City of Lights

Image Source: Patheos.com

Pity the fool who dances on the corner

His moves badangling, a goofy surprise

A jelly legged man called a porter

Disguised in a black suit and shiny cap.

Braggarts in the kitchen's closet

Smacking sticks and taking names.

Pity the fool who dances on the corner

His exploits wrangling, a roofy arise

A mad hatter and colorful suitor

Rambling in curses upon a sap.

This is in response to the Midweek Motif over at Poet's United.

Singing Stones

Image Source: Redwoodstone.com

Crumbling mortar and graying bricks

Tumbling down, tumbling down

Covering blighter and singing cricks

Tumbling down, tumbling down

Varying weather and dusting nicks

Tumbling down, tumbling down

Wherefore lingers thy darling

Her moans and screams 

Wherefore augers thy failing

O'er loams it seems

Tumbling down, tumbling down

Tumbling down, tumbling down  

In response to Hedgewitch's Folly Challenge over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. 

Memoir Of A Nerd

Image Contributor: Dorkdaddy

I hold a rusty and metallic compass in my hands

It's pointer points towards my heart's every desire

Perhaps a dusty tome upon a miniature library 

Or maybe even a bag of dice to roll upon the table.

The bandwidth resonates in singular bands

Rebounding in the temporal right side fire

Sparks igniting with dragon's breath hereditary

To those who create worlds within a fable.

Life outside these four walls glimmer in enlightenment

Crowds of humans herding together simultaneously

Mingling like the paper mache split into confetti

To dance within the spiraling winds of tragedy.

With my rusty compass I'll navigate this settlement

A maze full of twists and turns built so beautifully

Like the master behind the screen of no money

Waving cautionary flags with great uncertainty.

Empty Promises

Emptiness (Soman Patnaik @ Pencil Jammers)

When the pinging reverberates through the bone

It is like sonar searching for a better signal,

But when the reflections bounce against the wind

There is only empty distance between us.

I question the inevitability of this reaction in you,

And what I see with my mind's eye is irrefutable.

The stones weigh heavy upon my open cavities,

It feels like drowning as I gasp for a single breath.

Temptations covered in reddened down pillows,

Whose feathers fly high in the air, north and south.

Who could doubt what was floating on those clouds,

Surely a giantess caressing the snakes with venom.

One less stone to skip across this stilling pond,

One less red canyon to leap over at night.

For the pinging in my bones is quite clear,

For I yearn no longer in your summer meadow. 

   

The Gathering

The World (Impronta Unika)

All around they will come

From distant islands and seas,

Over mountains of shrouded stone,

And misty clouds from above.

Send them a melodious white dove,

Tell them as they roam, 

From within the whisking breeze,

The gathering of time sung.

Baffling and raffling they run

A day which they'll seize

Over the green lands loam

Full of glee and love.

Full of glee and love

Over the green lands loam

A day which they'll seize

Baffling and raffling they run.

All around they will come

From distant islands and seas,

Over mountains of shrouded stone,

And misty clouds from above.

Author's Note: 

This poem is intended to be sung. I'm testing out a new structure that blends syllables of lines and repetition. Hopefully it works out.  

The Pretender

Misterwives' song "Vagabond" truly grasped me surprisingly one day, and ever since I've been listening to this song on loop. It seems to speak so much to me in so many different ways. In fact, it inspired me to write this poem that reflects my own personal struggles. I hope that this song and poem helps you embrace the clarity that it provided me. It really is a blessing to have a good sense of music, and have something that can inspire someone to do better.

The sun rises high with nowhere to go

Voices swarming the inside of your head

Telling you to run

Telling you to go go go

This place is a desert void of stars

Sparkling moments of a single night

Brazen by the silver specks of light.

Capturing the wind in your hair

Voices swarming inside your head

Telling you to run

Telling you to go go go

To a place of solitary ocean breezes

Swimming among the foamy waves

Grasping the dolphin's fin like aero-planes.

You're pretending to not feel alone

You're running from the past

And low hold the night's mist

Covering your face in the twilight

Up and down your insides overwhelmingly go

Telling you to go go go

A vagabond among the winds of change.

Running so far away from your hometown

Throwing those pages into the walls

Through cracks of cement locked tight

Trying to forget, but can't seem to let go.

Memories like a hurricane rushing through

And paralyzes you in a window still pain

Building castles around your suffering.

The sun rises high with nowhere to go

Voices swarming the inside of your head

Telling you to run

Telling you to go go go

This place is a desert void of stars

Sparkling moments of a single night

Brazen by the silver specks of light.

