right - they should mostly be trochees... I think... maybe. 🫠 halp! haha maybe I should go back to rhyming about insomnia 🙃
Poem:
Do we let it break us, rage so silent?
Dare we seethe and fester, minds in chaos?
Or, do we channel these thoughts into change
Boiling over, uncontained, no silence.
Fire filled we take to the streets en masse
So perhaps this time a change will come for good.
The first hot weekend of spring we took the kids put to the park today. I jotted down these five senryu
many monsters
clamber over colored
metal and plastic
green ribbed beast
drapped in ropey sinue
over which kids climb
sky to ground
with slantways speed
children slide to earth
with pendulum ease
and a kick of legs
her swing reaches space
water splashes out
with every fountain drink
making small rainbows
Possible History
faith, soul’s mental state
beyond ideas of this and that
connecting fleeting feeling
sustaining social belonging
my kernel of our humanity
plaited threads of emotion
ribbons of interconnection
family, friends, fellows unite
inspiring story, song, dance so bright
generating communal creativity
Day 23
Prompt: Write around the theme of home. This could take the path of arriving home after a physical trip or arriving at a place in your mind that feels 'right' - you are where you belong.
Title: Hidden Words
In expectations of life
not all words exist
hiding knowing from my soul.
Existence in nonexistence
in the words unsaid
to erase what has always been.
You try to hide me
hide my people
by hiding the words of existence.
I still move forward
strength build carrying the weight
of our expectations.
Without words
I found the path forward
through your minefields and attacks.
With scared fingers
we dig ourselves to the surface
after you buried us.
In your hiding us
we found ourselves
in those hidden before us.
You made us strong
when you pushed us together
we found community.
I have learned
your hidden words
I speak them loud with my people.
Those that come
next into this world
will hear the words I speak.
Context: This one took a bit of thinking, and I realized I needed to be a little more broad. I wanted to write about not knowing that the word "Non-Binary" even existed for most of my life, and the incredible change in my life, the feeling home when I found and spoke it.
Prompt 15. Rewrite
I haven't wrote poetry since I was about 15/16 so those old ones are lost to time. Nothing of my own to rewrite! I chose to rewrite a song. If you saw my talk at Keele this was one of those songs. I will give a warning...this is a heavy one. I don't feel everything in this song NOW(thank you therapy!) but they are feelings I've felt at points in my life. The song is: I’d Rather Overdose by HONESTAV and Z
Can't let you go. I've tried because I want to grow. You were never one to hold me close. I've always wanted your time. You've always been on the path to overdose.
I know that you could hear me cry. You didn't try to comfort and I don't know why. Cried till my eyes ran dry. You were too busy getting high.
Can't let you go. Tried because I want to grow. You're never been one to hold me close. I've always wanted your time. You've always been on the path overdose.
I can't slow down. Don't know how.
I'm going to do it all somehow.
fill the walls with accolades that are worthless.
I'm supposed to feel accomplished but it just causes stress.
Here I am still a mess up.
I want your praise though I'm grown up.
Can't let you go. I tried because I want to grow. You've never been one to hold me close. I've always wanted your time. You've always been on a path to overdose.
Sometimes I wonder if you hate me. Sometimes I hate me too. All I've ever wanted was to be loved by you. All the things I went through. Take care of it myself is what I had to do .
Can't let you go. I've tried because I want to grow. You've never been one to hold me close. I've always wanted your time. You've always been on a path to overdose.
I hold on cuz I know one day you will pass away. But I'll still see you every time I see my own face. I wish our home had been a happy place. I'll grieve but not ready to say goodbye today.
Day 25 Home
Everything in its place, neat as a pin,
A life of order where no chaos creeps in.
But where's the room to dream, to be free,
In a space that's too perfect, too planned to be me?
Messy and wild, laughter fills the air,
But rules are scarce, and structure is rare.
Fun for a time, but soon comes the cost—
Insecurity whispers when boundaries are lost.
Building a home doesn't come with a guide,
It's a dance between freedom and rules, side by side.
Nurturing children with love and a plan,
To grow into adults who stand strong, as they can.
Admittedly not my favorite.
Day 26
Prompt: Ghazal it up...
*spoiler* I didn't write a Ghazal
Context: A ghazal was attempted, but I didn't have it in me today - after a long day of complicated financial spreadsheets. The other day learned about the Triolet ((https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triolet) & (https://www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-write-a-triolet-poem)) and decided that might be more the speed for me today. This page also has a silly one near the end (https://www.webexhibits.org/poetry/explore_obscure_triolet_examples.html)
I attempted to write one using a line from one of my very old poems, then I tried another one about protecting your creative spark that I finished but felt meh about, and then instead I leaned a little into the sillier side about those 3 AM creative ideas....
Poem:
Sanity Slowing Slipping
How can I sleep when my mind is on fire
With ideas and vagaries and dreams?
So it is to you, dear reader, I must inquire,
How can I sleep when my mind is on fire?
My alarm will ring soon, it’s down to the wire.
Yet, I swear, there are still some moonbeams.
How can I sleep when my mind is on fire…
I’m too busy coming up with all sorts of schemes.
Da y 17 fun limerick
Heather
A girl named heather
Head so in the clouds, she could predict the weather!
She loved to day dream
but sometimes she would scheme
of chasing birds to collect fallen feathers!
(the only other word that really rhymes with heather not included above is leather...and that would have made this a whole different type of poem! LOL )
Day 25 prompt: Write around the theme of home. This could take the path of arriving home after a physical trip or arriving at a place in your mind that feels 'right' - you are where you belong. Your poem could also explore homelessness, or the loneliness of being at home yet disconnected from friends and family.
Context: I grew up in the same home my dad still lives in. It’s a very old house and it changed over time. I wanted this poem to be about the sense of belonging to a place, about the layering of traces that happen in a house over decades of a family living there. The way a sagging door created permanent marks on the tiles, the specific smell of recognition you get when you come home after a long trip. And then I wanted to end the poem with the thought of being home for someone else.
I didn’t know what title to give this poem, so I went with the Italian for “registry certificate of residence”, which is the document you ask for when you need proof that you are living in a place.
Certificato anagrafico di residenza
Something leans where the door meets the floor,
a slow conversation of weight and time.
Patterns form beneath it—
not seen, but felt,
the way silence carries the memory of sound.
Air holds its own kind of map,
invisible,
the scent of days passed,
of light caught in fabric,
of absence, and return.
I step inside and know
I am part of what lingers.
The floor rises to meet me—
soft where feet have carved paths
through years of mornings,
through nights heavy with voices
still caught in the walls.
Keep quiet, he's sleeping.
Traces layer upon traces,
each breath a fragment,
each touch another thread woven
into the fabric of space.
This place knows more than I do—
its marks deeper than memory,
its shape worn by presence.
The light bends to fit the edges
we created,
a quiet settling in every crease.
And now, as I stand barefoot in the kitchen,
I wonder if I, too, have become a room,
a door that opens,
a pause that holds—
and if, when you enter,
you will find yourself here,
already at home.
Day 13 alliteration
Shining bright in the summer sun,
She is all sparkles and shimmer
Swaying and swishing to a sing song tune
Soft breezes introduce the subtilty sweet scented the air
Satisfaction of a sensational summer day
Day 25
Prompt: Write around the theme of home.
Context: There isn't too too much to say here - except I definitely didn't go for a literal home... or maybe I went for the most literal one ever... yourself haha.
Poem:
Calling Yourself Home
One day, you’ll come home to yourself,
And then you’ll do it again and again.
Floating freely or tethered tightly,
No fixed point serves a whole life.
That innate awareness that, in this moment,
Who you are and where you are is right.
In the comfort of the company kept,
A creeping contentment. Peace.
On those days, you’ll be at home with yourself.
And then you will be… again and again.
Day 24 prompt: Fog. Consider themes of life change or mystery. This might be the beginning of a ride with the dark forces of the Fog.
Context: Many ancient cultures collected water from fog by placing large pots under trees and shrubs. As the water from fog collected on these objects, the pots collected the water. Today, engineers have developed “fog catchers”, basically very large screens constructed in arid areas. As fog glides in, water droplets form around the thin screens and drip to the collection pools below. It's not super effective and only works in small areas, but it sparked an idea. I wanted the poem to be about the fog as a metaphor for the unknown and the imagery of the fog catcher as a way to try to gather information out of nothing. The need to make something solid out of something we can’t hold.
Fog catchers
We build frames in the mist,
thin, trembling screens
to catch what drifts unseen.
The fog rolls in—
silent, indifferent,
and we stand there waiting,
arms outstretched,
hoping to hold something
that slips through fingers like breath.
There is no rain,
no steady downpour,
just the weight of what isn’t,
the grey space between knowing and nothing.
We place our nets in the unknown,
expecting answers to gather,
to form droplets we can drink,
but all we hold is a faint dampness,
a trace of what we never had.
How much of ourselves
do we give away in the waiting?
How many questions rise like fog,
dissipating before we can speak them aloud?
Yet still we wait,
our nets straining against the void,
catching only shadows,
each droplet a whisper
of what was never there.
Day 23 prompt: image of a winding path through an autumn forest. Consider themes of change, transition, or journey. Where does the path lead, and what does it symbolise for you? How do the falling leaves and shifting colours reflect your own personal journey?
Context: Since Saturday was my birthday, I realize that I am now at an age my parents were when I was at university and from that perspective they looked like adults to me, following their own path, but now that I am that age myself I don't feel like the path is as clear and I often get lost and maybe we are all a little lost, most of the time.
A Walk Without Markers
The air tastes of transition—
red and gold spinning in slow descent,
like memories caught in the wind,
flickering between then and now.
I step where the trail bends,
but there are no markers here,
just the soft murmur of leaves
reminding me how light we become
when we stop holding on.
Once, I thought the path was clear,
thought I would follow footsteps,
find my place in the sure lines
carved by those who came before me.
But the earth shifts beneath me,
and I wonder if they too felt the ground
giving way to questions.
Each leaf falls
without hesitation,
not knowing where it will land.
I walk without a map—
just the sound of my breath,
the weight of the sky.
It’s a journey not toward certainty,
but through it,
one where we learn to let the leaves fall
and trust the ground beneath us,
where the unknown waits,
quiet and full of light.
