Jane Dougherty's Blog, page 8

National poetry month day 20

Please visit Paul Brookes’ blog to see the artwork and read the poetry it inspired.

Ravages

Wind blows west to east,
ocean to mountains,
rippling the waves of the air
with the steady beat
of the ray’s kite wings,

and we in-between, watch helplessly,
as the wild plum trees in the hedge
clutch their white pearls,
arms reaching out
after their stolen treasure.

Perhaps

For today’s NaPoWriMo prompt.

Perhaps

When all is done and dusted
with the grey ash of pulverised concrete
and bone, settled in drifting dunes of death,

and the blue planet glows sickly
in the dispassionate darkness of space,
they will look from afar and turn away.

Later, long, long times, later,
when the tiny sparks of green,
cradled in pockets of earth,

perhaps with a single worm,
a centipede or two,
begin to spread,

or some bivalve in the deep
sandy mud beneath a tideless ocean,
heaves in then out and in again,

the cycles slowly turning again, with tiny
imperceptible breaths, to heal the wound,
graft the carbonised skin with balm,

they may look a second time,
look closer, probe and delve
and sift the ash to find the bones,

then turn away once more and forever,
leaving the blue planet to limp around its sun
in peace, nurturing the green of hope.

Singing

Singing

How beautiful is a day dawning,
the way the soft grey tones
colour imperceptibly,

brimming with the golden greens of birdsong,
the blue shiver of new leaves,
and the salt tang of pink-blushing sky.

Birds fly, skim, swoop
with the whoop of uncaged children,
racing the sun-pouring,

the thick yellowness of it, swilling the meadows,
the waiting trees, with the colour,
the taste, the heady scent of spring light.

National poetry month day 19

All of the poetry and the artwork can be found on Paul Brookes’ blog here.

Not quinqueremes but

from Nineveh perhaps, cloud-sailed, these barques come,
sumptuously cushioned, laden with luxuries,
gold, frankincense, myrrh-
water glitters,
gold,
silver.

Sumptuously cushioned, laden with luxuries,
they dream-sail,
bathed in
cool
moonlight,

gold, frankincense, myrrh
in cedar-
wood
chests.

Water glitters,
moon
fragments,

gold
and

silver.

Terror nostalgia

For the NaPoWriMo prompt.

Terror nostalgia

Long ago, night sleeps were deep caverns,
shadow-filled, and silhouettes shifted
before the pale light of the stars.

Long ago, the shadows swarmed
with unspeakable things, limbed and toothed,
their faces a blur of terror.

There was night-silence, long ago,
the pad of wolves made no sound,
but the air sang with wet, clammy vibrations of fear.

I would rather the long ago, with its glittering eyes
that sometimes grinned in complicity
before melting away into another dream,

to these paper dreams, rustling with ominous words,
implacable voices that mouth menaces, all too real,
that no morning light will dissipate.

My house

For the dverse prompt.

My house

has thick stone walls and few windows,
an unnecessary luxury for poor folk,
leaving before dawn, out until night,
shutters close tight as barred doors.

An unnecessary luxury for poor folk
is a view of the day sky, and at night,
the stars are a distraction,

leaving before dawn, out until night,
when they glitter-dance
to an empty theatre.

Shutters close tight as barred doors,
to keep out the wild reminders,
that life should sing loud and high.

April and birthdays

It’s Colleen Chesebro’s birthday today, and it’s my granddaughter’s second birthday tomorrow, though we celebrated it on Sunday. For her Tanka Tuesday challenge, Colleen asked for a 65 syllable poem in honour of the occasion. So here’s one. Happy birthday, Colleen!

April and birthdays

An April birthday, sunlight-streaming, all blue and gold
with cloud-scudding in a crisp breeze,
ruffling buttercups,
their yellow
faces
sun-
filled

with cloud-scudding. In a crisp breeze,
hawks bate and wheel, wild
and cloud-high,
banking
the
wind,

ruffling buttercups
with their low
skimming
wing-
swoop.

National poetry month day 18

The artwork and poetry is all on Paul Brookes’ blog here.

Shadows

You, me and the shadows,
the background backlit,
never still, never dark,

bright sun makes them deeper,
sharpens their edges
with the cruellest words,

never still, never dark,
never light, the twilit zone
between you and me.

Some families

I did a couple of these abecedarian poems for Paul Brookes’ chosen form challenge, and can’t say I much enjoyed the experience. Since it’s the NaPoWriMo prompt today, I decided to give the form a second chance. Not serious, but it was a bit of fun.

Some families

Arsenic is an ugly word,
brings back unpleasant memories of the
cold slab, the mortuary, remember, when you…? So,
dear, don’t use it
for pity’s sake,
grandma could have a turn, her
heart can’t take ugliness any more.
I joke not. And you
know, all those
lies you keep telling, your fake
memories of being locked in the cellar,
not true, of course, but
put yourself in her place,
question the effect of
relating such
stories. They’re
unkind and hurtful,
very upsetting for someone
who only wanted the best for her only
XY grandchild, so please, dear,
zip it.

What we need is

For the dverse prompt.

What we need is

not a musical-chairs change,
a camaraderie of raised fists
until divisions fragment the euphoria,

but a revolutionary cycle,
day to night and back,
remembering how we knew the seasons,

birth, death, bird to egg to bird,
simple as sunrise, sunset,
love and tides rolling.