Shake those demons off and rise up up up

Capture the light of the moon in silver streams

Instead of running down down down

And feeling low low low

You're a vagabond searching for a dream

Every day a struggling uphill battle

Against the winds softening your skin.

Gently He Weeps

"Crescent Moon" Image from PixShark

Little boy blue once beckoned the moon,

Calling out like a wolf in the night,

Yet no call echoed back to him.

So he sat there in silence,

Cold and downtrodden,

Waiting for his time.

My dearest boy,

Why must you cry so?

Do not weep for me alone.

Do not worry yourself to death.

For I'm your matron mother in the sky,

And I will always lift you up from the ground.

When Does A Heartbeat Stop Beating?

I've been experimenting with beats and rhythm within a poem, and this is the results that I have gathered. This isn't just a poem that you simply read through in one brisk look. You need to actually understand how the poem must be read. So I challenge you to read this poem to the rhythm of your heartbeat, and then read it to a song (doesn't matter what song), and then read it any way you desire. What kind of experience to you receive?

Time keeps tumbling

Tumbling

Tumbling

Time keeps tumbling

down.

Time keeps running

Running

Running

Time keeps running

around.

I drop to the ground

Ground

Ground

I drop to the ground.

Until I have found

Found

Found

Until I have found

my breath.

Any Final Words?

"Spilled Coffee" from WordPress

Nearing the edge of the page

My ink quill threatens to flee

My mind cringes at the sight

My hair stands upside down.

Do I dare to write the final word?

Is it really something worth sharing?

Perhaps a mug of coffee will tell,

Or perhaps it may not.

A drip of caffeine falls from my lip

Splattering on the page in slow motion

My heart beats faster and faster

Not my masterpiece! Not now!

I shouldn't have taken any chances

I should have written that last word

Now time will never know what it was

Now there is a dried up stain on the page.

Nearing the edge of sanity now

The ink blotches the page now

It's skewed into a magnificent oblivion

Now, I need time to think.

Why didn't I write that final word?

Is it really up to destiny to determine?

Perhaps there is enlightenment to all of this,

Or perhaps there was not.

Writer's Note: Please don't forget to check out my new flash fiction website, Edge of the Page. It is sure to surprise you with some magnificent fantasy pieces. 

Wonderful Writing Wednesday #1: The Photographer

So I've decided that I'm going to be posting one poem a week on Wednesdays. I'm calling this project Wonderful Writing Wednesday. It should allow me to share my poetic insights with all my fellow bloggers, readers, and poetic justice friends. As I said before, a daily poetry blog is too hard on my membrane and I can't handle the stress of the lave flowing through my ears like vents. So, here it is everyone! My first post to the Wonderful Writing Wednesday Project. 

"Child's Eyes" / Image found at Expect Adventure (Wordpress)

Collecting the thoughts like photos in a shoe box

I create a collage from their scenes like a cinematographer

Counting the flashes of the lens with each click

Black and white or antique sepia swirls coalesced

Into one image whose pixels create an imaginary dream.

I dream of living upon the cloud beds like a child

Whose eyes gleam with adventure and mystique.

I dream of seeing through another's eyes for one moment

Just to better understand how a human mind works.

I dream to dream the impossible and improbable.

My camera is a Polaroid pipe dream ready to snap

Hundreds of sights all into one collective shoe box

Covered in hairballs upon a dusty shelf, hard to reach.

The mind's eye sees more light than a camera flare

And that is something to be proud of as a child.  

Among The Wilds of Glee

"Beautiful Forest Elf" by Jeans Design (Photobucket)

Ayalla smelled the hubris of a yellow and white flower

It is a daisy among the golden meadow in which she laid.

Aya often mingled with the forest and smiled like the sun.

She would frolick among the chipmunks and conifers,

Go eloping with the red fern deer and strawberry fields.

Her elven ears perked up at the silence

She heard the river's soothing song

She heard the birds of paradise sing

She heard the echoes of the living trees.

Tweet tweet, tweet tweet

Ayalla hummed to herself an elegant little tune:

Hmm hm Hmmm Hmm Hm

She could lay here in the wilds for all eternity

And make her home among the stars at night.

Dancing around a pyre of azure and emerald flames,

Magically lit as to not burn her forest to cinders.

Aya loved the forest with all her heart,

And one day she became that forest she loved dearly.

She became known as Gaia, or Mother Earth

And she still hums her beautiful tune

If one would stop a minute in silence

Just to delve into the feywilds' splendor.  

Astrological Crabs

It grows rapidly within me.