Double etheree
Economic Downturns
faith
creating
connection
hope, threaded trust
individual
belonging, social group
beneficially mutual
communal activities build,
weaving social fabric of our lives
tumultuous times testing tenacity
tumbling tornados of emotion
isolating individuals
unravelling threads of society
sense of belonging, hopes, dreams
causing doubt, anger
fear, suffering
challenging
faith’s tenets
trust
Day 22
Prompt: Mysterious fog
Context: kind of been in a short mood lately, probably because I am short on time. LOL But I like this one, it was a nice prompt, and I liked what it gave me. I wasn't planning on the haiku to wrap this up, but I felt like it.
Title: Dreams in Fog
I close my eyes
letting the damp brush my cheek
the touch of wishes.
I stand unmoving
as the fog wraps me tight
the grasp of memories unforgotten.
I look into the fog
staring into its endlessness
the imagining of the impossible.
A kiss no longer there
An embrace lost
The possibility you are there in the fog, waiting.
Fog settles around
Mysteries within its folds
Are you one, my love?
Day 12 lost
A bit of terror is creeping in.
I fear Iay be lost.
It is cold and damp.
The ground is covered in frost.
The snow is starting to fall
The sun sets and it fades to night
I look upwards and say I'm can't do this on my own
And just like that, in the distance I see a light.
They come closer lantern aglow.
They say sometimes all you need to do is pray.
I just here to walk beside you.
You know the way.
We walk a bit and crest a hill.
Houses with heaths welcoming and warm.
It was so close but felt so far.
I am safe now from the storm.
Prompt 11 Lake haiku
The water laps the shore
Rhythmic bliss and soul southing
I come here to dream
Day 10 Shape
I lived
But did I really
The joy I knew, gone
Going through the motions
Life has lost its shine
I am so tired
I sleep
(Please note this is not a reflection of a current mood or trouble with mental health. There is no cause for concern)
Promt 9 Reflection (a haiku)
Every action that you take
Reflected in her sweet face
Legacy mirrored.
Day 24
Prompt: Mysterious fog
Context: Foggy weather is one of my favorite things - driving in really dense fog, less so... but even that can be an adventure sometimes. Anyway, today's prompt got me thinking back to a time I went to visit the ruins of Sutro Baths (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sutro_Baths) (it's one of my favorite places - I've been there many many times) on a foggy afternoon here in San Francisco and found myself slightly spooked by how foggy it was there that day.
I know I stuck to something that rhymed for the 1st and 3rd stanzas but not the second... is that terribly annoying to read? Rewrite it? Scrap a stanza? Just keep one and try again?
Poem:
Foreboding Fog
Inch by inch the world unfolds before me,
Apparitions in the mist made clear,
Figures floating by and fading just as quickly.
Impossible sounds from nowhere echo in my ears.
This place I know so well, now unfamiliar.
Amplified by the ambivalence of direction,
Waves crash too close for comfort.
Apprehensive of this mist, I retreat.
I scurry up the steps that appear before me,
Unexpectedly unsettled being here.
I return my gaze over that which is memory,
Eyes wide open, I watch it all disappear.
I prompted myself with the duel prompts 'betrayal' and 'rewrite a nursery rhyme'. in this case Humpty Dumpty. I'm not sure I need the last stanza, or if I should move it to be the seconds one. Shattered Commitments of a Fallen Royal
A chill breeze of unforgiveness blows in
through a door left open by your retreat.
My cardinal sins of the past I did repeat,
our trust I pulled and stretched to thin.
That last time would be the only time.
A promise made earnest to do my best,
now in hindsight seems was all just jest.
Upon your heart I pulled a dreadful crime.
My own lies pushed you out the door.
I thought myself a king high on a wall,
free from judgement up above it all.
My paper crown lies torn on the floor.
My shell of honour cracked and broken.
The times of betrayal I did not keep score.
All the king's men, and all the kings whores
could not repair the vows that were spoken.
Quiet and empty is the house we share.
Alone I sit, Our relationship now spoiled.
For breakfast, two hot eggs, hard boiled,
and a glass of self loathing and despair.
Autumn Photo Prompt
Background: For me autumn is the season of letting go or revisiting and checking what doesn't serve me any more going forward. No need to take decaying leaves into the stasis of winter's clean air.
**Autumn Path**
I shudder mirroring the trees surrounding
Autumn wind has rattled us
I envy you oh sister elm and brother maple
Oh how you can just let them go
Let go of leaves not needed
Like unwanted thoughts tumbling down
Transubstantiation
from unwanted organic matter to nourishment
Oh how I wish I could just shed my leaves
Let go Let go Let go of decaying matter
Deconstruct myself burn like a phoenix
And rise anew cleansed and stronger
I kick a pile of leaves resentful
Autumn the time for shadow work
Harrumph I snort unladylike
Mum wouldn’t be impressed
I really do not want to follow that path
Winding underneath the shadowy trees
Who knows where this leads me
Into depths unknown
A crow caws
Then two then three and suddenly the whole murder takes flight
The rookery above me growing silent once more
I shiver
As tendrils of darkness begin to unwind
Here we go again
I tried @Genevieve's wild weekend prompt Memory
Background I did a free writing exercise just to explore what might come up for this wildcard prompt.
Moments
Black Forrest Gateau especially ordered for me
The only bakery in town who really knows how
A seal head popping up next to my kayak
Following us as we make our way along the Scottish coast
Your hug strong warm safe always
Niece and nephew jumping on top of me
Aunty your are ours now
Granddad pulling a splinter from my finger
Rough skin on tiny hands in trouble
Baby niece starting a clapping game we played on Zoom
As recognition blossoms in her eyes
My cat rolling up in my lap pouring
Mum moving her hand over my head as she walks past
The woodpecker in the garden snacking peanuts
Owl's hoot on a September evening
Fox cubs wake us with their play at 3 am
We watch them tumble across the garden
Playing with a stolen ball
Your arm warm pressed against mine
Rainbow breaking through the clouds after a shower
On our way up a Munro
Dolphin races past my kayak hunting fish
You guys look great! stepson watching us arm in arm on a night out
Pressing publish and watching a new poem come to life on my blog
Leaves crunching underneath my feet during lunchtime walk
Thank you so much colleague’s relief tangible after ad hoc mentoring
Listening to you tidying the kitchen while I wrap up work
One hundred and twenty thousand memes on WhatsApp
It’s called pebbling and my tribe is good at it
The smell of white lilac and dark velvet iris for my birthday
Snapshots held forever in my soul
Sometimes on camera
Sometimes in word
Sometimes in the echo of a feeling
Day 23:
To me this autumn/fall feels as if all seasons are rolled into one. Since early spring, it’s been raining raining raining raining. The leaves on the trees/grass are still thriving different tones of lush green. Though, the chill is biting a little harder these days.
Monday, September 23, 2024
8:29 AM
C.L.A.S
Finding Her Way Back Home
Winding, offbeat road back to you
my eye, me
winds spinning seasons
Holding tight
torrential flash downpour
spring last night
Summers burning hotter
perfect shade welcoming
reminiscing, laughter
Rich flamboyant erotic reds wanting to come
muted orange hues entice internal spice
yet, vibrant shocking mellowed yellow
soothe my overthinking mind
Full circle round
allowing us to snuggle/cuddle
hibernate together all winter found.
Day 23
Prompt: Let this image of a winding path through an autumn forest inspire your poem.
Context: I seem to have found myself sort of sideways inspired by today's prompt. Instead of the path, I went with the trees, and definitely ignored the fact the ones in the picture do appear to be some sort of evergreen tree.... I was also came at this somewhat sideways from another poem I've been half trying to write since getting back from Promoting Passion about taking a moment to slow down or reassess priorities - the other version has zero nature imagery. This is the result of those thoughts today. I also didn't go for a lot of rhymes, but I did try to weave in a few.
Poem:
Illuminated in golden light,
Leaves like flames burning branches clean.
Striped bare for winter - waiting to be born anew.
Inviting you with outstretched arms,
Lay down that which makes your limbs ache,
Rest a short while - you need not be evergreen.
Begin again when winter wanes,
Tender leaves unfurling and finding their shapes
The verdant forest finally once again awake.
Day: 21
Prompt: Let this image (path through a forest) of a winding path through an autumn forest inspire your poem. Consider themes of change, transition, or journey. Where does the path lead, and what does it symbolise for you? How do the falling leaves and shifting colours reflect your own personal journey?
Context: I'm in Kansas, USA and it gets very gray and dead feeling as the trees lose their leaves. The grasses have long lost their color at this point, so it doesn't take long before it feels quite lifeless.
Light shines where shadow once lay.
Plants suffocate under the soil of seasons to come.
Life crawls into hiding as cruel cold comes to power.
The void of life envelopes the now colorless forest as I walk.
Steps once silently soft with life, now loud with dry leaves.
Sounds once hushed now echo throughout the bare trees with the voice of loneliness.
The forest is one full of the dead.
As I walk through the forest hope guides me.
Hope that spring's warm breath will once again breathe color into this gray world.
I doubt this one will make this months chapbook, but is a true story of events that happened a couple hours ago at work today. Stuck in the machine
Hell fires scorch unhindered,
waves of heat beat down.
Hydration a far off dream.
Only one coin left,
hand trembling over the slot,
tink tink, it drops in.
The numbers sticky to push
light up as I press.
A whir and the coil moves.
Clash clang thud, silence.
A perspex view shows the can
locked in place mid air.
The can taunts me from safety
behind its window
of perspex and red stickers.
A groan and a shake
prove a fruitless endeavour
helping it gain freedom.
Day?
Photo Prompt; Winding forest path. In my country our native forests are evergreen so they don't change colour no matter the time of year. The benefit of living in a sub-tropical country.
Only the sound of crickets
Dark shadows fall upon the path,
winding its way through thickets.
Path overgrown with heavy brush
swallows wayward hikers in minutes.
Brush so dense and luscious green
from the feast of bodies left serene.
Today when work became quiet I went for a jaunt. Or at least that is what I am calling them; Jaunts, because they were a journey to make. Still with the ballad rhyme scheme in my head, and the refrained words from sestinas, I came up with a small form to challenge myself.
Jaunts;
ABCB DD rhyme, also rhyming the B with the title
Line ones last word becomes line threes first word
Line threes last word becomes line fives first word
Anything else is up to the author.
