Posted tagged ‘flash 55’

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Depressed Poet, Winter Field

February 6, 2016

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Depressed Poet, Winter Field

Wraith stalks would loom
over the field
like widows’ weeds
if last year’s hay
were earth’s spouse, and “widows’ weeds”
did not mean rough cloth, but whatever stands up
in loss.

That none of these “ifs’ are true,
yet also are,
is what keeps someone shaped like me
walking this field,
this earth, this rebirth.

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55 words (plus title) for Kerry O’ Connor’s prompt on With Real Toads.  Kerry’s prompt talks of using words without direct translations–I wasn’t consciously thinking of that when writing this poem, but perhaps it sort of fits.  Sorry if I owe people comments–a very busy time, but will get to you. 

Pic is mine (as well, of course, as poem).  All rights reserved. k. 

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized
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Comments: 16 Comments

Field

January 3, 2016

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Field

The browns of the grasses brown
variously
as the peaches of the sky peach, in patches,
as if the morning had decided to mix it up
in order to help some Dutch landscape painter,
only this land more
the neverlands (like all land),
not outstretched to fit frames,
color schemes;
colder today,
fresh snow.

 

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A little 55 for Kerry’s prompt on Real Toads.  This one to my own photo of the beautiful Catskill Mountains, upstate New York. 

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Comments: 11 Comments

Quiet In-Out (55)

December 27, 2015

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Quiet In-Out

Just as there is a beat
in every moment, there is also
a rest,
nesting in breath’s breast–
It is where the beat goes too, at its best
(where what is blessed
is blessed).
Eyelids dome walls
as well as sky;
hum thrums–
a tuned whole plied.
There, lone has no meaning,
seemingly–

**********************************

A draft 55 for Margaret Bednar’s Play it Again, Sam on Real Toads–I am rather tired this time of year so resorted to one of the many wonderful 55 challenges, still held in honor of the wonderful G-Man, Galen Haynes. 

The pic is one I took in Ladakh, India, years ago, at a Buddhist shrine. 

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Comments: 5 Comments

Teeth Brushed by Leaves on the Way Out

December 5, 2015

Teeth Brushed by Leaves on the Way Out

I’d like to speak sometimes
in Tree–
pronouncing branches
that catch, when splintering,
in your limbs;

or Dawn,
my words, enlightened;
detailing, without wooden exposition,
those branches held
in a crux of you.

Other times (though too rarely)
I’d speak
in Listen,
the tenses of bark
muted by that past, that present, that sweet
imperfect.

 

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A draft flash 55-word poem for the marvelous Hedgewitch’s (Joy Ann Jones) prompt (based on the flash 55 meme by the inimitable G-Man) on With Real Toads.  Special bonus for a pairing.  Not sure this qualifies!  (Photo is mine–all rights reserved.) 

This is actually from a much longer poem written today, with other verses, but maybe better to keep this short version!  Hurrah for editing.  

Speaking of editing, I mistyped the title on first posting!  Agh! 

Categories: 55, poetry, Uncategorized
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Comments: 16 Comments

Not the Best Name For It, Maybe

October 31, 2015

 Not the Best Name For It, Maybe

My boohoo won’t
to a shirtfront press,
its ring-ding wringing of face
needing space
from pat flattening,
forced comfort.

Boohoo not the best name, maybe,
for what laments the same not being
the same–
you not being the you,
the true not being the true–
that voodoo of what we do
to one another.

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A drafty 55 for With Real Toads, hosted by the wonderful Kerry O’Connor.   Sorry for the long hiatus.  Going through a terribly challenging period at my job.  Photo (not sure it fits but like it) is mine.  Milkweed fluff on a frosted leaf.

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Comments: 16 Comments

Heart Poem

October 3, 2015

Heart Poem

The heart, a coast flooded,
a much bloodied border,
refuses the order
of what is.

Though it won’t let go
to receive (maybe),
though it lays low
so the flood might recede,
though it pleads with shifting sands,
all it knows of land
and sea,
it beats
with what must be,
with what must be.

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55 words for Real Toads, hosted by the wonderful Kerry O’Connor.  (Photo–of sky above Central Park, NYC–was taken by me.  All rights reserved.)  I have edited this slightly since first posting but kept to 55 words.

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Comments: 24 Comments

Trespassing Through

August 1, 2015

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Trespassing Through

Was just passing through
trespassing through
bypassing all
that might bind me

like your eyes that shone
but were no horizon
your encircling arms
a close boundary.

So I trespassed through
let go of you
now, there’s no one
cares to find me.

Oh, trespassing me
lost as can be
in a lone far country.

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55 words for Kerry O’Connor’s prompt on Real Toads to write something carrying on the wonderful tradition of the G-Man, with, in this case, an optional focus on trespass. 

This was a poem that had lots of throw-out verses–sometimes it is easy to get to 55, other times, not so much!  Have a great weekend–the pic which is highly cropped is mine.

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Comments: 16 Comments

Not-Yet-Missed Flight

June 7, 2015
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Me, with fellow flyers. Guess who’s who? (Ha!)

Not-Yet-Missed Flight

“The knack of flying is throwing yourself at the ground and missing.”
Douglas Adams

I’ve long proved capable
of missing much–
deadlines, typos, you,
a last best chance,
the writing-on-the-wall dance–that diagram
of there
to somewhere
that didn’t look like here–

Yet, here
is where I am,
with only my feet (maybe)
scraping ground, my head increasingly shy
of six feet above–
Could be worse.

**********************

Another 55 for Kerry O’Connor’s prompt on Real Toads to write a 55 word poem, using a quote from “Brainy Quotes.” 

PS  – I think I was about 5’6″ and a half or so at max;  not sure now!  Pic is mine, all rights reserved. 

Categories: elephants, poetry
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Comments: 12 Comments

Koan of Sorts (At Least Rhymes With)

May 2, 2015

Koan of Sorts (At Least Rhymes With)
                 “And the sound of one hand clapping is cl–”
Paraphrase of Terry Pratchett from Thief of Time.

 

Sage: the cup you drink is already broken.

Modern-Age: So, get me a new cup.

The new too
is already broken.

What?!!  I’ll sue!

But it’s a metaphor.  As well as–

Teach ‘em to sell me broken cups!

–a truth.

The truth?  I’d as soon
have a plastic bottle, something to just
throw away.

Groan.

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Kerry O’Connor on Real Toads asks us to write a Zen poem in 55 words.  This poem (not including the introductory material) is 55 words, and incorporates my favorite Zen saying (about impermanence) that says the cup you are drinking from is already broken.  Watercolor is mine–not fully suited, but I’ve always liked that little dog.  I’ve also posted a more poetic (if possibly less Zen) 55 that can be found here.  

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Comments: 17 Comments

Once More

May 2, 2015

  Once More

I want
to stop time.
I want to park it on
a swing and re-arc
the same pie of sky
until I’ve had
my fill.
I don’t want
you to die.
Or me.
And I want to live all the many moments
this single one can be
again and again
until I get it
right.

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Aha!  It is May and a new poem (or draft poem) occurred to me last night.  I may link this to Real Toads as the poem turned out, on first write, to be exactly 55 words (and it happens to be a Flash 55 day.)  Or maybe I’ll come up with another!  Who knows?  (Freedom from compulsion–meaning the fact that my commitment to April is over and I can write as many poems a day as I wish –or not–is its own inspiration!)  Have a good weekend.

PS  Pic is mine–all rights reserved. 

 

 

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