Me, curious?

Tony has suggested we write a longer version of the form Cinquain.  Thus, instead of 5 lines with the syllable count of 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, we have 5 lines with a count of 3, 5, 7, 9, 3 ...an option for a name for this form?  Venseptine  or vinseptain      Today at   dversepoets.com                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           
Curious
of ancient crossroads
places I'll not live to see
Instead brought to me in books, TV
mind travel

Who will be
future presidents?
Will there be peace, no hunger?
I wish to know my great grandchildren
It matters

Important
in grand scheme of things
What intelligence would take
away the best of everything?
It's unfair!
                                                                                                                   

Seatale..

He watches as she sits
in golden light
of the morning sun,
holding a mirror,
watching herself
as she brushes her long auburn hair
She's his most gifted muse,
crucial to his spinning tales -
putting his own book on a shelf

Her skin is like pearls,
her silhouette glows
Andorian blue
By night, her sea green eyes
compliment
her long shiny flowing locks,
haloed by a glowing
red evening fire -
stealing his confidence

Her hair curls around her hips
as she lies sideways
on the slippery fishing dock
She stirs the water with
her tail of green and amber scales,
slips into the river
and swims away,
propelled by her tri-folded tail fin -
in spite of his wails
                                                
She leaves the harbor as sun sets,
heads into a storm
of flaring red waves
Using her aquatic talents to return,
to become the story
of an immortal mermaid,
rendering him helpless to create  -
his next yarn or allegory

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    We are writing about "hair" today over at  dversepoets.com                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

Frozen cattails...

It's about form today over at dversepoets.  Choose a particular form of poetry, write a poem using that form - then break it.  That means to freely change it in any way you like, through rhyme, lines, word syllable count, shorter, longer, whatever. I wrote a sonnet and proceeded to "break" it by ignoring some of the rules....hard for me to be loose..



Nature takes a look at herself-

Frozen cattails stand their stead
in refuges home to starlings
camouflage protects doe and young
Sun melts the frosty communal bed

Sepia hues cast a shadow blanket
Stillness, but for random flutterings
Ducks berth in tall wild iris grass

A Capella floats from dank lily-pads

Birds of prey wear luncheon jackets
Slow salmon are caught when spawning
Baby herons wade in water to their knees
Small creatures have no forewarning

Therein lies the danger of eagles farling
"Watch out!" ring out the snowy bells
 Lakes mirror pale skies overhead;
meadows robe in cool pastels

Into their dwelling sun rays slant
The scene, still damp, freshly painted
belies perils of kidnapping
Life goes on, birds keep chirping
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Red

 I couldn't help myself when I saw all the photography

by Totomai Martinez .  His work inspires so much poetry.  

For  dversepoets.com

Red is the color of my favorite rose

velvet scent under my nose

Red is the color of my lover's nightgown,

the color of her passionate prose

Her chest rises and falls against me;

blood in my veins pulses hurriedly 

I bring her blossoms with dew drops;

she lulls me with her poetry

I kiss her lips the shade of plum,

 thank her for waltzes yet to come,

dances under a full moon
to music from a flower drum

Red is the color of my true loves hair;

it glides around my throat bare

to the only woman in the world for me
I toast with Cabernet,
shower with garnets rare

Easy like a breeze..

Let me loose -

to fly alone in the air,

but hold tight the tie that binds 

Let the wind hoist me up,

it's ruffles lightly carry me,

 to be billowed by invisible undulating 

waves, weightless, 

the sun on my shoulders

I want to know 

how it feels to float -

without everyday cares

Watch me soar in the sky,

 twist and turn everywhere, 

burdens lifted and without fear,

flying freely for awhile

lift me up so I can see the view,

how far I want to go

Let me fly like a kite,

keep company with birds, 

but keep me tethered to your hand

  I'm not ready to leave you yet

Rein me in after I sail;

when I am sate, I will land -

 grateful for everything,

yet all the more will I

 appreciate 

This if for  dversepoets.com     today where we are writing responses to the wonderful photography by  Totomai Martinez.  Check out his flicker photostream.

the tenWord....

My first posting of the new year; I had a nasty cold over the holidays. Today at dversepoets.com  we are writing "the tenWord", a poetry form introduced awhile back by Brian Miller.  “I call this one the tenWord, because after ten words no one is listening anyway, or already formulating their response…and what can you say in ten words…”  he said.

A few taken from lines in Les Miserable -


a.  Regrettably, I will miss the screams of the train wheels

b.  Scarlet seat cushions expel dust clouds;  
     I drink lemon tea

c.  Shades of love -
     like threads of gold in a mountain

d.  I no longer exist; the grief surpasses bounds of possibility.  

e.  He never dresses the same, always

     in disguise, a chameleon 

f.  Under my pant's leg __ 
    hidden papers tucked into my socks

g.  In France, no wrath that lasts six months won't extinguish.

h.  Revolts are followed by certain necessity of shutting the eyes