The day begins fortissimo
with the sudden blare of the alarm
I stumble largo towards the kitchen
where the stemless quarter-note coffee beans
wait to be ground to staccatos
the coffee, once made
flows cantabile down my throat
and then I head to work
where allegro is punctuated
with intervals of prestissimo
in a harsh discord of C major bass
against an E flat minor treble
here’s hoping for an evening
of rallentando and diminuendo
as I head for the rubato of sleep
at dVerse, we’re using music as our muse. I decided to use a bunch of words that I still remember from piano lesson days
The air shrieks its way over the land like
some mythic beast in search of vengeance. She
bears her fangs, not in mere show, but to strike
and draw blood from whomever she might see
who dare to cross her path. No pity will
she show, for she has neither heart nor
ears to hear the cries of her victims. Ill
intent is all that she ever bears for
the living, for she herself has no life
but howls in a ceaseless, sentient death.
She would destroy all warmth with the sharp knife
of her icy, incompassionate breath.
“There’s no such thing as a ‘non-magical creature’, Santa. You’re much too old to keep on believing in such nonsense!”
“You keep saying that, Blitzen, but tell me this: where do the milk and cookies come from?”
“Magic, of course. They appear out of thin air…just like we reindeer can magically fly, the elves magically make toys, and you can magically show up to practically every point on the globe simultaneously…with us reindeers’ help, of course. You don’t need to leave toys behind in payment. The elves use much energy in magically creating those toys to be used in the Reindeer Games, but you keep squandering them in the foolish notion that you’ll stop getting your precious milk and cookies if you stop delivering toys to these figments of your imagination.”
“But what if you’re wrong? What if there is a world of non-magic out there? What if it is the very nature of cookies and milk that come from a non-magical world that actually sustains the universe of magic? Oh no, my dear Blitzen. It is much too risky to stop believing in good little boys and girls.”
on both my knees
from peddling way too fast
and beneath my nose
from snowmobiling sans experience
and from various other
accidents and incidents
over the years,
those scars that I wear
are a diary
that life has written
upon my skin
today is Quadrille day at dVerse. Write a poem of exactly 44 words (not including the title), and today, use the word “scar”. One of the quotes on the prompt page was “scars are tattoos with better stories”. That quote helped me form this poem.
Did you have plans
for your day after work?
Were you planning to go
to the bar for a drink with your friends?
Were you planning on playing
with your kids
before tucking them in for the night?
Were you planning on
a candle-lit dinner with
the woman you love?
Were you planning
on sitting quietly with a good book
or tackling a reno project
or maybe going bowling?
Did it even cross your mind
that all of your plans
might end today
with the accident
that took your life?
How do you like to go up in a fluctuation,
Up in the breath so blue?
Oh, I do think it the agreeablest thing
Ever a adolescent can do!
Up in the air and over the bar,
Till I can see so ample,
Rivers and forests and cattle and all
Over the environment—
Till I look down on the back yard green,
Down on the ceiling so brown—
Up in the air I go floating again,
Ascend in the air and down!
a second “cover” for my prompt at dVerse
. This time, I took The Swing
by Robert Louis Stevenson, and merely substituted synonyms in for a few key words (changes in italics
NaBloPoMo Day 30
I’m guest hosting over at the dVerse Poetry Pub today. I want my fellow poets to look into the idea of “covering” another poet’s poetry, in much the same way that a musician might cover a melody by another musician. Of course, there are going to be differences, as I can’t just copy the words of another poet and call it a cover. I must somehow make that poem, “my own”. Is it even possible for one poet to “cover” the work of another? I’m not really sure, but I want to give it a go, and I want to invite anyone else to give it a try too! In the end, our readers will have to be the judges of whether or not we were succesful🙂. Prompt goes live at 3pm central time (that’s 2pm if you live in Saskatchewan!)
Here, then, is my attempt at covering Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. The first stanza is entirely Shel’s words. It is in the second and third stanzas that I have “made this my own”. I have also added an extra 2 lines of length to the end
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind
Oh how I wish to leave where the smoke blows black
but this street merely winds and bends,
I’m stuck where the asphalt flowers grow
and I walk with a walk that is frantic, yet slow
I look for where the chalk-white arrows go
but can’t find where the sidewalk ends.
Yes, I wish that my walk were both measured and slow
and I could see where those chalk-arrows go
but I’ve lost my childhood, and so I don’t know
how to get where the sidewalk ends
oh I need a child to teach me again
to find the place where the sidewalk ends
NaBloPoMo Day 29