Here are the three examples I wrote today. I may have cheated a little with a homophone in the third.
=o=
To beach buzzards give heed
Seagulls circle above when weather is hot.
Swarming over those with a takeout feed.
Hot chips thrown from within grease paper,
an offering to meet starved beasts greed.
Paper planes rain down pelting the sand
in search of scraps left behind on dry land.
=o=
My Health Campaign
I started on a new diet today.
Well, it is the same diet again.
Today it will work, I will stick to it.
I know I can learn how to abstain.
It has to succeed, I have to try
to stick to it, or to life say goodbye.
=o=
With morning light you depart
I hunger for your scent left upon my blankets.
Our night together, a reunion of bodies apart.
Blankets of sweat cling on like a musky mist.
On waking an absence of my stolen heart.
Missed you I have since the sun broke in
waking me up alone in this holiday inn.
Day 15
Prompt: Rewrite an old poem, or reinterpret an old piece of art you’ve created. If you don’t have something - find a story/poem and create your own poetic retelling.
Context: This is a Take-Two of a poem I wrote in 2020. I will post the original poem and then a response poem to the original. Any suggestions for either poem is welcomed.
-----------------------------------------------
Between Silences (the Observer's POV)
There are days that silence rages so fiercely,
I fear the panes will crack and cave.
O how I long for your witty exchanges once more.
We spend hours, lingered in poetry,
conversations enlightened with articulation,
and then your mind snaps;
Silence.
I learn to entertain myself between silences,
to sift through diaries left haphazardly on tabletops.
The words you’ve written scream for release;
your tortured mind begs for forgiveness.
I want to wrap you in my arms
and chase away whatever beast has your tongue.
The silence seeps under doorways;
a smoky haze soaks the room.
There are days when you wander the halls
as if there is something you want to say.
I wait, in anticipation, for one mere syllable,
just one sound of recognition from your lips,
to explore the vast knowledge imprisoned in your mind.
Such madness controls you.
Given the chance,
I would say all the things you cannot,
if only I knew the words.
©2020 Lori Carlson. All rights reserved.
--------------------------------------------------------
The Din of Silence (the Deranged's POV)
you take my silence as a personal affront
but there isn’t room here for your pain —
these halls and rooms within my mind
are overflowing — there’s nowhere to hide
no exit doors to escape; I am trapped
should I trap you too? would that ease
the burden you bear for loving me?
I see you lingering like a looming ghost
pouring over my discarded nightmares
reading and re-reading my ink blots
wishing to analyze why I push you away
but you won’t find the answers there
don’t you see, this isn’t about you
none of this is about you — it’s all about me
your soul couldn’t hold the horrors
screaming in the silence of my mind
the din of a million demons rage —
they’ve struck fear in my trembling muses
locked them in a dungeon, chained
there are no words, no articulations
to explain — and even if I could speak them
they would bury you
©2024 Lori Carlson. All rights reserved.
Day 22
Context: My brain was absolutely swirling with things I thought I wanted to write about when I got home late last night... but then when it came time to write today, they didn't come out. However; along the way I did start thinking about other little moments in time where I found myself present with my contentment... and ultimately decided to write some Haiku for some of the moments - one of which was from a visit to a friend I haven't thought about in ages. Some are more successful than others... still figuring out how/if I want to include some of the Haiku from this month in the chapbook (that I am pretty sure I really truly I am going to put together).
Poem(s):
Lying still, eyes closed,
Tucked neath the grand piano.
Sounds swirl overhead.
Cracked open again.
Feeling clearer than before,
I feel my heart beat.
Heartbeat in my ears,
Breaths rise and fall together.
I drift off to sleep.
Unassuming chair,
Light peeks through stained glass window,
I am happy here
Driving in darkness,
The road stretches before me.
I will see you soon.
The tears flow freely,
As we can’t stop the laughter,
My god… I can’t breathe.
Canal boat to where?
We haven’t bothered to check,
Too late now. Let’s go!
This is a very rough first draft/mind dump. It will be twice this long but I wanted to share how far I got thus far. Spawned from this mornings live stream, this poem is dedicated to @nicki, A long time member of the Cove and someone who always brings warmth and humour to the Sunday streams. Thanks for the inspiration.
Letter Lock - Untitled For Nicki WIP
In an era before emails and digital convenience
When contacting someone was held heartfelt
by the action and effort it took to send ones words
long distance To stroke upon the emotions
And Warm the hearts of recipients
Mail was the king of communication
Queen Elizabeth The first Kept her secrets well
Within pages of parchment with ink and quill
Romancing of Robert, declarations of war
Letters of state, Messages to her cousin
with Letter locks Her Secrets she kept secure
intricate folded paper slotted and
A measure of secure keeping thoughts
Hidden away and private
After you left me in pieces I picked up the pieces
Staples and duct tape holding together my heart
In a misshapen form the closest I could remember
To that shape it was before you clawed it apart
I coated it in tissue paper, gently put it in an envelope
And posted my own heart back to myself with a note
sealed up with an origami letter lock to keep others
From breaking the seal and shattering it again
Day 21 .... again.... but I ignored the prompt....
Context: After writing a poem for today's prompt I felt a little dissatisfied with what I created, but figured I would maybe return to it later or just let it be what it was. Then, while getting ready to go out this evening - the poem below just bubbled up in my brain. Outside of the prompts I am still trying to find the poem about the feeling of creative wanderlust and a sort of re-connection with my own inspiration and creativity... I feel like this is headed there.
Poem:
Our paths they wander and weave,
Tap dancing toddler, wannabe cinematographer,
Picture taker, arts company maker,
Baby bunhead ‘til they rejected me.
Picking up, putting down, carrying on,
Keep creating.
Our paths they wander and weave,
Six degrees of separation,
“destiny” - whatever that means.
A chance meeting at a moment so fleeting.
Impacts they never may see.
Picking up, putting down, carrying on,
Keep creating.
Our paths they wander and weave,
Try something new,
try something scary,
It’s okay to fail gloriously.
Picking up, putting down, carrying on,
Keep creating.
Day 21
tiny side note - both the internet and my own brain have had this playing in my head too often today - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gs069dndIYk
ok... moving on.
Prompt: Wildcard Weekend A villanelle about the topic of wandering,
Context:
I will note, some of these rhymes might only work in an American accent, and some may work for some words and not others in your accent… and I even started to slightly doubt how I normally pronounce some of these words 🫠…
For whatever reason I also gave myself the challenge of not saying wander/wanderer/wandering (though of course I allowed myself some synonyms haha).
The poem may still be a little rough around the edges… it feels a bit clunky and forced to me currently - I may end up just stealing bits of it for another poem later, not sure yet.
Poem:
To the ends of the earth, and back again
Ambling along - you’ll get there one day.
No need to know how. No need to know when.
Fold up your maps and put away your pen,
Forget the planned path to point B from point A
To the ends of the earth, and back again.
The rhythm of the movement can be your call to zen,
Witness all that’s happening - trust you’ll be okay.
No need to know how. No need to know when.
Let intuition be your guide, give way to whim and yen
Surrender to the sauntering, meander that pathway.
To the ends of the earth, and back again.
Someday the “now” will be the “then”,
You are not lost - not been led astray.
No need to know how. No need to know when.
One day you’ll marvel at where you’ve been.
Where do you go next? You can simply say,
To the ends of the earth, and back again
No need to know how. No need to know when.
Day 20 Sunset as Ending and Beginning Context I wanted to step away from the traditional considerations around sunset and tell a story
Darkness announces herself in glamorous colours.
Before her raven wings embrace the dying day.
She tears the sky asunder with blood and fire,
Unleashed across the horizon.
Let go now, child. Let go!
Throw your woes into the burning embers!
And wear the coat of starlight.
Black silk gentle on your skin.
Nyx will hold you until you are ready to rise.
Once more.
Day 18
Prompt: Double Etheree and I forgot to took note but believe the theme was transition.
Context For some reasons most of the poems that emerged from the writing prompts for me are heavily related to seasons and seasonal imagery. I am wondering if this is because it is autumn and one of my favourite times of the year. I am not entirely sure I understood the concept of Double Etheree accurately. Here is my first ever (lots of first evers I am completely stuck on the Limerick not sure if this is because I am not a native English speaker but so far I have not managed to write one, they are the most challenging form for me so far)
1 Hark!
2 Harvest
3 Moon rises
4 luminating
5 Velvet Purple clouds
6 A corona of light
7 Striation of gold and plum
8 A howl breaks through the silent night
9 slowly the days grow ever shorter
10 until midwinter beast swallows the sun
10 rising again reborn the next morning
9 cold white light’s first tentative tendrils
8 break through the frozen snow filled air
7 ptarmigan darts across white hills
6 snow hare digs for greens
5 fox stalks hopefully
4 through drifts too high
3 jaybird warns
2 loudly
1 hark!
Prompt: Wildcard Weekend
Context: I would like to take the opportunity of this “open” prompt to share the experience of how something I write goes from “poem” to song. I never expect something I write would or could become a song. Just like I never expected my writing would ever be called “poems” ☺️
“Poem” was written in 2018 when I lost my service dog Mia. She was an amazing companion who went from rescued bait dog to becoming a detector of seizures, navigator of the visually impaired, and caretaker to a brain injury survivor. She even became an active actor appearing in commercials and TV shows. I attribute my survival to her.
Goodbye (Original Version)
2018 - By Katherine Dickson
No one gives a book to learn
On how to heal a broken heart
I’ve only got the years I’ve earned
Loving you from the start
No one ever gives away
Gratitude like a stray
All these years, you’ve guided me through
Now’s my turn to help you too
I wish that I had given more
If the score was kept, I’d surely lose
Your love for me I could plainly see
And I wish I had given more
You always stood by me
Gentle and trustworthy
Rest assured your job is well done
Lay your head down go to sleep
All your worries are long gone
Take me with you in your dreams
Where do I go, where do I seek?
Who’ll be my major company?
Goodbye Song ( Version Two)
Words & Music – Katherine Dickson
Time Signature: Music composed in 3/4 (''three four'') time signature
No one gives a book to learn
On how to heal a broken heart
I’ve only got the years I’ve earned
Loving you from the start
No one ever gives away
Gratitude like a stray
All these years, you’ve guided me through
Now’s my turn to help you too (leave)
I wish that I had given more
If the score was kept, I’d surely lose (In love it’s an un-even score)
You(r) (were never one to let me down) love for me I could plainly see
And I wish I had given more
You always stood next to me
Gentle and trustworthy
(You were never one to let me down)
Rest assured your job is well done
Lay your head down go to sleep
All your worries are long gone
Take me with you in your dreams
Where do I go, where do I seek?
