In Honour of Botticelli

Love Poem

Pastor Portle       
gave a chortle,
tipped his hat
then sat -

and smiled

beguiled
by what he saw.

No flaw
of nature marred his view -
for - in front of him stood you,
in all your glory;
what better point to end my story?!
For Botticelli's Venus is
undoubtedly a perfect Ms.

A late 55 for G-man , as well as a second poem for # 28 of NaPoRiMo :)
I must apologise to Doctor FTSE, who coined the name 'Parson Portle', which I , in my stupidity, transcribed as 'Pastor Portle' - perhaps they were twins?! Hehehe!

Foggy Frog Daze

"Save The Frogs Day is the world's largest day of amphibian education and conservation action," IGWRT's announces. In searching for some poetic inspiration, I got no further than the word which sits at the top of my 'poem' for today...To any serious scientists who take umbrage, my heartfelt apologies!


Archaeobatrachia
most primitive of frogs,
tiny by comparison
(so Mr Wiki logs)
with other leaping creatures
in ponds or streams or bogs.

Then I read about the origin
of our more modern frogs,
who are called Neobatrachia.

At this point, my mind boggles - I shall hide me 'neath a log,
and hope my brain cells will emerge from this Anura* fog - soon...

(*) Posh name for frog.

Quick As A Blink

IGWRT's Fireblossom transforms us into totem animals for her challenge, but showing versus telling is the hardest thing to do - not sure I'll ever get the hang of it, to order, but I fancied feeling owlish today, so here goes...

Predator

Day dazzles me;
my senses twist
in search of night,
whose mysteries turn my head,
listening for your scuttlings...
Are you already fleeing
towards deeper darkness,
overwhelmed by my menace?
Does fear beat the air like wings
as I rise on its lift of excitement?
Hunger takes control
and the hunt is on...

Not Again!

Wouldn't you know it?

The second I put the shampoo on
somebody rings the bell!
I could wish that they were gone
straight to the gates of ...well,

somewhere else!


A detail from this week's Mag - a painting by Jamie Wyeth - for which inspiration, I thank him and Tess.

Friday Flash Fiction

The wind came, late last night. It blew against my window panes, making them creak.  Shrieking at me,  it told of spending fretful days, weeks, months,  battling invisible elements circling the Earth: of being born and dying many times over, in many guises: of being at the mercy of cosmic forces beyond control of science...

In 55 words, for G-Man

Boys Will Be Boys

Accusation and Explanation

"You did that!"

"No, I didn't!" the little boy replied.

"Yes you did, I saw you. Don't go away and hide
behind the cupboard in the hall - I saw you scribble on that wall!"

"But I was only 'tending my arms were air'plane wings,
and I was looping lots of loops, and other swoopy things.
An' then I seemed to notice I'd got crayons in each hand
an' squiggly lines had happened. None of it was planned
to end up on Mum's kitchen wall...I just don't understand!"


Theme Thursday's word 'Accusations' set me off on this flight of fancy! Hehehe! Sorry for the levity, folks...

Pen's Pen

I take my pen

in hand. No matter what the day

I take my pen,

those inner urges come again

to organise my thoughts to say,

"Whenever I feel need to play

I take my pen!"

 Over at IGWRT's, Marion nudged us to jump to it and compose a rondelet. How could I resist? Even though I already posted my # 16 NaPoRiMo!

IGWRT's Mini Challenge

This challenge is from hedgewitch, who says;-

Because Sunday is normally the day for our mini-forms challenge, I'd love to challenge people to write from any one of Sorolla's paintings, employing their favorite of the many short forms we've been exposed to here at the Garden over the months: haiku, slijo, senryu, nonet, sevenling, triolet, cinquin, or any of the many others Kerry and others have shared with us. This is purely optional!

Mother by Joaquin Sorolla

 

 

Radiance
wraps babe and mother;
love-light.

 

 

 

Lilac and Lavender

Early Lilac Blooms by Kim Nelson

Poem In Three Parts

Bouquet of flowers
enfolds me in soft embrace.
A meditation.

