Mechanical

We’re almost to the end of this poeming month. I am a bit weary, as I generally feel by this point, but know I will miss the daily struggle for words once the prompting is over, save for the weekly stretch.

The prompt today is to write a “mechanical” poem.

Surreal

Isn’t it strange,
the way ones body
can simply go on
even in the face of the most
horrendous stress.

How strange,
uncanny,
surreal, even,
to be standing at the sink
calmly washing dishes
when my whole
world
has turned
completely upside down.

I feel almost as if
I am watching myself
from above
or behind,
slightly off center.

I feel numb,
but somewhere,
deep inside,
there is a howl
trying to escape.

And so I continue
the mechanical
movements.
Swirling the warm soapy water.
Sudsing the plate/cup/spoon,
and rinsing in water so hot
it leaves my hands scalded,
yet untouched,
because the real pain
isn’t on the outside.

Love/Anti-Love

The two-for-Tuesday dual prompt today (for our 23rd day of the challenge) was to write a love/anti-love poem. I think I’ve covered that here. We’ll see what you think.

Cyrano

Ever the poet,
ever the gentleman warrior,
he suffered no fool gladly
and bested all
with his sword play
and rapier wit.

Yet his one weakness,
his one soft spot,
was for the lovely
Roxane.

Pining ever, loving truly,
Cyrano tried to impress
his lovely cousin,
yet the bounds of family
kept her from seeing
his passion true.

And when she confessed her love
for another
he did not kill the oaf,
though he surely could have done,
no, he helped the man win
Cyrano’s only love;
Roxane’s happiness weighed more
to him than his.

***

Roxane

Beautiful, and quite an
intellectual,
yet, she was prey
to the remarkable good looks
of Christian de Neuvillette.

If only he was as smart,
as dashing,
as brave,
as witty,
as her beloved cousin.

And when he seemed to be
what she had always wanted
in a man,
she did not question
her good fortune,
she only embraced
what was offered,
and was glad.

Yet long years later,
still grieving his loss, loving
a dead man,
comforted by her
Cyrano,
she discovers, too late,
that the man she truly loved
was before her
all along.

Cyrano dies,
believing himself truly alone,
yet rejecting anything
that would compromise his
principles,
he dies, his honor
intact.

Senryu

The prompt is to try writing a Senryu – which is basically a Haiku, but instead of talking of nature, one talks of human nature. Makes sense. Here are my attempts.

***

Love, loss, bliss, pain, joy;
no, the human condition
is never boring.

***

I may still love you
but that doesn’t mean I will
be your bitch, you jerk.

***

Just one touch, is all
Somehow that changed everything
Now what do I do?

***

Tender kisses from
slobbery childish lips. This
is what I live for.

Possible/Impossible

Impossible:
to keep a dry eye
to stop seeing the pain
to look away from the carnage
to not want to help in some way.

Possible:
People running into danger to help
News media not jumping to conclusions
Strangers, bystanders, all working together to save lives
Marathoners finish the marathon then run to donate blood

Impossible
to understand hatred
to be as hateful myself
to determine motivations of an evil mind
to keep the suffering of strangers out of my mind

Possible:
Love
Gratitude
Forgiveness
Comforting one another

In Case of ________

The prompt was to write a poem with the beginning “In Case of ____.” I’ve come up with two in record time, and since today promises to be as busy as ever, a good thing, too.

Thanks for the visit, dear reader. ^_^

In Case of Love, Break Heart

Another four letter word
escaped my lips
but you blanched like never before.
I haven’t heard from you since.

Could it be something I said?

***

In the Case of the Wandering Clue

My motto has always been,
“Don’t let others’ behavior
change who you are,”
which is a good motto.

Unless the other person
relies on your trust
to betray you again
and
again.

Unless the other person
relies on your innocence
to turn the tables
and make you feel that
you are the one with
the evil mind and unfounded
suspicions.

Unless the other person
relies on your refusal to be sneaky
to be sneaky in return,
to hide things in plain sight
(the long blonde hair in the shower;
the emails never read;
the love letters unfound;
the secret bank accounts;
the receipts for restaurants and hotels).

So now, my motto is only a little different:
“Don’t let others’ behavior
change who you are,
unless you have a bad feeling about it.
In that case, trust your feelings.”

Tentative

The challenge for this third day of April poetry month was to write a tentative poem.

Whisper Soft

When I look back to the
younger version of me,
I sometimes wonder how
I got by at all.

Who was that uncertain,
shy, whisper soft,
bewildered girl?

Who was this stranger
who didn’t know
who she was
or what she wanted
or how much she could do?

Who was this person
who let others walk
over her and who
actually listened when they
told her how to live
her life?

The very trials that
were the torment of that life
turn out to be
the very things
that made me into the
confident,
happy,
energized,
strong,
interested,
loving
soul
that I am now.