Who’ll be my major company?
Goodbye Song (All Is Quiet)
Final Recorded Version
Words & Music – Katherine Dickson
Music - Katherine Dickson, Briana Bradley & Phil Carroll
{Verse 1 }
No one gives a book to learn
On how to heal a broken heart
I’ve only got the years I’ve earned
Loving you from the start
No one ever gives away
Gratitude like a stray
All these years, you’ve guided me
Now’s my turn to help you leave
{Chorus}
I wish that I had given more
In love it’s an un-even score
Your love for me I could plainly see
I wish that I had given more
{Verse 2}
Rest assured your job is well done
Lay your head go to sleep
All your worries are long gone
Take me in your dreams
{Chorus}
I wish I had given more
In love it’s an un-even score
Your love for me I could plainly see
I wish that I had given more
{Bridge}
You never let me down
No better friend have I found
You always stood next to me
Gentle and trustworthy
{Coda}
(And) I wish I had given more
But love’s an un-even score
Your love for me I could plainly see
{Chorus}
I wish that I had given more
I wish that I had given you more
Here you can take a listen to the final results. ☺️
https://open.spotify.com/track/10D0MeqEuQkvQolsZy5exP?si=Fcah_NwrSnmqul1i6ZUgVw
Promt 6: borrow a line from Shakespeare
Love All, Trust Few, Do Wrong to None
Love freely, like the sun at dawn,
Spreading light, until all shadows are gone.
Every soul deserves dignity and respect
In giving make sure your own needs you do not neglect.
Trust with care, but not with ease,
For secrets are fragile, like autumn leaves.
Give your trust where it is earned,
Because betrayal is a hard lesson learned.
Do no harm with hand or word,
You can be gaurdeed and gracious without lines being blurred.
Embracing you fellow man for exactly who they are
Doesn't mean you have to let them wound you leaving a scar.
In this world of joy and pain,
Hold hands with other, but follow you own intuition as you walk down the lane.
Love all, trust few, wrong none—
And peace will follow when the day is done.
I'm not crazy about the scar line.
Promt 8: memento mori
The Rainbow Child**
Young and sweet, with so much to give, so free.
You loved a dangerous man, happiness was not to be.
Pain struck like a ton of bricks—
Your heart, shattered, never fixed.
A part of you was lost with him when your said goodbye.
Your child wasn’t supposed to die.
You buried your grief, grew a family tree.
The weight of expectation fell to me.
The eldest child, meant to atone,
For the loss you carried like a stone.
But in my heart, a question creeps
If he had lived, would I exist, the answer cuts deep.
The weight of his legacy I bear,
Longing for a mother without despair.
A bullet hides in a whiskey glass,
The ghost of him Im unable to pass.
I miss a brother I’ve never known.
I visit sometimes standing by his headstone.
I ask you instead of this the slow death,
That you'd fight to live til your last breath.
Often I think of what might have been with him here, a reality only dreamed, never known.
I’m the lucky one, alive and grown,
I never met ideals held for two, too different, too sensitive,too weird, and too wild,
But I’m yours—your rainbow child.
Day 20 prompt: Sunsets over water
Context: I didn’t know what to write about because sunsets are my Kryptonite (so beautiful to look at, so hard to photograph without slipping into the worst mediocrity), so I remembered something someone (Gallagher?) said about writing from the point of view of a character and I started to think about someone for whom a sunset would hold significance and I landed on Greek mythology again. I know, shocker. So this is a sunset from the point of view of Daphne, in the period between Cupid shooting Apollo and her turning into a laurel tree to escape him
Daphne’s Sunset
The sun sinks into the sea,
a fire slowly swallowed,
Are you there, Apollo?
chasing light across the sky,
always in pursuit—
your golden fingers stretching
for something to claim.
You call it love,
but it arrives as a demand,
a hunger
thinly veiled in warmth.
Your words
scorch what they touch.
You don’t ask, you burn.
The horizon holds its breath,
caught between day and night,
and I know that feeling— to be pinned between wanting
and running,
between the soft glow of affection
and the sharp edge of your insistence.
Your promises shimmer,
but they come with the weight of your hands,
and I am tired of being something to catch,
something to hold,
to possess.
Let me be the wind
that touches nothing but leaves everything moving,
or the sea,
dissolving into itself,
untraceable, untouchable,
beyond the reach of your sun.
Let the night fall now,
so I may stand in the shadows,
where love is quiet,
and I can be seen
without needing to run.
Context: just dipping back in after a break with this little one and an illustration
A Daughter’s Promise
When your mind is slowly fading,
and your body not so strong,
when all is long forgotten
but the wren’s devoted song,
when you’re in your second childhood,
nothing left for you to tend,
I’ll do my best,
defend the nest
until we reach the end.
This is really nice. I can totally feel your reluctance at wanting to get up, being rowsed by your phone and then the light. Lovely depictions!
Wow. This is raw and deep. Thank you for sharing. Your choice of words unpack such clear and powerful imagery. 👏🏼👏🏼
Day 20
Prompt: Sunsets in all their glory and variety.....
Context: After letting this roll around in my head all day and not finding I had something I wanted to say about sunSETS, I realized I had a little something about sunRISE, and the way the light creeps in through my blinds in the morning (when it isn't foggy, and it's foggy often 🌁) - it sometimes does wake me up, other times i am awake and have just watch the way it changes and stretches as the sun makes its way into the day. It's a fairly short one - as always, happy to know if something stands out as odd. Also, I like what I was trying to do with the last lines of each stanza, but I am not sure if it works or is clunky.
Poem:
The sliver of sun slinks across the wall,
Slowly sliding its way down from the ceiling,
I peek at my phone with one eye open,
It’s not quite time to get up.
And that ray of sunshine hasn’t quite caught me.
Just a few minutes longer, I think,
Eyes squeezed shut against that sneaky sliver of light,
But my phone disagrees, chimes sounding,
It’s time to get up.
And now that ray of sunshine has caught me.
Friday, September 20, 2024
Day 20 prompt: Sunsets have inspired poets for... well, ever. Let's explore the concept of a sunset as the end of one phase and the beginning of another. How does a sunset over water differ than a sunset over land?
Are they the same, except for our perceptions?
What surprises can you find in sunset?
A loooong tiring day, yet productive. I was able to write this little one out. May go back to it to fill it out more.
As always open to critique 🤍
C.L.A.S
Lion Claws
I collapse staring worlds of surrendered wonder at you
golden rays stripping
disarming my bones whole
shimmering sensual secrets.
Pushing silent waves
tickling my eyes awake, walking to shore
shining your youthful light hugging wings.
Caressing my supple soft skin
erupting glisten contour
your fire burns me wet
liquid pearls finding freedom.
Drifting, time keeps slipping
when I’m under you
crushed sand dripping
beaming your bright subtle esoteric fright.
I meet with you
devouring me completely.
Mesmerized face,
you seductively sculpted me raw
bearing witness to what lives between curved lines.
Take me to the second eternal darkness
destroying innocence flying into melting soaring sun.
Prompt: Haiku/Haibun:
Context: Writing this piece felt like journaling. The last line of the Haiku was the first thing I thought of as I came out of anesthesia last week. From things written in my journal the following came out: ( it may not be a true Haibun)
Return from the Silence
By Katherine Dickson
Drifting, the world slipping into soft, colorless waves. The voices around me became whispers, then echoes, then nothing at all. I floated in the silence, weightless, as if time had unraveled, leaving me suspended in stillness. There was no pain, no feelings or thoughts; just the gentle pull of some unseen current, guiding me deeper. I didn’t want to return. Waking felt like an intrusion, a break in the peace.
In the endless calm,
a world without edge or sound
why must I return?
Day 20
Prompt: video of sunset over water.
Context: It isn't that I don't like how this turned out, but I feel like I am very far from expressing what I wanted to express with this.
Waves come in.
Waves go out.
The sun sets.
My heart says it is the same sunset you are watching.
That I am watching it with you.
Like the ocean between us, we share it.
We will never see the same sunset.
For this world was not built for love.
This world was not built for us.
Waves come in.
Waves go out.
The sun sets… but not for me.
Here I combined two prompts. Not sure if I got the Double Etheree correctly. I’ve never done this type of writing before, there’s no rhymes! All I did was count words… oh well, I gave it a try.
Prompts: 1. Double Etheree 2. Word: Threshold
Context: The past couple of weeks have been difficult. Pain, physical discomfort disrupts your ability to put forward your best efforts in all things. 😮💨
Threshold from Pain to Hope
By Katherine Dickson
Ache,
it grows,
layered too deep,
a heavy knocking throb,
pounding in the smallest bones,
each breath a whispered choked scream,
stretching the edges of my mind’s endurance,
pushing past where will turns to numb existence.
until the body surrenders to nothing, to nowhere, to silence.
then, my mind awakens to everything, to here, to life.
pulling me back from numb existence, darkness and fear
easing the edge of what once hurt me
each breath a quiet release of tension
radiating through tired broken bones
Softly a steady hum,
layer by layer,
it sparks,
Hope.
Day 7 prompt: A Wild Card (I don't remember who posted that or if it was even an official poem prompt, but I just went with it)
A Wildling Caged
I remember your once wild and beautiful spirit
your smile that lit up the room and your laughter
O, that infectious laughter - full belly rolls
I remember your wild strawberry-blond curls
how they framed your heart-shaped face
and those too-large sparkling green eyes
I remember your wild, free-spirited lifestyle
how you flitted from place to place
a butterfly on a social mission, encompassing all
I remember how some tried to tame your wildness
and told them you would wither if caged
but that didn't stop them from trying, again and again
I remember after a long season of absence
when you finally returned - tamed and timid
dull-eyed, cropped curls, a wildling caged
O, how I mourn for the woman you were
as I cradle you - a downtrodden, lifeless shell
and pray that, with care, your wildness returns
©2024 Lori Carlson. All rights reserved.
