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 |  An Iowegian's P(oetry)log |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** This little adjunct to my primary blog, "Invalid Item"  , is strictly for poetry. Comments and kind, constructive criticism are always welcome.Peace and Blessings ~Mandy Breathe-in experience, breathe-out poetry. ~Muriel Rukeyser Everything in creation has its appointed painter or poet and remains in bondage like the princess in the fairy tale 'til its appropriate liberator comes to set it free. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson |
| oh my weary soles - pause for a breath of fresh air a yellow-jacket alights on clover while cheerful dandelions smile up at me twin daisies in seersucker sundresses miniature entrepenuers selling their wares just 50 cents a glass, fresh-squeezed in my golden field of dreams, summer's splendor never fades your padded paws quiver and twitch muffled whimpers escape canine dreams are you chasing rabbits? as we trod on earthen paths a flicker of yellow catches our eyes - a goldfinch? these silent strolls are priceless you are my faithful companion, my friend mascara and lip gloss, a straightener radiating heat a heap of Egyptian cotton, haphazardly abandoned no time for a backwards glance Emily and Emilie, joined at the hip donning bikinis and sunscreen - eating icecream having too much fun to notice the boys best friends, not yet women - not a care in the world I softly kiss your balding head you wiped my tears and cooled my fever now it's time I cared for you we share a rose blush toast, tears and laughter on a lazy Indian summer afternoon celebrating you and life's victories after the chemo, there is much to be grateful for a jumble of bruised elbows and battered knees scramble for the fumbled pig-skin prize these girls aint no powderpuffs! crepe paper and balloons parade down Main Street keeping time with the brass and bass while the queen holds court from Daddy's Corvette homecoming week has arrived! red geranium carpets roll out before polished marble stairways broadcasting cheerful greetings to passersby trembling beneath sateen sheets in a king-sized retreat meant for two with adulterated passion, she embraces Jack Daniels mahogany doors belie a shattered suburban life a palette of oils nestled next to the artist's brush, green spectacles on a garden table inspired by garden's splendor, he strokes the canvas waterlillies float beneath a Japanese bridge, calm ponds reflect shimmering shadow and light visitors, drawn like hummingbirds to nectar, come to Giverny this is Monet's legacy For a mad troubadour!  |
| since time immemorial, this woodland, elegant and menacing in its grey and white plumage, shifts in and out over the generations the valley mires or bogs, fallow, roe and red, move at a snail's pace; wind-borne seeds, set alight in controlled burns out on the open heath, detritus, duff and the O horizon, a myriad of mosses, fungi and ferns fill the forest floor not static, but forever changing between the branches, the forest also teems with decomposers and predators gliding over the heather through litterfall human interlopers, transparent and colorless, remaining in situ within the perambulation have scarcely started to rot their gently decomposing trunks also wield salient features; a stout magnum chaffinch covered with epithelial cilia already overgrown with moss even in the winter, as we pick our way between lichen, shelled gastropods are served in cheap snack houses and taverns these in turn are food for insects when a tree falls in the forest, succeeding waves of muscular contractions, trees will fill the canopy void some saplings win the silent struggle of the deadly sin of sloth elsewhere in the forest, another tree will fall and begin the process anew A forest floor flarf...for Alfred |
| five cinquains or if you prefer a cinq cinqain just for fun!  HIGHER! in seersucker Sally sweeps clear, blue skies singing silly songs backward and forward twirling FASTER! FASTER! in a dizzying swirl of kaliedescope hues, Mary goes round young Jack striking matches lighting up firecrackers tonight, he'll sit in the corner NO PIE???? see Dick count to fifteen peeking between fingers clever girl, leaps from an oak tree RUN JANE! feet first wee Willy slides a wild, slippery ride down silver, bun-blistering slopes OWEEEEEE!!!!!    lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Behold...the modest peasant bride! Her cheeks aflush, she meditates, while on her winsome groom, she waits. In cottage fine, they will abide, his faithful woman by his side. She'll mend his clothes and wash his plates. She'll bear a son and celebrate. Her childhood dreams shant be denied. What else could maiden fair desire? She dare not contemplate the thought, for dowry was her father's stake, assured she'd wed the village squire. Her fate was dealt; Her future bought; What price we pay for comfort's sake! An Italian or Petrarchan sonnet, written in iambic tetrameter. Octave: abbaabba Setset: cdecde The prompt was Pieter Brueghel's "The Peasant Wedding," written for Tuesday Morning Cantos. |
| on patchwork dreams, we fantasize. Luna's cool blue shadows entrance, waltzing 'neath star strewn summer skies. resounding glacial streams' reprise; dulcet ballads of happenstance, on patchwork dreams, we fantasize. twilight's lovelorn...from sleep, arise! night owls flutter and whitetails prance, waltzing 'neath star strewn summer skies. cricket song enraptures fireflies. impassioned, they succumb to chance. on patchwork dreams, we fantasize. beyond the aspens' darkened guise, loons and sapsuckers find romance, waltzing 'neath star strewn summer skies. lulled by June's balmy, restful sighs, we fuse, immersed in nightfall's dance; on patchwork dreams, we fantasize, waltzing 'neath star strewn summer skies. Villanelle in tetrameter Written for Tuesday Morning Cantos. My first ever attempt at a Villanelle in tetrameter. I have a new respect for this form and those who do it well...It was certainly a challenge! |