          ***

I breathe in scents of lilac and lavender,
light perfumes drifting in violet haze.

But dreams cluster round like fragile old ladies,
their shadow-ghost beings gentle relics of time,

while memories, frail as paper-thin tissue,
hover and whisper through the length of my days.

          ***

Maiden Aunt's
lavender and lace
disguises
a life lived
in quiet expectation,
minus surprises.

Her bouquet
speaks flower language
with no words.
Its beauty
engulfs both eyes and senses
in admiration.


Linked to Poets United, with thanks to Kim.

15 April 2013 I have found later edits of two of these, like so:-

Casualty of War

Her token
lavender and lace
disguises
a life lived
in quiet contemplation
of a secret admirer.

His bouquets
once used the language
of flowers
to show her,
by their bashful eloquence,
his love and admiration.

But the war
stole his life from him
and left her
with nothing
but memories, as fragile
and elusive as perfume...

Haiku

The perfumed posy

enfolds us in its embrace.

A meditation.

Birthday Boy

Kerry, at IGWRT's, has asked us to celebrate the month of April, Wordsworth's birth month, and she asked that we start our offering with some of his lines of poetry. Here goes!

To Wordsworth, April and Nature

"Come forth into the light of things,
let Nature be your teacher."

Use this chance to be her friend;

make haste to go and greet her!

Let’s celebrate the birthday month

of Mr Wordsworth, William,

and honour golden daffodils

that moved him - in their millions!

Nature in the raw can be

a harsh and cruel lady,

but April, dancing in with Spring,

is sunny, warm - though shady,

if cloud-held showers follow close

about her flowered gown

as she charms old Winter’s blues

with her golden crown.

Perhaps throughout the day, or later, I may come back to add some more verses... but no promises...

Challenging!

It has taken me until today to attempt Fireblossom's Saturday challenge of writing free verse, an aspect of poetry I have never studied.  I shall post it for IGWRT's Open Link Monday, instead, and pray for leniency from all who read. :-)

A Quiet War

Silence flails my ears,
beating my brain,
buffeting it with bullish bravado.

My senses need a shield
against his arrows of anger
as old wounds reopen
to bleed memories.

Love's life force ebbs
before a tide of antipathy
and swamps me with sadness
as history repeats
like a record stuck in a groove.

Work To Rule

Fireblossom is asking us to do just that today, over at IGWRTS, so how could I gainsay her? Pop over to read her rules and regulations for the game, and let the fun commence.
Here is my instant offering. 

To write a poem in this way
is certainly a change,
so other chores in line today
I'll have to re-arrange.

Stop,
take time to think!
Now
abandon kitchen sink!

Take pen and paper right away,
get your grey cells working.
Ignore those silly folk who say
you are only shirking!


I have taken my own advice, and this is my fist poem in reply, but I may be tempted to come back with more, later in the day! Thanks, Fireblossom. I like a challenge to start the morning...

And now here's mark 2, where I've only paid attention to the syllable count, not set rhythms or rhymes.

See, in the loneliest of times,
how solace may arrive
from many unexpected sources?
One need but welcome it...

Peace.
It's soft comfort
heals
all levels of being.

Descending softly as darkness
cooling a parched country,
it can give us true contentment
if we only allow.

Does this make it 'free verse' do you think, or only 'syllabic verse'?

Permission To Speak?

In sidewalks
of my secret mind
merciless
dreams entice,
seek your permission to speak,
to be understood.

My questions
flicker into life,
sweltering
in the heat
of simple disapproval
which you radiate.

Tangible
as a bulldozer.
this assaults
my feelings,
demolishes dignity
with biting silence.

And silence
clamps my every thought
and exacts
punishment
when no crimes were intended
from the very start...

Written for IGWRT's  Wednesday prompt..