Each day passing is a struggle.

In between the spaces of my voice

Lies a sore soul willing to speak

Not of sorrows and hard times

But of enlightenment and truth.

Eye Wonder

"Hand Eye Coordination" by Liam York (Wikimedia)

Eye wonder where all the colors go

when the iris turns shades of gray

into the pupils solid black circle.

Eye wonder where dogs see images

in x-rays or in blots and spots,

or a canine peering through the layers.

Eye wonder if the walls are empty

where the cornea meets the veins

stimulating the nerves of I.

Eye wonder about a lot of things,

and sometimes there are few in between,

but I can see a lot though I'm blind.  

Post script: I was playing around with repetition for effect, and fused it together with a little play on words theme. "Eye" wonder if my fellow readers would like to try out this style. It is a nice little challenge, and I know a few of you would enjoy it. If you do try it out could you please link your version of this poetic style back to me so that I may read it. I'd love to see what you guys and gals come up with. 

Through The River of Time

"Flowing River" by Sigmar32 (Deviant Art)

Time spins around this world rapidly and slow;

A perfect mixture in the bowl,

That creates realities and memories, good or bad.

It is the ebb of the soul:

Dark light;

That shines our destined path bright.

Nothing sad,

Can eat our time away.

Not when time spins with even flow,

Like a river in May.

This poem was written in response to Kerry's Flash 55 PLUS challenge over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.

Broken Chair

"Broken Chair" Image from SnipView

Emblazoned with a neutral coloration,

Brown as a baby grizzly bear;

Covered in dust and broken bones.

It once sat upon the greatest floor

Proud as a king's golden throne,

But alas it collapsed with time;

Beatle bugs eating it's laquer alive.

Termites embedding into their hive

Looking for sustenance and a home.

Taking Down The Giant

Against all odds the Patriots fought hard against their competitor the Seahawks. Just when all hope was lost, one player stood out from the crowd, and made an interception at the goal line stand that surely would have sealed the game if he hadn't. Butler is the MVP for this Super Bowl XLIX in my opinion because without that interception the Patriots wouldn't have won this game. All the players worked hard for this glory, but this just shows that it was a fight till the bitter end. 

"Super Bowl XLIX" Image from Forbes

Determination is the key to the kingdom

For when one man falls so does the other

Like dominoes they will tumble to the grave

And there is no angel who can save them

Except for those men next to them called brother

Because in the heat of battle there is a knave

Who will stand out among the shouting crowd

Standing taller than a giant, fearsome and proud.

Bravery withstands even the greatest fathom

For this is a game of wits and toughened ardor

A game men play upon that coliseum and stave

Off against the titans of Olympus for freedom

Yelling and charging, clashing of steely grandeur

Against all odds they fought upon that border

Sweat and blood all over their faces and shroud

For this is the day their victory shined out loud.

Author Note: A tribute to the Patriots for winning their fourth Superbowl in 14 seasons. 

Storm Dancer

"Dancing in the Rain" by helloXD123

The maple boardwalk brazened below my feet

It's surface slippery when wet, sliding

Through the little spaces and cracks

Dancing in the sun and cloudy sky

As lightning drizzles its static upon me

Frizzy hair and dry whispers in the wind:

“Little dancer of the woods doth sing.”

Every day is an adventure full of excitement.

What adventures will you take in the rains of February's calling to spring?

Kenn's How To Write Poems: Session One - Sonnets

Image via Shutterstock

Hello my fellow bloggers and poetry enthusiasts, and welcome to my first How To Write Poems session. During these "How To" sessions I will be revealing some secrets that I use to write certain forms of poems. For this session I will be revealing the secrets to writing a sonnet.

Before we go into the details I'm going to delve into some of the history of the sonnet. A sonnet is a poetic form that originated in Italy where Giacomo Da Lentini was credited for its creation. The term sonnet derives from the Italian word "sonneto" which roughly translates to "little poem." As early as the 13th century the sonnet was traditionally written in fourteen lines that followed a strict rhyme scheme. Those who write sonnets professionally were known as "sonneteers." Commonly known as the Italian sonnet, it is also known as a Petrarchan sonnet. 

Traditionally the Petrarchan sonnet included two major parts: a proposition followed by a resolution. This traditional style was written in a strict measurement. The proposition consisted of an octave (two quatrains) which described the problem, and then it was followed by a sestet (two tercets) which proposed the resolution. 

Image from An Unrestrained Engagement of Literature

Here is an example of a traditional Petrarchan sonnet written by Lentini called "A Vision."

