Category: Poetic Forms
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Prosery: 18 August 2020
Mausoleum Marble My hand is on the oblong flatness of white marble where you sleep. Your death sleep. Your soul’s rest. And I expect the marble to be cold, but it’s not. It’s warm. Though not by the low November sun, perhaps it’s your eternal warmth. I think heaven opened its door when it saw…
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A Rondine
Nevertheless Nevertheless, this valley’s a secretthat’s lost its key. Locked. Forgotten.There’s a river down there but youcan’t see it. It’s down below the soil,and not a spot of it can be seen fromwhere I stand. But it’s a riverbed,nevertheless. I’d like to up and vanish like that. Do without myself in muchthe same way as…
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A Sestina for Miz Quickly
A Sestina: Rum Dreams The tide revealed more beachthan I’d ever seen. Dark brimmingwaves drinking in sand, and a blackmood of clouds shrouding tearsand chunks of sky. Gusts takingto air our towels. Umbrellas. We two women clamped our knuckled twohands on our straw hats. The beachemptied. Holiday-makers ran, takingshelter in huts roofed with straw brims.A…
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An Epulaeryu Poem
An Epulaeryu: It’s a Food Poem slightly underdone duck breast baby vegetables polenta with cilantro bring me a fork! An Epulaeryu is a poem dedicated to food. The syllable constriction is 7.5.7.3.1 4PB Image from Unsplash CC:00
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Miz Quickly’s Interview #1
Twenty Seven Questions Found & Remixed in ‘The Last Wish’ Who are you?What shall I call you?You are common folk, am I right? Do you bow your head and sing canticles? Are you powers innate?Should I bite a chair leg? You mean those charlatans with stars on their hats?One thousand and two hundred?Are you playing at…
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An Interwoven Cento Poem #2
A Cento Poem with Lines Interwoven from Song of Myself (1892 version) BY WALT WHITMAN and Baudelaire BY DELMORE SCHWARTZ I. When I fall asleep, and even during sleep, I see. Dance. Laugh. Sing. I hear a voice quite distinctly, voices speaking. Not words. Not music. Rhyme, and not even the best. Bare-stript phrases from…
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An Interwoven Cento Poem
A Cento Poem with Lines Interwoven from Song of Myself (1892 version) BY WALT WHITMAN and Baudelaire BY DELMORE SCHWARTZ Eddies of Wind When I fall asleep, and even during sleep, The sound of the belch’d words of my voice I hear, quite distinctly, voices speaking of the beginning or the end. Whole phrases. From…
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The Picnic Sonnet
The Picnic She doesn’t usually pack a pork pie to share, or a big wedge of cheddar and soda bread from the bakery, which she will let Jimmy think is homemade, unless he asks, and she wouldn’t usually pack two pickled onions, four gherkins, a large Scotch egg, ripe tomatoes and cucumber, or brown pickle…
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A Moment for a Haibun
I’m watching a grey squirrel who gives me an occasional cautious glance, and it’s shredding the birds table into bits, tossing pieces of wire and mesh around, and then you say, The air smells so fresh this morning, like chlorophyll — and the squirrel is hurling abuse and obscenities at the bird feeder because it’s…
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