--------------------------------------------------------
Context: This prompt, or Notprompt, intrigued me. My Reiki Master's daughter was such a wildling once, but after a decade living as a 'second wife' to a domineering man, her wildness became tamed. I wanted to honor her with this poem. Any suggestions are welcomed... especially in the last stanza - does it flow well?
Day 19 prompt: Threshold.
Context: So apparently I do write about love and apparently I wasn’t done with waves imagery. For some reason I wanted to write about the space between two people when they start to become a couple and blur the boundaries.This was written on my phone during a 3 hours car drive after a photoshoot in Milan and tweaked a little bit this morning over breakfast. Still needs some sanding around the edges, but oh well. I wish I had more time to go over other people's poems and interact in the forum, but I'm hoping for the weekend.
Seamless
There was a line, once,
where I ended and you began—
a boundary,
a flicker, a seam,
a ripple between us
thin as breath,
like the edge of dusk
blurring into night.
I stood at the threshold of us,
unsure whether to cross.
Somewhere, without warning,
the line vanished.
Your breath became the air I breathe,
your skin, the map
of my own hands.
There is no shape to this,
no edge to step from.
We are the hum of overlapping sounds,
a rhythm stitched into silence.
I lose myself in the way
your shadow bends into mine,
how the air between us
becomes a single exhale.
Where do you begin?
Where did I fade?
Limerence,
liminal,
the place we inhabit now,
where the distance no longer matters,
where the pull is not a choice
but gravity—
where we are less two people
and more one movement,
a wave curling onto itself,
rolling and dissolving
against the shore.
Caught in the slipstream
of wanting and being wanted,
in the weightlessness
of never knowing
where you end
and I begin.
The horizon shifts and folds—
and I am neither wave nor water,
but the tide
that forgets its own name.
Day 18
Word Prompt: "Threshold"
Context: This poem kind of just came tumbling out of my brain today.
Poem:
My head floats as the butterflies have escaped my stomach,
filling every inch of my chest.
A barely contained bundle of nerves stifled in my throat.
Heart beating so fast it feels like a shudder.
Every atom buzzing.
Standing in that spot where excitement and fear don’t feel that different.
Not sure if that even matters anymore.
Barely balanced, feeling free.
Fully trusting something will catch me.
Remember when your fearlessness was your strength.
When that abandon only came with a few small bruises.
Do not be reckless.
But I let my balance teeter,
compelled by curiosity,
I surrender to the pull.
For the briefest of moments time stretches towards eternity.
.
.
.
.
And from here, the view is beautiful.
P.S.: As for topic of the prompt, I actually have about 3-4 other little seeds of poems that I think I may develop into something more as well. The wheels started turning with lots of ideas on this prompt from a variety of perspectives.... so there might be more at some point.
The Etheree and Concrete poems in one, still working on the shape of an hourglass. A small nod to Neil Gaimen slotted in there also.
And in plain text if harder to read
Death Waits Alone
Of all the gods Death is the least patient
She keeps perfect time, is never late
This is why her hair is a mess
With caring smile she waits
Ready to aid you on your
journey past this life
Ready or not
She will take
You there
Death
Waits
Alone
Be ready
Live a full life
As when she comes by
You won't have time to pack
The road might seem far to go
the final stop is not distant
She will help you walk over that bridge
It is only six feet below the ground
By Stevenson M.D.
Day 18 prompt: write a double Etheree
Day 19 word prompt: “Threshold”
Decided to combine the two days together.
C.L.A.S
Awakening Mountain
Don’t
give up
wanting love
you are pure love
remembering peace
all odds were against you
physicians riddled in lies
holding true in your natures care
years of torment, wanting to give up
triumph nearly here, no turning back now
almost near the end holding fragile strength
pain, struggle, and tears licked up your fears
it’s OKAY to shine bright and bold
time is illusion, my friend
tortured rosebud, holds on
fly through this threshold
deserved beauty
grace and care
my love
you.
Day 16 Sestina catchup: My sestina needs work but here is the base. This went through three versions with different end words. At first I tried for a long running nature metaphor but that fell through twice so I went with a letter style instead. My daughter aged 11 doesn't like poetry yet so this is for her when she is older if I'm not around one day. My side quest that I tacked on for fun was taking the envoi and using it acrostically in the base stanzas.
A Letter For My Rosebud
To sweet Rosebud, my beloved daughter.
My life was shadow filled and lacking joy,
amazingly you brought wonder back to life.
Sweet girl how you have helped my heart grow,
wonderful weekends spent just me and yourself.
Daughter, you always make me proud each day.
Who saw it coming, not us for sure. That day
fulfils our dreams to have a child, a daughter.
Our miracle seed getting ready to show yourself.
Life doesn't come without fear to mar the joy
with my history, a chance you would not grow.
Joy soon trembled cracking over this new life.
Your strength stamped out those fears for your life,
love was free to grow unhindered, every passing day
adds to that love we have for you as we watch you grow.
Joy comes watching you learn to walk, to talk, my dear daughter,
to see the world through your eyes and on your face the joy
life brings as you discover all that the world for yourself.
I try to be a good parent but often it is that yourself
have taught us lessons from your unique perspective of life.
Loved and honoured we have been as your parents, a true joy
watching the years go by as my body winds down each day.
You just seem to go on stronger, you surprise me often daughter.
Grow and develop, hone your interests and the skills you should grow.
Into a young woman we watch you continue to grow.
Your teenage years now upon us as you find yourself,
own these years, they will try to separate parent from daughter
and drive us apart, that is just hormones controlling your life.
Find the path that leads you through it and own each day
Yourself. Know that we support you and hope you find joy.
You will one day find me gone, it may be hard to recover joy,
make sure you don’t fall into darkness or let the grief grow.
Me, I will be watching. Always remember that I am each day
proud that you don’t let others walk over you, that yourself
every time proves more important and grasp onto life.
Day by day mourning will pass, but you are forever my daughter.
To my amazingly sweet wonderful daughter who fulfils our life with joy
Your love adds joy to life. I have loved watching you grow
Into your own and find yourself. You make me proud every day.
Day 19
Prompt; threshold.
Causality.
We’re led to believe that the pinnacle
Of our existence is to plane upon the swells of eliteness.
Hear me listen.
Countless minds have been manipulated
Into believing that a chiseled out
Physical presence should far-out match
the common societal threshold of expectations.
Countless have become imprisoned
Laboring no longer for pleasure but unwholesome pressure to attain the unattainable.
All whilst the media laugh - secretly using prosthetics to trick you blind,
Into thinking that you’re the one in dire need.
-Riku
Messing about with a slam style here. 🤔🤣
Just a thing I threw out taking a break mid way through another poem I was struggling with.
Life Always Finds A Way To Grow
Every great city began as a humble town.
Small buildings neatly placed side by side
growing in stories as more space is needed,
over time replaced with grand structures.
This evolution of urban development
mimics the landscape of my kitchen benches.
A small lunch, one plate and a butter knife,
add dinner that night, cooked late after work.
Too tired to clean, they can wait till morning.
Soon the rack mounted ziggurat dominates.
Day turns to a week, week into fortnight,
soon the city has become a megalopolis.
Day 19
Word Prompt: "Threshold"
Oh, what is your threshold?
Your redline?
The point of no return?
That first and final step from control to fate?
At what point did you pull the linchpin?
Staring up at the skies to see if you will be born anew or cast into Hell.
But if you had known…
If you knew exactly when you would cross the threshold, would you have taken that step?
Monday, September 16, 2024
Day 16 form prompt: write a sestina, a 39-line poem, consisting of six stanzas of six lines each, followed by a three-line envoi. The same six words are repeated at the end of each line in a rotating pattern. Use this complex form to explore a theme of cycles—whether it’s the cycle of nature, emotions, or experiences in life. Let the repetition of words mirror the repetitive patterns we see in our world.
Went off this line, Our anger is our greatest teacher
1 Reflections
2 Hard
3 Process
4 Light
5 Teacher
6 Together
Always open to critique 🤍
Cxxx
C.L.A.S
Know it All
This life is a series of simple beautiful reflections
Emotional wounded egos, triggers connecting us hard
Subtle winds kissing our cheeks, understanding the process
For, we are only dust flowing throughout our Incredible blue globe of light
Unified labyrinth unfolding comical teacher
Uniquely created in mind, body, and soul, fates story intrinsically together
Always forever forgotten together
Stained haunted mirrored reflections
Our anger is our greatest teacher
Harsh truths hit hard
Momentarily blinded with clarity of light
Intricate multidimensional layered process
Time favouring this slowly moving forward fast process
Amalgamating minds/hearts holding hands together
Calm lakes sounding bright light
Coming with the ultimate reflections
Temperament twisting convoluting roots thinking it’s hard
Hovering brutality swinging triumphant moments gathering unspoken teacher
Ultimately you are the student and the teacher
Veraciously erotic playful process
Will you take it hard?
Abandoned alone together
Looking up high sky, clouds writing epic scrolls of this life’s reflections
Fragmented fractals cascading light
Bouncing fear rage, and frustration off this light.
Angry at you teacher!
Why are you shining back my mirror of reflections?
Fed up, fuck this process.
Why do you say together?
Why does it have to be so hard?
Most poetic rhymes passionately say it’s not hard
Doves at dawn flying out of divine light
Morning dew rainbows show we are together
Open meadow reading nature’s teacher
Butterfly wings moving with process
Teardrop in ocean of reflections.
Late to class again teacher, did I miss scientific process?
All one together, turning up this light.
Reflections are hard.
Day 18
Prompt: Write a Double Etheree: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, 9, 8, 7, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 syllables; or the reverse.
Context: I didn't do the repetition part. I was short on time, and I am not good at things like that. more than that, I don't like it; it's a personal feeling about. But I did get the Etheree done, and I don't think it's too bad.
Title: Because of You
You.
Because.
Before now.
Fear didn't come.
Life was easy then.
Now you lie against me.
You make me want to cause pain.
Tense with fear of what I am now.
A monster crawls slow under my skin.
Your heat on my skin makes me want to kill.
I had no fear before your love found me.
Fear comes while you sleep in this dark world.
True love made a monster of me.
I'm here for you, to love you.
One soul in two bodies.
Time silent hunter.
Hunter unseen.
Fear persists.
I love.
You.
