Big Tent Poetry, gong poetry, Poetry

day 3.soaring

over at big tent poetry there’s a new ongoing prompt called gong poetry and we’re in day 3 of 7. new to you is pick a poet that’s new, pick a line and write… or something very close to that…

today i pick lorine neidecker. another new poet who writes with a way that woos me close.. the poem i picked doesn’t have a title, and is very small and buoyant so i included it in today’s post…the link for more poems and info is attached to her name.

In moonlight lies
the river passing—
it’s not quiet
and it’s not laughing.

I’m not young
and I’m not free
but I’ve a house of my own
by a willow tree.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

there’s a young willow tree
gaining strength growing tall
just outside my window

tough little tree beginning to
conceive a small crowd of
drooping fluttering branches that
sway so readily when the
wispy winds of autumn appear

another year passes and i only
notice because of the shadow
from the young willow tree
growing tall just outside my window

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Big Tent Poetry, Poetry

day 1. free fall

big tent poetry no 1 poetry gong event new to you. 7 days of writing and posting a new poem. [be sure to visit and check out the latest challenge in detail, you will be glad you did]

new to you day 1. searching the web for a new poet, i was over at poets.org cruising the alleys of authors and this popped up twice. caught my eye the first time but didn’t click the mouse, 2nd time, chose not to temp the stars and clicked… soooo glad i did… awesome poet, naomi shihab nye, title is san antonio. the first line below in italics is what i chose from her poem. i wanted to create a world that is exactly the opposite of what naomi portrayed in her poem.

It was then I felt
the highways slide out of my hands.

backtracking the footprints
unbound emancipation
the spin of wheels turning

slamming the door
the cool wind pressed hard
against my just exposed heart

turning away i
walked into the small store
and waited ten minutes

and the world began anew
patiently waiting for
me to breathe

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Big Tent Poetry, Poetry

sound sleep

Big Tent Poetry monday prompt: select an artist, one poem, one line and go… i’ve selected charles bukowski, bluebird, and the line i don’t weep, do you? the first time i heard this i was hooked.  for your utube visual pleasure below is his bluebird…

* * * * * * *     * * * * * * * *     * * * * * * * *     * * * * * * * * *     * * ** * * * *

i don’t weep, do you?*

there’s never a thought
that descends so low nor
lingers long after his cheek is dry

there’s never a story
that lasts too long
he sleeps so soundly
snoring slightly

there’s never a man
who willingly slips and
finds his way back
wily whiskey extortion

there’s never a sign
of that certainty
that smile that charms
that snarl that erases

only now
toward evening late
does he speak sincerely
in and along the shadows
who murmur not
telling the moon his story

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Big Tent Poetry, haibun, Poetry

diapedesis

big tent poetry: Write a travel log in which you encounter a mythical creature and for an extra challenge in haibun form; photo: sculpture, .Baz, flickr

day 5.  5 am. the trek of a lifetime begins. location. a dry airless desert

early morning enters these cloistered walls of shape shifting sand dunes
immediately the mind motor starts to spin tiny sticky secret sightings
footprints passing i’ve awakened the others. ancient baptism beguile

heading towards a gathering, cool clear waters sparkling
submerged under a deep pail pouring—over, saturate and shackle
seeking ablution misty moisture clears the alluvial residue of restraint

day 10.  1 pm.  it’s really hot here. location. a dry airless desert

finding a few dry bones beneath a sandcastle sinking
the touch takes a telepathic thunderbolt turn
a sudden request registers roars the surrounding sand blowing shroud

vociferous and unrestrained, i’m talking to a tempest
blown adrift, an impossible power, her reply sui generis

day 12. a million grains of sand erupting. location. a dry airless desert

tumbling towards the hot blazing sun
the dunes erase the graveled highway route

the tempest taunts my travels today
glazing in the glare of her furrowed face
the eyes burn with a stinging bite
the grit of sand’s language she savors the trace

unable to sit she bears her teeth a blustery breeze disturbance
in the folds of cloth’s lucidity sincerity shields my soul
bumpy and unsettling tactics transpose
we continue this tumultuous encounter

day 21. 7 pm. the wind continues. location. within the tempest

a whirl and a mist her breath blows, chewed and charmed the scent of souls
wanderers corralled, lost along their way. when where does she come from i hide in her midst.

running wild wounds
healing sooth salve surrender
savor the escape

*diapedesis, breaking through
sui generis, of its own kind

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Big Tent Poetry, Poetry

dorothy calling

big tent poetry: this week’s prompt wordles
photo: 2001 space odyssy the cosmic waltz, flickr

love the shift of time travel
as if i found a genie in a bottle
tossed a long time ago and
lands at my feet

the taste of 3 sweet wishes
trying not to peer at his psychedelic poofy pants
i click my feet humming a long forgotten
childhood rhyme

debris field dreams float by like magic
passing the half-eaten whims of another
effortlessly skirting the evidence
swarming stars collide

landing gear descends
the docking station creeps close
my temporary parts give way
exposing the backbone
of a long adventure

captain peecard and number 1
my heart embellishes the rub of his head
who would pass a touch of his lips
blue eyes blazing i forgot to close the door
whoosh the sound screams
of automated time

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