A Metaphor Poem

 A Metaphor Poem

I don’t do metaphor very well any more.

Too many years of haiku and ‘small stones’

focused on the present and immediate.

I could tell you this poem is a dark orchid,

arising pure and bright from the wilderness 

that is me. I could tell you it’s a fire brick

able to contain my inner heat – how macabre!

Could you decipher from that the wonder 

you seek in a poem, the honeydew sweetness?

Can the quaver in its voice be an innuendo

too intimate to subdue? Is the poem tragic,

a wounded heart? Or an old song unforgotten?

No, let’s be down-to-earth, while I try to make 

this poem a tough weed you can’t eradicate …

or the music of a sea shell: lingering, nostalgic.

But I don’t do metaphor much any more.

This poem is a clown with a silly face, which you

won’t think is funny; you might even recoil.

Poetic Asides prompt 8 for April Poem A Day: write a metaphor poem.

These words came from the skyloverpoetry list: dark orchid, wilderness, fire brick, macabre, decipher, wonder, honeydew, quaver, innuendo, intimate, subdue, tragic, sea shell, nostalgic.

Sharing with Writers' Pantry #76 at Poets and Storytellers United.

An Activ(ist) Poem

 An Activ(ist) Poem

This poem wants to leap and shout,

startling you with its vigour,

its rebellious fervour emblazoned

hot pink against the prevailing grey.

It wants to rush up like a sudden flame

piercing the night – or the silencing white,

the dirty, dull white of an overcast day.

This poem wants to burn bright and fierce.

This poem wants to wrap its arms 

gloriously around you, yodelling its joy.

It wants to dance with you, spin you,

run up walls and ceilings like Fred Astaire.

It wants to twirl you around and around

so that when you emerge, giddy,

you see the world in a brand new way –

to spin you so dizzy you fall in love.

This poem wants to break you open

and put you back together different,

your eyes gazing wider, your heart

strong with passion, your hands working.

This poem wants to dig itself

into the dirt, to spread like tree roots

underground, through the whole earth ...

this poem wants to heal the earth.

This poem is a cry, a fist-pump,

a rush, a stampede. This poem 

is charging into the future, praying 

that we have one, and acting as if.

Poetic Asides prompt, day 4: An active poem.

Words from skyloverpoetry: emblazon, hot pink.

Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United via Weekly Scribblings #66: All About April – because this poem was written for the April prompts, and even more because of the verdict just announced in the case about the murder of George Floyd. I wanted to share something triumphant and looking to a positive future.

Conversations with My Body

 Conversations with My Body

She tries to communicate with me, and I hear her, but I don’t always know exactly how to respond. I don’t always understand the language. Lately she uses the language of pain. It’s loud but imprecise. ‘There’s a problem here,’ she yells, but I can't decipher exactly what it is. I have to get help with the translation. 

Sometimes even the translators can’t be sure. ‘Well it could be this, but on the other hand that particular expression can mean….’

Part of the trouble is that life is so busy. I do have a way of understanding – of sitting quietly, touching her, tuning in and listening; taking care of my side of the communication, which is to receive the message. I could do that, once. But now I am living the single life, doing everything myself: in attending to so much, I pay too little attention. The quiet times of listening deeply have slipped away unnoticed. I’ve brushed her off! I see it now. I’ve ignored her intimate whispers until she has had to resort to this repeated refrain of desperate shouts. 

How could I so subdue my awareness? Travel so far from my self?

I stop

and lift a sea shell

to my ear

Poetic Asides prompt #3 : A communication poem. 

Words from the skyloverpoetry list: intimate, refrain, subdue, sea shell.

Linking to Writers' Pantry #69 at Poets and Storytellers United, on 8 May 2021.

How It All Turns Out

April Poem A Day Challenge, day 2:  
What does the future hold? Make the answer the title of your poem.

 

How It All Turns Out

The future holds the final answer,

the one we’ve all been waiting for,

the one that tells us How It All Turns Out. 

Will we really get our happy ever after,

saving the planet at last, then living in peace

in a richly productive, clean environment,

and not killing off all the other species

of living things – or even each other?

Or is it to be the mixture as before, going on 

ad infinitum? Or at least until the end 

of the horror movie, when we’re all dead?

We’ll all be dead anyway, of course.

Even if we could brew an Elixir of Immortality,

the place would get so damn crowded 

we’d have to find a way to do a cull.

Well, actually, it already is overrun

by us; getting quite out of hand. Increasingly,

our numbers strain the planet at the seams.

How will it all turn out? No need to wonder.

The planet will take care of it. Earth won’t die 

(pending of course the meteor, or the fading sun) 

but she will sort us out, as she has others.

(From skyloverpoetry wordlist: wonder.)

I am ...

I am Rosemary: pensive yet pungent.

I am ardent poet / sacramental healer /curious witch

lover of cats, trees and the ocean.

I am 81

and not out

yet. 

A cherita for Day One of April Poetry Month, using both the Poetic Asides prompts and Kerry O'Connor's word list @skyloverpoetry on Instagram. (A cherita is traditionally untitled, but I like to use first line or part thereof to identify my untitled poems.)

Prompt: An introduction poem.

Words: pensive, pungent, ardent, sacrament, curious.

Linking to poets and Storytellers United: Writers' Pantry #65. (Apologies to those who have seen this already on Instagram / facebook.)