Day 18
Context: Today's prompt of a double etheree was not for me today... I did try though. Instead, I went back to an idea I had a few days ago that only existed as a single line to see if I could turn it into something. I'm not sure if it feels like it needs more or not.
Poem:
The Sound of the World
I love the sound of the world in 6/8 time.
I wonder if you agree?
The lyrical lilt of a balladeer’s folk song,
The tempestuous tide rocking a boat on the sea.
That persistent pulse driving forever forward,
yet sometimes so very softly.
Or, whipped up into a whirling Viennese waltz.
A champion’s anthem that fills us with glee.
The momentous melody calling our names,
Crying out for what we might be.
I love the world in 6/8 time.
But maybe that’s only just me?
Day 18 prompt: write a double etheree
Context: I used the shape itself as a starting point and it kind of reminded me of a wave, so I decided to write about a wave rolling onto itself before reaching the shore and dissolving
Tide’s Breath
Tip
of foam
begins to
rise and gather,
rolling its weight in,
coiling beneath the waves,
thickened by the pull, the push,
its muscle tight with unseen force,
stretching toward the shore it cannot see,
a cresting promise that longs to break free.
It falls apart before it ever lands,
a whisper drawn back into itself,
tension unwinds in silence,
folds dissolve in the sand,
thinning into mist,
retreating now,
with each breath,
curling
back.
Day 17 prompt: write a limerick or a series of limerick that make you smile.
There once was a pirate named Jim,
Who swapped out his peg leg for gin.
He teetered and tottered,
With onlookers gathered,
But ended head first in the bin!
"Just one more sip!" Jim would proclaim,
His world turned upside down in vain.
There once was a pirate, one-legged,
Whose balance was quite badly pegged.
He fell straight down a well,
With a splash and a yell,
And surfaced all soggy, then begged.
"Just one more sip!" Jim would exclaim,
His world turned upside down in vain.
There once was a pirate all wet,
Whose plight now produced, a stale sweat.
That old cunning sea dog,
Still so desperate for grog,
Called on his parrot for a bet .
"Just one more sip!" Jim would exclaim,
His world turned upside down in vain.
There once was a pirate so small
He’d perched himself up on a wall
With squawks from his parrot
Who’d brought him a carrot
Jim sighed at being the town’s fool.
Riku.Poet
Day 17 prompt: write a limerick or a series of limericks that make you smile.
C.L.A.S
Open Eagle Umbrella
Elegant humble graceful queen
Equalizing clearly unseen
Fixing matters under
Delicate fierce wonder
All captivated played serene.
Ego in Ego out
Noble artists sculpted her bronze
Relinquish all dismal job cons
Embodying the truth
Not forgetting dignified couth
Most beautiful exotic swan.
Ego in Ego out
Don’t worry, there won’t be a drought
All that needs will be paramount
To lullaby baby
There’s a time for crazy
Walking fish, painting pink knockout.
Ego in Ego out
Day 17
Prompt: Write a limerick or a few
Context (in poem form 😜):
Today’s task was to write a limerick or two,
And that is something I think I can definitely do,
So here we go,
The poems are below,
For feedback provided by you!
Poems:
So I sat and I sat and I sat,
Wondering where my muse was at,
This was supposed to be easy,
It could even be cheesy,
Now I need a last line… Oh! A cat!
The dogs on the beach were at play,
As she sat on the wall all in gray.
She giggled out loud,
Dressed like a little rain cloud,
And watched the sun say goodbye to the day.
“Beg your pardon,” the shadows have said,
“If we’ve upset you, that fills us with dread.
Soon all will be well,
You just napped for a spell,
I promise it was all in your head”
There once was a wizard so wily,
Fooling all he knew, so slyly,
‘til a house crashed down,
Time to get out of town,
So in a balloon he flew off so spryly.
Hi all, hope this is ok to share?
Poem: Growing
I’ve spent the afternoon reading
poetry from bygone eras.
Some moved me to tears;
others
gifted me with a thankful quietness—
a historical education in graceful imagery,
wrapped in literary mastery.
If I then dare to call myself a poet,
surely my ink jots and indents upon
plain paper pale by comparison.
As if I’m a small boy sat
upon the tiled floor of his Mother's kitchen,
banging pots and pans, clutching a wooden spoon whilst
dreaming of writing with archaic, feather-like strokes.
Do I stop there? Allowing silence
to be my teacher, whereby the rod of instruction would be sure failure?
Or do I hold my pen and go on,
making clumsy, careless noise,
knowing that with each new stroke
moments of clarity arise?
So I must play on,
and play on I will.
-Riku.Poet
Context: This poem was inspired when reading the book “Poems to make grown men cry”Whereby I spent the afternoon basking in others works, being moved to tears. Following this, I went away saddened initially, as I truly felt as if my best would fail by comparison. I’m particularly looking for feedback on the imagery and flow, if I could add or retract anything…
Day 16 Sestina
Background: I love anthropomorphic personifications and the change of season Ending it with a Haiku just for the heck of it :D
Seasons
1 gossamer announces Autumn
2 with dew dropped crystal bells
3 ribbons of transparent lace
4 wafting over fresh ploughed fields
5 red rosehips reawaken
6 vestiges of summer past
6 snuffling hedgehogs walking past
5 red-capped mushrooms reawaken
4 golden leaves dance over fields
3 some are stuck in spiders’ lace
2 beech-nuts spiky furry bells
1 and everywhere it smells of autumn
1 Oak moon introduces winter
2 Hooded crows like feathered monks
3 Shiver in the wet cold storm
4 Scaly tree bark shimmers silver
5 Sleeping dragons ancient creatures
6 Sleet pelts winter coats
6 Wolf moon conjures magic coats
5 Midwinter hunt o’ fabled creatures
4 Only iron be your ward never use the silver
3 Run! Run through the brazen storm!
2 Hoods won’t protect the trembling monks!
1 Blood moon calls the king of winter
1 Gentle footprints leave lucent flowers
2 Snowdrops crocus follow on
3 Spring jumps across a gurgling burn
4 She dances in the warming sun
5 Rainbows burst from breaking clouds
6 Sap rushes into swelling trunks
6 Fox cubs ring around the trunks
5 The oak protects them from the clouds
4 Yet suddenly there breaks the sun
3 A fawn drinks from the gurgling burn
2 And tiny paws are hanging on
1 Lest furry red kits land in flowers
1 Suddenly burst forth the heat
2 Summer strides with confidence
3 Colour explosion
Day 17 prompt: Write a limerick or a series of limericks that make you smile
Context: Limericks never fail to make me giggle with glee
There once was a bee who got tight,
From sipping on nectar all night.
She buzzed in a spin,
Bumped into the queen,
Then wobbled away in delight!
A poet named Adam, so bright,
Wrote sonnets by candle at night.
With rhythm and rhyme,
He dazzled each time,
His poems were always just right!
There once was a dog who loved cheese,
He’d beg for a bite with great ease.
One day in a dash,
He swallowed a stash,
And managed to kill all his fleas!
There once was a girl from Milan,
Who’d always come up with a plan.
She dressed with such flair,
Turned heads everywhere,
And danced through the streets as she ran!
Day 16 prompt: Write a sestina, a 39-line poem consisting of six stanzas of six lines each, followed by a three-line envoi. The same six words are repeated at the end of each line in a rotating pattern. Use this complex form to explore a theme of cycles—whether it’s the cycles of nature, emotions, or experiences in life. Let the repetition of words mirror the repetitive patterns we see in our world.
Context: This was definitely a puzzle. I had fun writing it, in the end, although I was very frustrated at times while trying to figure it out, but I must admit I don’t like reading sestinas. It’s not my thing and I don’t like this type of repetition, my brain goes numb. That said, I wanted to explore the theme of being trapped in the monotony of daily routines, where life seems governed by the relentless tick of time and the same mundane tasks. As frustration builds, the speaker attempts to rebel against the sameness, seeking a radical change, only to find that their efforts unravel and lead to chaos. In the end, the speaker finds a quiet acceptance—realizing that even within the repetition, no day is ever truly the same, and subtle transformations can be found in the smallest moments. I tried to use the sestina to reflect on the balance between frustration with routine and the deeper recognition that change is always present, even when unseen.
The grind
I
The morning breaks beneath the weight of time,
Each day the same along a narrow road.
Familiar tasks, an endless line of chores,
Our conversations, always the same words.
We move through patterns, lifeless masks on face,
Yearning for something more, but fearing change.
II
Yet something stirs beneath the weight of change,
The minutes blur and stretch through endless time.
A glance exchanged, I see behind your face—
A fleeting shadow crosses on the road,
We say so little, always the same words,
And lose ourselves in ever-present chores.
III
Each day is filled with tasks that weigh like chores,
We fight, but protest only brings weak change.
Our tired tongues repeat familiar words,
The clock spins on, indifferent to time.
We walk again the same familiar road,
And wear the same expression on each face.
IV
Behind each weary, worn and silent face,
We carry burdens, crushed by all our chores,
As though there’s no escape along this road.
Still, dreams of something new call out for change,
But all we ever have is borrowed time,
And time keeps slipping through the cracks of words.
V
We fight against the pain of empty words,
Each moment slipping from a desperate face,
But as we rage, the cracks reveal lost time,
And in rebellion, break the mold of chores.
The world begins to twist, too fast a change,
And we can’t find our footing on the road.
VI
The path ahead feels clearer on this road,
No longer bound by protests, hollow words.
I see the flicker in each passing face,
A softness in the rhythm of our chores.
Within the smallest cracks, I sense the change,
And realize that none of it wastes time.
Envoi
In every face, a story bound by time,
Along the road, amidst the mundane chores.
I hear the whispered words that hint at change.
Day 16
Form Prompt: Sestina
Prompt: Write a sestina, a 39-line poem consisting of six stanzas of six lines each, followed by a three-line envoi. The same six words are repeated at the end of each line in a rotating pattern. Use this complex form to explore a theme of cycles—whether it’s the cycles of nature, emotions, or experiences in life. Let the repetition of words mirror the repetitive patterns we see in our world.
Context: Let's be honest, this was 100% about following the form prompt with no regard towards the poem itself. That being said, I feel like I could write a Sestina again and do much better (If I had time). They are not as hard as they seem at first, and the unlimited line length makes them easier (for me) than something like a tanka. I also feel like I could have written something less dark, and it might have been easier. After starting this, I felt like I didn't have enough story to cover it, but that's what you get when you don't plan ahead at all and start writing a few minutes after reading the prompt.