A Vision

A Vision gives me a light step, 

A glorious Vision multiplies my hopes, 

A Vision never stops caressing -

A vision marvellous excites my thoughts.

A Vision of that lady, who is raying light, 

In lips she sets the laugh confusing, 

A Vision, that is rumoured all around: 

That no one could be compared, surely

Who'd seen such magic eyes in their vision, 

In them you'll see the burning love, 

And laugh so sweet from lips, that rises feeling? 

I'm speaking with her- I'm close to die.

I think that this is to Edem ascension

And feel myself the best of lovers ever.

The rhyme scheme for a sonnet usually follows like so, with each letter representing the last word of the line: abba, abba, cde, cde. Other representations were created later on such as: abba, abba, cdcd, cdcd. 

Here is a poem written by John Milton called "On His Blindness," that uses the traditional rhyme scheme.

When I consider how my light is spent (a)

 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, (b)

 And that one talent which is death to hide, (b)

 Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent (a)

To serve therewith my Maker, and present (a)

 My true account, lest he returning chide; (b)

 "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" (b)

 I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent (a)

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need (c)

 Either man's work or his own gifts; who best (d)

 Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state (e)

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed (c)

 And post o'er land and ocean without rest; (d)

 They also serve who only stand and wait." (e)

Today a lot of modern poets write sonnets in a similar style as their predecessors, and the content of these sonnets usually relate to the themes of love or some kind of humanity movement. I personally prefer to use the sonnet to describe some sort of passion, or to relate some kind of philosophy about love. Much like what Shakespeare did with his sonnets. 

Image from UDL Editions by CAST

Now that you've come to better understand how a sonnet is written, let us proceed with my secrets to successfully writing a sonnet. 

Step One: Contemplate your deepest desires and emotions, and let them flow openly.

Step Two: Write down any particular words, ideas or conceptions that come to your mind.

Step Three: Come up with a theme for the sonnet you wish to write. Do not stray from this theme. 

Step Four: Begin writing your sonnet using the rhyme scheme as a guide. Don't worry if you erase anything along the way. Your writing should come out willingly. 

Step Five: Cross reference your draft with another sonnet. This helps you check for subtle changes.

Step Six: Rewrite the sonnet if need be, as many times as it takes, until you feel the poem is complete.

I recommend this guide to those who are new to writing in this form. Later on you might not need this guide anymore, and you may as well created your own task measures. The beautiful thing about poetry is that it is personal to the writer, and that it progressively gets easier the more you write it. Practice certainly does make perfect. Also, keep in mind that there is no right or wrong way to write a poem. It is completely up to personal preference. Modifying a traditional style to your own means you understand the form, and you are ready to create your own personal form of said style. 

I hope all of this was an eye opener for you all. If you have any questions for me personally, or about sonnets in general, then please feel free to leave your questions in the comments below. I will gladly help in any way that I can. Also, if there are any poetic tips you'd like me to address, please submit them in the comments. 

Take care my "sonneteers!" 

Epoch

"Pioneers of Space" Photo thanks to NASA

This is the era in which we strive for greatness

The golden age of galactic travel and meta-humans

A period in which the world crumbles for the better

As time passes by in this evolutionary stage

Where the human spans outward into deep space

This is the eon where generations of the past tremble.

This is a "synonymous poem" that I've just made up and created. The key to writing a synonymous poem is finding a word you want to depict, and using synonyms of that word within the poem. Kind of curious if this will become a new type of poem that people will use. I think it is really fun to write, and I think fellow poets will too. For this one I chose the word "epoch" and used the following synonyms: era, age, period, stage, span, and eon. 

Lavandula

"Single lavendar flower02". Licensed under GFDL 1.2 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Single_lavendar_flower02.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Single_lavendar_flower02.jpg

A Magi of the Canary traveled to Verde

On a quest for milk of the violet mint;

A precious gem native to the Old World.

It is said to be the alchemist's holy grail,

An herb with mystical healing properties

Of the brain and the deprived senses.

The Magi traveled over briny seas

Over temperate mountains,

And through many lands unknown.

He couldn't find this milky whey

No matter which direction he swayed

Until he collapsed upon a bed of flowery.

Nearly asleep a smell enlightened his sight

Opening his mind with a steady calm,

As a shade of blue fell upon his mire.

“Lavandula, my precious desire

I've found you at last.”

This poem was written as a response to Hannah's challenge, Nature's Wonder, over at the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Lavender seems like the type of flower that gives off loving pheromones that make one desirable, kind of like a perfume.