Posted tagged ‘Photogene App’

Giving It A Rest

May 4, 2016

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 Thanks as always for your support.

Diabolically busy week continues….

January 25, 2012

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apace.

Image, Simile, Metaphor in Poetry–A Keel To Float Your Poem–(“Family Finishes”)

December 1, 2011

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DVerse Poets Pub has a prompt today by Gay Reiser Cannnon asking for poems that trade in image, simile, metaphor, allegory, figure.  The poem below was based on an exercise that tended to force one into metaphor (though frankly almost any poem has some basis in these elements.)  The picture, done on my iPad 2, was “filtered” on the Photogene App above.  (Below is the unfiltered image.)

Family Finishes

I.

The perfectionist sands her offspring to her image, or
an image, filing away the
unsightly, the angry, the unspeakable.
Drills a face fit for a pageant, as
smooth as balsam, as modeled as
a keel; then (the child carved
to measure), she steps

down into that keel, careful
of any unseamed tar.

II.

A family levels itself to just folks with enough distance;
an occasional pageant – picnic or funeral – joins the blood,
a biennial application of glue,
occasions muddled with the stickiness of blood;
mother hammering the grandmother, son
nailing father, the family portrait gathering a rich patina.

III.

Steeped in the traditions of the portrait hall,
the young mother thought

to measure out love in spoonfuls,
smoothing away excess, screwing it into a tied-up sock.
Blasphemy to mount to ecstasy over your child.  No.
Passion
 fit the furniture
like a bowl of tulips or tea set, shaped to
its interval.  But the small white fist that gripped her finger
leveled training,

proper restraint transmuting aged wine to deep wellspring,
casks burst to loose a flow of sparkling clarity. 

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Repetition Raises A Villanelle (“Shattering”)

September 24, 2011

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This is another post inspired by dVerse Poets Pub, a really supportive website for online poets. The prompt this time concerned poems that deal in repetition. As followers of this blog know, I’m devoted to the villanelle, a poetic form that is based on repeating line sequences. This villanelle is part of a pair–its companion piece, “Burned Soldier” may be found here, as well as a discussion of how to write a villanelle. Both poems were inspired by the ongoing wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Any thoughts or suggestions most welcome.

Shattering

The shattering of lives should take some time.
It shouldn’t come in flashes, clods of dirt,
no moment for altered course, for change of mind.

The actual choice ahead should be well-signed–
pre-emptive smoke, perhaps a blood-soaked shirt–
the shattering of lives should take some time.

He knew that road was risky, heard a whine,
but in the end those warnings were too curt,
no moment for altered course, for change of mind.

Hard to foresee your own true body lined
with metal plates and plastic tubes of hurt;
the shattering of lives should take some time.

So many hours after to refine
what happened in that second’s blinding lurch,
no moment for altered course or change of mind.

Or was it fate? A studied path, not whim?
His heart tried hard to measure out the worth
of shattering lives. It would take some time,
with no moment for altering course or mind.

(All rights reserved.)

P.S. – I’ve posted a lot of villanelles, which is a favorite form for many years. I love the music- and yet, the repetition. They can be found by checking out that category from home page.

Hard time focusing (i.e. focusing in hard time)

September 20, 2011

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Unable to Change or Fix Life Poem–Yellow Glads–Grasping At Straws (And Contentment)

September 17, 2011

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The political scene seems too grim to even contemplate these days, so turning back to poetry. Poetry! And iPad Art! Although this poem is fairly serious too– Any suggestions, comments, are most welcome, particularly with respect to title.

There

There is so much in life
we cannot change or fix:
your dear friend stacked
with flowers, yellow glads
and lilies white, the green baize
cloth that masks the upturned
earth; the tumor that
takes over a torso, the still
familiar face that can’t digest
the body’s betrayal;
time spent more carelessly
than cash (loose minutes
rarely found in turned-out pockets);
all those difficult years
when contentment was there–
there–there within our grasp if we had just
grasped less; the
flotsam jetsam straws we clung to,
drowning rafts, that
sparkle now in the current of all that’s past,
catching against far shoals, banks, shores–
there–there–there–

(As always, all rights reserved.  Karin Gustafson)

(If you are a reader from the wonderful dVerse Poets Pub, the link to the train poem which I should have written and posted today to participate in the Pub is here.)

AND NOW!  I am posting this one to the dVerse Poets Pub Open Link night and also to the ver supportive Promising Poets Parking lot (blogspot).    Thanks for the opportunity.

After A Long Summer Weekend (With Elephants)

July 5, 2011

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Back to the circus….