1:
1 It all repeats through history, like the circle of life, but few seem to see.
2 Blind by choice, not even willing to try.
3 Until it is their turn. Then they see it, like the point of a needle placed against the eye, too late. It's happening again.
4 The past is easy to see while it is close, but time makes it grow foggy, romanticization painting its beauty over the truth as time moves forward.
5 The world spins as though nothing is wrong. Nothing has changed, as the cosmos knows no surprise.
6 But we are not so lucky. As this circle continues, we are only out-of-place things upon this world.
2:
1 There is always a way, always some path forward.
2 Even through the fog and romanticization of time, the truth is there; if one tries, they can see.
3 If you look, eyes open to the repeating circle, you will be struck down by your past with surprise.
4 For only then will you have the true choice to know or forget, to see your chance to try.
5 With the truth in hand, paths will be seen through the world.
6 The circle will never stop. It will repeat again and again.
3:
1 Paths chosen, eyes open to truth, but with time, history repeats again.
2 Fights don't stop with progression towards something new; bloodied and broken is the way forward.
3 With blade and bow, we beat the drums of war for a better world.
4 Through the reddened waters and smoke of death, visions come, and we see.
5 This is when change, the new world comes, and death comes as they try.
6 The circle repeats, and it comes as the people look at the presents of their past in surprise.
4:
1 Every generation circles back to history, and when it comes, every generation stares in surprise.
2 Every time things come around the same hollowed words ring out of, "never again."
3 As fresh eyes look across the world with repeated new sight and power presents itself, those hungry for it once again try.
4 Normal life continues as the circling fog floats in with the new day. Self-bloodied eyes happily look forward.
5 Life is once again beautiful and peaceful as dead eyes no longer see.
6 Walking the circle's path, soft with the rot that can't be seen in a peaceful world.
5:
1 Life continues, trees grow, animals evolve, rain comes, life moves within the world.
2 Things move on outside of the human circle without false surprise.
3 Outside the circle, the world looks into the repeat as they see.
4 The trees, flowers, and grass look on as they have for centuries as it happens again.
5 The bats, birds, and moths look down at the circle like a maze, seeing the simple way forward.
6 The world moves around us, the circle our cage as we try.
6:
1 No matter the circle and the outcome, some will always try.
2 With the repeat of all things there is something holding our unnatural existence to this world.
3 Through black and death, even blind, the desire is always forward.
4 The persistence of life through the circle is always a surprise.
5 As the circle continues, some ask if there will ever be a true "never again."
6 Sacrifices of your own flesh for the change to help others see.
7:
1: If you look on without surprise, you might not circle again.
2: To be part of the world and feel the ground as you move forward.
3: With the birds you see and the trees, there is hope to try.
Day 16
First off... holy hell. I actually did it (even if it likely needs some revisions)
Prompt: Go big… or don’t. Write a sestina.
Context: Instead of babbling on at length about liminal spaces, in-between and unrepeatable moments and why I love them - I’ll leave you with this first attempt at a sestina mostly about the ocean.
I feel like in some places it feels a bit stretched/forced and in some places I quite like what I have created. So I am truly curious to know if anything stands out to you (positively or negatively) because I think I’ve been staring at it too long to see straight anymore.
That said, I actually quite enjoyed the process of trying to put this together.
Poem:
Places and Spaces of a Liminal Nature
Often have I wondered why I love the ocean?
Its ever-churning ebb & flow, recession and return.
Chasing down the ephemera of an impossible moment.
The state of being limitlessly liminal.
In these places I can process, they are my mind made manifest.
Transitions between then and next, never now but always here.
A meeting point of nowhere. By definition - in between. Here -
I often watch with wonder as the sun sets into the ocean.
The hour entre chien et loup… which will I manifest?
I ponder my mysteries and attend answers in return.
Sometimes the answer is delay - stay in this space so liminal,
Let your mind meander, simply savor this moment.
Observing subtle shifts of sand, wind whipping, I inhale this moment.
The sky, sea, and soil - all of them here.
I can’t help but feel this pull - to allow myself to be liminal.
At the edge of this vast expanse, I stare out over the ocean,
I listen to the lullaby of the shore, and watch the waves return.
Slowly and silently, the clarity builds, a conclusion made manifest.
Yet, it’s taken years for understanding to manifest -
open roads, wandering walks - why do I crave this moment?
In elation or desperation, so often I return.
Wherever I roam, even in memory, it’s always here.
I have learned, I can always meet myself at the ocean.
Surrender to this spot, unearth my enigmas in the liminal.
On mornings, frigid and foggy, the whole world feels liminal.
I pause - take it in - an empty fullness manifest,
The cool damp air approaching from the ocean.
I can live in this moment,
be here.
Because to this borderland I will always return.
In the ebbs & flows of subtly shifting observation, I return,
to this space - to this place - so definitively liminal.
My doubts are quietly dampened here,
In this place where idle thoughts don’t manifest.
Though ever-changing, forever the identical moment,
When I arrive, take a breath, and greet myself at the ocean.
Mysteries turned conclusions, in the liminal brought manifest.
Now - it’s forever nowhere yet always here, this pure and fleeting moment.
And so again, I return to the ocean.
Day 6
Prompt: Why not borrow a line from Shakespeare and use it as a starting point?
The Cruelty of Reflection
My glass shall not persuade me I am old...
- Sonnet 22, William Shakespeare
The face before me in the looking glass
is not the face I see in my mind's eye
These wrinkles, frown lines, sagging skin
they do not reflect my still young heart
This hand holding an empty wine glass
with it's paper-thin skin and age spots
tingly fingertips and stiff joints
is not the hand of my still youthful spirit
I am not persuaded by these glasses
resting upon my less-than perky nose
that Father Time has caught up with me
turning me into an ag'ed crone
So cruel glass, you can mimic and mock me
but you can never steal my youthful soul
©2024 Lori Carlson. All rights reserved.
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Context: I quite like using Shakespeare as a jumping point. His line about glass really intrigued me as I struggle with the aging of my body, but not my mind or spirit. As I seek feedback, please let me know if this poem flows easily for you as a reader. I've read it aloud and sense a hiccup or two, but not sure if it is my own inability to read my poetry aloud or if there are indeed hiccups, Thank you!
Playing catch up with the prompts. Here I combined three prompts in the hopes to gain momentum. 🌼 🤭
Prompts: 1. Abandoned - Abandoned house in rural hamlet 2. Use lines from Shakespeare. 3. Ghosts of Broughton
Whispers In The Mist
By Katherine Dickson
A house stands hollow, deep in the woods,
In a town where once Broughton stood.
Now nature grips hold tight and deep,
Where ghosts in shadows like to creep.
The watch dogs barks through misty air,
Guardians of nothing, no souls left to care.
The lake nearby, a mirror gray,
Hides whispers of those long swept away.
"Out, damn spot, out! I say!"
Echoes from graves where silence lay.
Pity the world that has turned its face,
From this town overtaken, lost in grace.
Graves overgrown, no names to call,
As ivy climb crumbling wall.
The mist rolls in, thick as night,
Covering Broughton in ghostly light.
Revision/day14
C.L.A.S
Bitten Down Words
Annabella,
Out, on a hunt
vulnerable bare open
swimming wanderer through wind chimed wildflowers
bow stalking cute tiny native strawberries bursts
far distance handsome young man approaching her
shy eyes meeting for the first time
instantly remembering one another
kindred unknown lovers
Annie adored her vintage cast-iron fire stove
boiling down fierce strawberries, tart rhubarb dashes of sugar, and zesty lemon
stirring
mixing
reminiscing
when he used to call her, my strawberry girl
packing a pixie picnic
found walking solace at dusk
following raindrop birds
foggy cold breeze singing with her
to the old forsaken coal mine
mist rolling musk smelling her hair
long walks through burned hopes
aspirations disintegrated a prosperous future
rumbling ruins, deserted mossy graves
she sat pondering existence
why Why why!
frontier coal mine explosion
robbed me of your beating heart
my sweet forever love Fyodor
lost lovers dreaming
secret evenings viewing numb
fearful void forethought
Anna smiled happiness, now in her own playground
dancing Annabella with her whimsical ghost
Anna – Annabella was found in abandonment from her magnificently ruined Fyodor.
Day 15
Prompt: Rework an old poem or a piece of art into a new poem.
Context: I created this image in 2020. It is a composite image made up of many photos and many, many hours in Photoshop. The original photo concept was that they aren't trying to pull you down but are grabbing on to be pulled out. So, I am expanding on that with how I feel about it now.
This blackened bog swallows me bit by bit.
I am enveloped slowly.
Grasping the pieces of my soul
Wet hands slip.
Compassion and forgiveness
I no longer remember.
Empathy is just out of my grasp.
The bog's persistence. Gravity never rests.
Cold wind.
Dark clouds.
Hope slips away.
What will I become?
Day 14 prompt: "Ghosts of Broughton"
Context: I pondered what the ghosts might say in an interview The Ghosts Are Tired of Your Questions
We heard you, you know,
with your flicking camera,
your scribbles in a tattered notebook,
your clicking chatter.
What it’s like to haunt a town
that never grew and died
before it lived as a place?
This was our home
although blown out
like a mine's lantern
like the hopes.
Do you, like, *moan*
with morning mist?
or shuffle through
crumbling ruins
with tragic sighs?
Do your faces stretch
long and sad
like the movies portray?
Ha!
You make jest
while we laugh
in the bleakness
of your whitespace
between your lines,
we shuffle cards
in old foundations' cracks,
playing penny poker
with you, jokers wild.
Such a tragedy
that a town without
logic built here.
No, no—
we are not tragic.
We are not lost souls.
We are a house,
a poker club of phantoms
wearing bowler hats
and miner’s boots,
tired of your questions
with answers you know.
Do you haunt for fun?
Do we haunt for fun?
what a delicious question!
There’s a lady in the Arms,
staring through the spectacle
of a revolving door
turning like a merry-go-round
of death, she dreams
of hard humans trapped
in the vortex, like her.
No one talks about her.
We won’t. She laughs
with each rotation.
What tricks do you play
on the living, breathing?
We have to keep some things
sacred, even in the afterlife.