| amongst tidy rows of innocence, like proud stars on a field of blue, she stands... I pledge allegiance to the flag youthful, olive skin, almond eyes gazing upward, tiny hand over heart saluting, she feels freedom's beat. lub-dub, lub-dub of the United States of America, amongst narrow rows of drudgery, like rigid stripes of white and red, she sits... and to the Republic, for which it stands, sallow, weathered flesh, almond eyes peering downcast, calloused hands and heart stitching, she hears serfdom's rhythm. whir, whir, whir, whir One nation, under God... Written for Tuesday Morning Cantos |
| She was effervescent and sweet, like an orange Crush that tickles your nose. One day, she sported a brand new pair of socks, with paisley, stripes and polka dots. Some folks whispered, "Too gaudy." "Too loud." "Like a pyschedelic trip" "Or a three-year-old who dresses herself." But she wore them proudly and she was an amiable gal, breezy and fun like a kite on a warm summer's day. So with mirrored shades, friends accepted her silly stockings as part of her, overlooking their absurdity for her sake. Now on occasion, she would discover a thread, or two protruding like an earthworm on an April morn. But since they were her favorite socks, in kaleidoscopic hues, she lovingly snipped at them, like spent geranium blooms. And then one fine day she ran 26K, donning her lively leggings for luck. She barely noticed at first, when things started to unravel. As she paced herself, the tiny tear was but a trivial annoyance; a mosquito buzzing in her ear or an eggshell in her omelette. But as it grew, it became a most unwelcome distraction; a deflated tire during rush hour, or a cigarette butt in her drinking glass. As she paused to let others pass, she removed her running shoes. Her tender digit was a sickly shade of blurple, choked as if by a lynch man's noose. So she peeled away the offending pair abandoning them on the road side. When she reached the finish line, her chums were there and they bantered and cheered as if she'd won the gold. But as July's sun set in the western sky, she waved goodbye and embarked upon another sock shopping excursion. A Hole in the Toe written for Tuesday Morning Cantos and inspired by Brianna, who donned paisley, stripes and polka dots at school one day |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Mary's magic wand immersed in slippery suds cherub cheeks puffing liberating lofty globes from plastic bottled limbo. Iridescent orbs buoyantly ascend skyward frolicking before bursting into blissful shades of invisibility. Blowing Bubbles is a chain tanka, consisting of two stanzas in a 5-7-5-7-7 syllabic pattern. |
| As he commandeers the yellow streak across suburbia, does he see her trusting eyes? amidst the throngs of freckle-faced hero worshippers bouncing and waving frantically. Come inside...I have something I want to show you. As the warning lights flash and the sirens blare, does he hear her protests? buried beneath the silence of submission, because she was taught to respect men in uniform. Relax...This won't hurt. As he reaches through the scorching haze, does he feel her fragile form? trembling in fear,as something precious is taken from her forever. Don't be scared...I'll take good care of you. As streams of sweat pour down his face, does he taste her tears? beads of confusion and bitterness, as she wonders why this is happening. You're a pretty little flower...That's a good girl. As warm trickles wash away the rancid stench of a day's work does he consider her? attempting to scrub away the filth and the shame, knowing that she's forever tarnished. No one has to know...It'll be our little secret. As he's decorated before the admiring eyes of the public, does he regard her? or does his lust for innocence cause his heart to be as calloused as the hands that save lives? Don't tell anyone...No one will believe you anyway. *Author's note...I'm aware that some readers will find this verse disturbing, possibly even offensive. I want to make it clear that I mean no disrespect to those who risk their lives for the public's safety. I only wish to illustrate that a fallible human being lies beneath the hero's facade. written for Tuesday Morning Cantos |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** What is this Hermaphrodite of the underground? With its slimy, segmented secretions, It's difficult to determine which end is down! It's the focus of fishermen's flashlights While the robin plays tug-of-war... It's a wriggler and crawler of nights, Building an abode in a bed and a bore... It's a rapid recycler of refuse, And dines on deciduous decay... It gnashes and chews on yesterday's news And casts copious compost each day... A defector of daylight and Luna's lover It delights in the dark and the dew... When torn in two it regenerates and recovers Magically mending and beginning anew... So, don't screech and don't squirm...It's only a worm. Its opulent offering is all things organic... The earthworm is the benefactor of the burgeoning berm Beautifully, blossoming botanic! an ode written for Tuesday Morning Cantos Ode to the Earthworm Copyright 2009 © Mandy Howe ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
I'm currently taking a poetry class, entitled Tuesday Morning Cantos, offered by our own NOVAcatmando  . Our first assignment was to compose a haiku using one of three prompts. I selected "April Showers" for my offering and came up with three variations. I'm curious about which readers prefer. My efforts...Skies dim to charcoal... ~ ~ Flora imparts gratitude ~~Fauna seeks refuge... "April's Rite" Baptismal rains fall... ~ ~ Flora imparts reverence ~~Fauna's psalms resound "April's Liturgy" Sky turns down the lights... ~ ~ Flora dons her Spring attire ~~Where's my umbrella? "April's Gala" |
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