A Little Madness Goes A Long Way

Phantasmagoric?
I am not euphoric
at finding this word
so absurd
when I say it,
display it
on a page...
Outrage
at its hard hitting
syllable-splitting
rhythm is what
is not
pleasing to my ear,
dear.
So pardon my straying
while saying
how I feel
for real?
"I hope laughter
will follow after
reading",
say I, pleading -
notwithstanding -
for understanding!

Written in a moment of madness after reading IGWRT's prompt today from Laurie Kolp.

Supremacy

From Google Images 
( photographer unknown)

Snow-silent,
high lord of Winter
dream-whispers
messages...
"I hold the key to Springtime;
I am still in charge."

Unyielding,
icicle fingers
grip the land,
hold hostage
impatient plants and flowers.
"You will pay me heed!"

"Acknowledge
my supremacy,
my power
and my right
to rule at this time of year.
The season is mine!"

He blusters,
until the warm air
from his lungs
brings downfall,
as its heat beckons the Spring
to approach his realm.

Then anger,
like melt-water, fades,
and a truce
is achieved,
while the Earth spins on its course
and balance returns...


Written for IGWRT 's Open Link Monday

All's Well That Ends Well

"Tingling!" of a bell summoned the maid
with her prim white apron, starched and staid,
as gown and bodice it overlayed.

"Open the window", the little girl said
"I need a breeze to cool my head
while I lie here in this rumpled bed."

" But what ails you, mistress mine,
on this day so fair and fine,
when all are greeting summertime?"

And she drew the curtains, swish and swish,
and opened the window, feeling churlish.
"What will such laziness accomplish?"

"For lazybones you are, I say!
You're no more sick than I this day;
let's get you up and out to play!"

And through the window beamed the Sun.
"Come follow me; we'll have some fun
You'll soon feel better, little one!"

His sunbeams danced across the floor.
"Well" said the maiden. "If you're sure.
I'll meet you soon, outside my door!"

Written for Mary over at IGWRT's

Christmas Pastiche

How could I resist the prompt from Kerry on Wednesday's IGWRT? With Christmas looming, I collected five card designs I'd created over the years, put them together in one 'frame', then played with various computer options until, of a sudden, appeared this almost-not-quite 'Greetings' word in festive season red...

The top third reminds me of bookshelves, with volumes arranged by colour, where you will be able to add all the new books Santa Claus will put in your stocking on the twenty fifth.
 
The centre section depicts two, clear weather patterns - ice and snow to the left, rain and mist to the right.  I apologise for ignoring the fact that some parts of the world revel in sunshine at this time of the year, but many of us in the Northern Hemisphere are only gifted with these wintery options!

And the lower, third part? Well, greetings card to the left, and mulled red wine to the right! What more can I say? Have a good one, folks!

The Last Day Of November

And another chance to practice our counting skills for Mr Knowitall, otherwise known as G-Man, who rations us to a mere 55 words on a Friday, as his way of making sure we Bloggers do not become overly verbose!
Fat chance!
However, fifty five he says, and fifty five I have written, after peering out of my window this morning for inspiration...

Frost on grass this bright morning signals Winter has arrived. A smile of sunshine greets his presence, but warns him to take his time, not to be too hasty with bitter winds, ice and snow.  For December has yet to take the lead and guide him towards the New Year, when the coldest months thrive.

All New Perspective?

An interior designer from Crewe
thought he had found something new
when his squiggles, in stripes,
made him squirm with delight,
until Santa crawled out of the flue!

Created for Tess at Mag 145, thanks to her image found here.

A Good Night For Wreckers

There was none of the usual crisp cleanliness about the moonlight. It entered the coast-guard's cottage in the way that warm breath becomes visible on a cold night; a presence which comes from nowhere, hovers in the air like phosphorescence for a moment before it disperses and lets the blackness rule...
Outside, rising winds chased clouds which raced from their grasp like naughty children evading bed time.  But there was no fun attached to their game.  Instead, a sense of foreboding was tangible in the air that night.

Thanks go to Tess and Andrew Wyeth for their inspiration at  Mag 144