Sometimes we sneak
into your loud cars,
pressing cold hands
against your back—
just to see if you’ll notice.
You *never* notice.
But that's a good thing
as your ignorance,
your yearning
for “spooky stories,”
to tingle your tastebuds.
You treat us like
we’re your Halloween candles
but we’re the matches.
We’re the spark, the fire.
We like to watch
your waxy skin burn.
The forever ghosts of nowhere.
We slither through the spruce,
and trip over the roots
of forgotten dreams,
moaning, because—
Did you hear that?
I think it came from over there.
The living are so loud these days.
Yes, over there in the graveyard...
We're the nice ones.
Day 15 prompt: Rewrite an old poem, or reinterpret an old piece of art you’ve created.
Context: I decided to write a poem about a photo: the image was buried under a tree for 6 weeks in order to allow the bacteria in the soil to start breaking down the ink and shift the colors. The original photo is a very simple portrait of a mask and outfit I made using what was left from last year’s exhibition that was set up near the same tree the print was buried under. The whole idea is about the way time changes things, how everything that’s new comes from fragments of something else.
Quello che resta
The fallen leaf surrenders to the soil,
Crumbles into earth,
feeds the seeds
Of trees it never climbed.
The sky takes the sea into itself,
Breathes out clouds
that drift
and weep,
Returning in droplets what was borrowed.
A whisper travels through the air,
Carried across valleys, over mountains,
Until it settles in a stranger's dream.
We are remnants,
Pieces of stars, dust of ancient suns,
Stories whispered by ancestors
We've never known.
Blurred boundaries
like watercolor on wet paper,
The edges of dusk and dawn,
Where does the ocean end and the horizon begin?
Your laughter becomes my smile,
We are threads
woven into the same tapestry.
In every ending, a beginning—
A seed beneath winter's snow,
Waiting for the warmth of spring.
The melancholy of passing
Carries the hope of becoming.
Floating in flux,
Fragments carried on the winds of change,
Transforming, eternal.
Day 14 prompt: "Ghosts of Broughton"
Context: I adore abandoned places and one of my long term projects is about the boundaries between human spaces and nature. This was a fun one. I wrote it yesterday and planned to post it before dinner, but “Man Plans”, and God Laughs, I guess. I was quite literal with the prompt because yesterday was a monster of a day.
Ghosts of Broughton
I tread the silent paths where streets once lay,
Broughton's bones beneath a canopy of green.
The forest whispers secrets of the day
When life here thrived with all its hopeful schemes.
The mist rolls in from lakes of silver hue,
A shroud that wraps the remnants of the past.
I feel the miners' toil, the soldiers too,
Their shadows in the fog are vaguely cast.
Ambition built these walls of stone and brick,
Raised towers high to touch the passing clouds.
Yet time's embrace is firm, its fingers quick,
Now ivy climbs where once were bustling crowds.
The echoes of their voices ride the breeze,
A chorus of the lost, the left behind.
The leaves applaud with rustling of the trees,
As nature takes all with its hands entwined.
The ghosts of Broughton wander through the glade,
Their footsteps fade into the mossy ground.
In nature's court, all monuments will fade,
Yet in this fading, new beginnings found.
Saturday, September 14, 2024
Day 14 prompt: Ghosts of Broughton crumbling ruins
On yesterday‘s call, we talked about this prompt. Saying how I initially became extremely literal going into full details of the history/the mighty nature taking over.
Sleepless nights and a full day/today. short and sweet record playing of a memory.
C.L.A.S
Bitten Down Words
Annabella,
Sick of a lonely world full of vacant passing faces
missing her sweet Fyodor
Annie adored her vintage cast-iron fire stove
boiling down strawberries mixing in
tart rhubarb with a little sugar and some zesty lemon
jam
packing a pixie picnic
fresh from her garden
found walking comfort at dusk
cold breeze singing with her
following raindrop chirping birds
to the old forsaken coal mine
foggy rolling musk smelling her hair
Long walks through burned hopes
aspirations for a prospering future
rumbling ruins, deserted mossy graveyard
where she sat pondering existence
talking with her love Fyodor’s ghost
lost lovers dreaming
secret evenings numb viewing
void fearful forethought
Anna smiled happiness, now in her own playground
dancing Annabella with her forgotten whimsical ghosts
hopscotch twirling between pathetically invading baby spruce, weeds weeping around triumphant graves
Anna – Annabella was found in abandonment from her magnificently ruined Fyodor.
Day 12 The image of the lantern
Context I could not really think of any guidance themes so this is still super drafty mcdraft-face Ancestors
ancestral light my inner guide
during long dark nights
I feel my roots rhizomic shoots
to anchor me during fright
and yet not all that double helix
carries light within its rungs
strung between some of the rails
are chains of darkness's grip
and string of pain and grief and shame
A fragile ladder of despair
I am of your blood and your blood is mine
Yet I won’t continue that path of pain
I move beyond the string of darkest nights
and bring forth the strength of roots
I know my place and hold it tight
not follow you into the night
That night of pain so raw
I walk along the winding roots
Until a node I reach and kick
To test if rot is at its core
And suddenly forth bursts the light
So blindingly and bright
I have now walked beyond
Beyond the blood and blight
Bring forth bring forth the light
Still struggling to keep up at the moment
Day 14 The Old Graveyard Prompt
Context There was a Scottish Minister Robert Kirk who wrote a compendium (name the same as the title of my poem) about fairies, like a naturalist would classify animal or plant species. He was known for conversing with the folk and his empty grave as he is told to have gone to Fairy Land upon his death, is found in the old graveyard behind his former kirk. The Fairy Hill rises behind and when you walk up you can see all the presents given to the fairies, ribbons and trinkets, unfortunately people used so many plastic trinkets and ribbons the rangers had to clear them to protect local wildlife.
## The Secret Common-Wealth
Stumps of stone-teeth
A collection of askew memories
The only living beings
Historians and genealogist
Generations grow and die
Chewing time as centuries go by
Whistling a melancholic song Through its tooth gapped mouth
And here it is—a granite box
The only visitor a night-time fox
They say his body disappeared
Away! Away with the fairies
The wooded hill rising behind
the trees encased in ribbons bright
He knew the fair folk behind his kirk
Went through the curtain—leaving his work
Prompt 5. I misunderstood the prompt and thought I just had to write a Acrostic poem. It wasn't until I read it again that I noted the word was predetermined...so here is my original word. I may come back and write one for the actual prompt!
Radiant color from above
A reprieve from drizzle and the dark.
Iridescent beams across the sky.
No shadow of gloom can remain.
Bringing Joy after a long hard rain.
Only staying a short while.
When I find I need a sign that all is going to be fine your colors paint the scene.
I dont like the last word and could use help there in addition to general help.
Prompt 4 love transformed a difficult situation
(no title...I could use help with that)
For most of my life I have felt quite solitary and alone.
The sound of laughter of others to my ears, the wind had blown
A hand extended, kind words, and invitation to play
A bit of sunshine on a life otherwise gray
A sad child feeling alone, a simple gesture shown, friendship known.
Prompt 3 the abandoned house prompt
4 walls
Built with strong hands.
Realization of dreams, wishes, and hope..
Our very own piece of land.
Can you see the girls out front, jumping rope?
Our home; three kids, two dogs, a husband and a wife
We painted the bedroom my favorite shade of blue.
Parties, bedtime stories, homework, laughter; so full of life.
The kitchen smells of Dad's world-famous stew.
The children all grown, flown away and gone
There. Is life still here but the fire in the hearth starts to dim and grow cold.
Just him and each day as we greet the dawn
.In the blink of an eye all once shiny and new is old.
No family here anymore; Left alone
Peeling paint, broken windows, and weeds where the flowers once were grown.
Prompt 2 the picture of the tree.
Lone Tree
I never knew my mother well—only her love, all I know,
A fleeting memory of effort and a past long laid low.
My siblings and I were scattered, drifting with the breeze,
Not all of us survived the journey; some chose roots, some a life of ease. Some clung together tightly, forming close-knit groups with grace,
Some found solace in the city, others in a suburban place.
I chose solitude, alone with soil and sky to call my own,
I grew strong in isolation, where the seeds of life were sown. In spring's warm embrace, I wore a frock of white so bright,
Little specks would dance upon the breeze as day turned into night.
As summer’s heat bore down, I shed my dress with ease,
And basked beneath the sun, relishing the warmth, the gentle breeze. Autumn came with crispness, draping me in fiery hue,
A formal gown of vibrant red, though heavy, felt so new.
I shed a few layers, feeling lighter, in this changing light,
Friends would visit, seeking rest, enjoying the cooling night. When winter’s chill arrived, I wrapped myself in snowy white,
A heavy blanket cocooned me, sheltering through the night.
The wind may howl, but I am deep in sleep's embrace.
But in dreams, a song would find me, bringing warmth to this place.
I did use some AI to help me polish this one. I am not sure how this group feels about that. Just like in my photography I don't mind AI to fix a flaw or pretty things up as long as the bones and the flesh are mine. (Sorry for the graphic analogy! )
I've been working on poems when I can steal a few minutes away. Please forgive that they are not in sync with today's prompts and that you will be getting them in bursts.
Day 1:
Start
No need to rush
pick up the brush
first attempt the hardest part
in good time you'll create good art!!
Day 15 (technically, it is after midnight)
Prompt: (that I made for myself really) Rewrite an old poem, or reinterpret an old piece of art you’ve created. If you don’t have something - find a story/poem and create your own poetic retelling.
Context: As I mentioned over in the chat / lounge thread I recently dug up (and by that I mean removed them from a drawer they've been in for a long long time) some old notebooks and poetry. A couple of them I remembered, some I had no recollection of... but a few I felt like maybe it would be interesting experiment to revisit the idea or even some lines all these years later. Not sure if I am ready to share 15 year old me's poetry yet, so for now, just the rewritten one 🙃 I haven't figured out a new title for it yet, and I don't think I love the original - so for now...it'll be untitled.
Poem:
Be wary of where they guide you,
Sky clear, so full of light,
But follow them too far,
You’ll get lost within the night.
Lost now when you call for them,
Twinkling no longer within your sight.
They’ve vanished into miasmic mist,
And so, you’ll get lost within the night.
Day no longer seems to break,
The stars don’t shine so bright,
Be wary of where they guide you,
I fear you'll get lost within the night.