Magnolia
i’ve grown accustomed
to fragrant spring blooms
to woodnotes and rain
to sweet morning dewi’ve come to expect
sunrises and sets
star dusted night skies
moons full to newrather ungrateful
my sad life’s beset
with busyness, soon
my time will come duethough I may forget
grace always makes room.©kat – 1 May 2016
My twins, Jennifer and Mindy. ❤
This poem is dedicated to my twin daughters who share a birthday today. I will never forget the 24+ hours of labor, their premature birth, where I was, how I felt. And I shall cherish every moment that time has given me with them since. There have been many little goodbyes…that moment they took their first breath, when they hopped happily onto the bus without looking back on their first day of school, when they learned to drive, and when they moved out to start a life of their own. A mother’s heart never forgets those moments.
The moment of that first goodbye
a mother’s heart never forgets
her heart remembers where and when
she heard her newborn baby’s cry
the first goodbye of many yet
a mother’s heart with each year grows
for mothers know that in the end
goodbyes are temporary woes.kat ~ 21 April 2016
For Jane Dougherty Writes Poetry Challenge…this week the San San. The repeating terms I chose are Mother, Goodbye and Heart. (See a description of the San San below.)
The san san has some things in common with the tritina, including repetition and rhyme. In particular, the san san repeats, three times, each of three terms or images. The eight lines rhyme in the pattern a-b-c-a-b-d-c-d.
It is day 12 of Poetry month. Today’s poetry form is all about the number 12. Developed in 12th century Japan, it is a variation of the Haiku. But instead of three lines in 5-7-5 syllable sequence, it contains four lines of 12 syllables each, pausing mid-line after 7. Called the Imayo, this lyrical form is often employed in Kabuki Japanese theatre, and is associated with the type of song that requires recitation in a high pitch.
Here is the breakdown of an Imayo poem: 4 lines; each line 12 syllables broken by a pause after the 7th syllable.
Parched
Rain settles on parched soil, pooling in puddles,
never to quench thirsty roots, darkness imprisoned.
Truth settles on shuttered minds, spinning in sound bites,
never to be enlightened, prisoners of fear.
kat ~ 12 April 2016
Today’s poetry form: Free Verse
* Free verse poems have no regular meter and rhythm.
* They do not follow a proper rhyme scheme as such; these poems do not have any set rules.
* This type of poem is based on normal pauses and natural rhythmical phrases as compared to the artificial constraints of normal poetry.
* It is also called vers libre which is a French word.
I often write free verse at 3 am mid-REM. This is one of those brain-flushing poems, particularly poignant for me. Free form is my raw unfettered side with no boundaries to keep me from spilling out. Its form title, “FREE Verse” echoes the soul of this particular piece. Both of my parents suffered from severe, undiagnosed, untreated mental illness. Each eventually ended their own life to silence the madness. I have chosen life. The lunacy stops with me. I am free.
Childhood Crazy
He was obsidian in a naugahyde recliner,
a red hot cigarette tip, heavy with ash, suspended in the blank space between us,
Inconsolable shell of burdensome flesh smoldering in silence,
clock ticking, refrigerator humming, faucet dripping,
Sepia Jesus scowling from the frame on the wall.
He was white deafening noise.
A dizzy streak of laser precision, constructing pyramids of tin,
preoccupied with aliens, reincarnation and escape plans,
dismantling, rebuilding, obsessing over the unfitted, left-over parts,
ever seeking the subtle smiling approval of happy, golden-haloed Jesus.
Terrifying and thrilling, monster and superhero,
doomsdayer, naysayer, cheerleader, dragonslayer,
fragile broken parent figure, angel, demon, candle burning at both ends.
A short-fused powder keg, self-combusting,
disillusioned by fickle wishy-washy Jesus, pulling a trigger to end the pain.
His poison festers in my cells, lethal shards of DNA,
catching waves of white and crimson coursing through my veins, settling in my brain.
A childhood refrain of mania to gloom, neglected, undiagnosed crazy.
Daddy, if we had only known, we might have saved you.
Consoled with pharmaceuticals, severing the chain…at least I can save myself.
kat ~ 2 April 2016
Photo Credit: Moritz Schmidt
Sincere compliments
like well-placed Scrabble tiles
will earn extra points!
~kat – 31 March 2016
A Three Line Tale for Sonya of Only 100 Words’ Three Line Tale Week Nine prompted by the photo above by Moritz Schmidt. If you would like to read other tales or add your own, click HERE.
like mercury colliding... 