How I wish I could
whisper soft in my own ear
the encouragement
I needed
back then.

Flashy Fiction

I did a little flashy fiction on Sunday. I’ve included the prompt so you can keep up with the idea.

***

You’re browsing through the shelves of the poetry section at the library. As you select an ancient book of love poems, a note falls to the floor.  It is folded into fourths, and yellowed with age. You uncrease it carefully, and settle in to read, discovering it’s an old love letter. 

What does it say? Was it ever sent? Tell the story behind the letter. 

***

You find a letter in a book of poetry by William Blake. It is next to the poem,

“Love’s Secret.”

Never seek to tell thy love,

Love that never told can be;

For the gentle wind doth move

Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,

I told her all my heart,

Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.

Ah! she did depart!

Soon after she was gone from me,

A traveller came by,

Silently, invisibly:

He took her with a sigh. –

 

The letter reads:

My darling,

I know you love Blake, and my hope is that you will eventually get to this volume. His words are sweet, but not as sweet as the love I feel for you. I placed it in this volume beside “Love’s Secret.” You understand.

You may never get this, but I can hope, because this is the only explanation I have been able to improvise. I know you must wonder why I disappeared the way I did. Family pressures have become unendurable. I was made to live with my grandparents for some months. I went half mad with worry for you, but I was kept from the telephone and am watched continually. I was only able to contrive this letter because they allow me books from the library, though I am never allowed to go choose them myself. I have been asking for William Blake, though, and this was the best I could do to try and explain.

I am a virtual prisoner. But my heart still aches for you. I fear a marriage is being arranged, and soon I will be sent across the country to live with my new husband, probably in some town on the frontier, rife with danger and far, too far, from you. I am desolate. If only I could see you just one more time, and kiss you goodbye at the very least. But my parents will never understand our love.

Just remember I love you, and always have.

Yours forever,

Anne

[In a different hand, this addition follows the original letter.]

Dearest Anne,

I have been in an unendurable state since your disappearance. I have shunned all my usual habits; even my reading has fallen away. It has been some years since last we met. I only lately discovered this letter, and my heart again is broken.  I have read and reread your words, so fondly I remember you that I can hear your very voice.

Your family has refused to even speak to me, let alone tell me where you have gone or what your name is now.

Perhaps, one day, my dear, you will see this addendum. I live in hope that the fates will once more bring us two together; but if not this life, perhaps the next.

Always your loving

Elizabeth

 

(For more about William Blake, see http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19961#sthash.czEbQSbE.dpuf )

 

 

Baby

Today’s prompt was to write a “baby” poem. I found this little Triolet wafting around my brain.

***

Baby

Back in the days when I thought I’d
always be your baby. “Don’t leave
so soon,” I so naively cried.
I never thought you’d make me grieve
back in the days when I thought I’d
always be your charming child bride.
How did you learn not to believe?
Back in the days when I thought I’d
always be yours. Baby, don’t leave.

Don’t Forget

Today’s prompt was to begin with the phrase “Don’t Forget…” and go from there. I remember so many who’ve gone on, this seemed a good way to memorialize them.

Betty and Patricia

***

Don’t Forget

Those ones you treasured
while they were here,
the ones that passed before;
their memories hold
and keep them near,
for they won’t pass here more.

The things they taught you,
both good and ill,
can guide you in your life.
Remember well
each pain, each thrill,
their lifelong joys and strife.

If you keep them close
and in your heart,
they’re never far away.
Their lessons shared,
their life, their art,
will bless you every day.

***

***

***The picture is of my great-grandmother and her daughter, my grandmother. They have both passed on and both have taught me so many lessons I’ll never forget, both for good and ill. Part of knowing what to do is knowing what not to do, and much as I love them, there is always that. As much as I can, I carry them with me every day.

Opposite – November PaD day 25

“Write from the opposite perspective” of one of your earlier poems this month. I chose to write the opposite perspective of my “How To” poem from day 17.

This is taken from actual experience, both as a child and as an adult, watching people managing their relationships. Some of these relationships were close to family members, so I got an eyeful on occasion. O_o

Venom

You’re fooling around, I know it!
You must be!!
So I’m gonna go through
everything you own,
just to find PROOF
of what I think is actually happening.

And if I do find that “proof,”
(A restaurant receipt? A hotel room?
A gift to someone I don’t know?)
then I’m gonna call
and harangue you
all day at work. I will
never let you go. Ever.
I will always be
shrill and angry.
You will always have to
hang up on me,
fueling my rage even further.

I might insist that you
buy me presents
or take me places
or quit your job
because there are too many
beautiful people that you might like
who I see as threatening.

I will never look inside myself
to find that something might
be wrong,
I will always blame you
and despise you
and drag you down
into this morass of
loathing
with me.

This is how I will
prove my love to you.
This is how I can keep you
forever, even though
I hate you.