“Gust Is Deaf, Hills Are Blind”. . . and other responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

“It’s that magnificent interlude in New York between winter and spring, when you feel the warmth stirring, and you remember that the dreadful naked trees will inevitably sprout tiny green buds, soon. Everyone rushes into the parks, the streets–and you even forget that, very soon , summer will come scorchingly, dropping from the sky like a blanket of steam…”  John Rechy, City of Night



In response to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt, Another Kind of Beauty, February 20, 2019, poets Paul Brooks, Cubby (Sonya Annita Song), Irma Do, Jen Goldie, Frank McMahn, Sonja Benskin Mesher, Marta Pombo Sallés, Anjum Wasim Dar share the joy and inspiration they find in nature. Special thanks to Irma and Anjum for the added pleasure of their photographs and to Anjum for her artwork. Nicely done.

Readers will note that links to sites are included when they are available so that you can visit. If there’s no site, it’s likely you can catch up with the poet on Facebook.

Enjoy this nature collection and do join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.


Gust Is Deaf, Hills Are Blind

trees can’t walk properly,
Flowers twitch haphazardly.

Grass is mute, rivers are dumb.
Nature is differently abled.

Mountains are too tall,
struggle to talk when they can’t

bend a knee, get down to those smaller
who are in awe when all mountains need

is to speak face to face , dispel their myth.
Same with water that rushes by,

no time to stand and stare, moments pass
before they have time to fully comprehend.

Flux needs a still moment but has to go on.
Still waters wish they could rush.

All hankers after what it Is not,
Cannot accept their place as their lot.

© 2019, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Let Me Pass Through

city walls
that bind all your threads together,

walk through this wood,
let your cityself take same walk, see
buildings as lone trees,
homeless hostel
is an oak, butchers
a willow that bends
down over the stream
where jammed traffic swims.

A dead bird breathes
animated by flies
is a man in the corner who sings
the blues to passers.

That fall of a leaf
tickertape homecoming parade.

Your pavement footfall
echoes in my forest.

© 2019, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Riverbrain, Rivermind. Riverwives

synaptic rivulets
neuron canals
sacred water

riverbrain flows in my head
fountainbrain channels my ideas
lakebrain plays the fey

electric rivulets move earth
inside my head

waterskin neural net
circumnavigates damage
fruited hemispheres
replenish, restore, reimagine

senses water roots
springwaters in my head
well in my head.

sheflow

her flaps of the water
bride of the waveskin
her inner lips of the river,
spring and waterfalls,
fermented honey drip
not dragonfly laced stained glass

faplap
lamina moist make out

fragile weirs into lust
nympha

tongue kindly these guardians

 Excerpt from The Headpoke And Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

© 2019, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Grovemind, Groovemind

synaptic branches
neuron tipped limbs
sacred grove recovery

oakbrain opens doors in my head
ashbrain spears my ideas
elmbrain plays the fey

electric gust moves limbs
inside my head

barkskin neural net
circumnavigates damage
fruited hemispheres
replenish, restore, reimagine

senses water roots
grove in my head
grooves in my head

between oaklimbs
between ashlimbs

her flaps of the wood
bride of the barkskin
her inner lips of the forest
fermented honey drip
not butterfly laced stained glass

fapleaf
lamina mulch make out

fragile doors into lust
nympha

tongue kindly these guardians.

Excerpt from The Headpoke And Firewedding {Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

© 2019, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow / Inspiration. History. Imagination.)

Prolific Yorkshire Poet, Paul Brookes

FYI: Paul Brookes, a stalwart participant in The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt, is running an ongoing series on poets, Wombwell Rainbow Interviews. Connect with Paul if you’d like to be considered for an interview. Visit him, enjoy the interviews, get introduced to some poets who may be new to you, and learn a few things.

The Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Jamie Dedes

  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.S. HERE
  • Paul’s Amazon Page U.K. HERE

More poems by Paul at Michael Dickel’s Meta/ Phore(e) /Play


When Galaxies Cry

When galaxies cry,
The tears that they shed
Are showers of light
We see overhead
That leave us in awe
As we touch our cheeks,
Speechless but listening
When radiance speaks.

So gaze at the sky
When stars shoot above
And hear as they make
Their statements of love,
For they long to be heard
In the vacuum of space,
Stardrops streaming down
A celestial face.

© 2019, Cubby (Reowr, Poetry that purrs. It’s reowr because the cat said so.)

I Long to Climb

I long to climb into the sky
On steps of wisp and smoke;
I long to feel the sweet caress
Of heaven’s velvet cloak.
I long to greet the newborn dawn,
Blushing in its youth;
I long to shoo the honeyed rays
From shadow’s hungry tooth.
I long to hear the faeries sing
Conducted by the moon;
I long to dance with dimpled winds
In Eden’s fair lagoon.
I long to stroke a comet’s tail
Impetuous in flight;
I long to whisper in the dark
Of dreams beyond the night.
I long for things I cannot have
And I will not deny,
For beauty’s sake is why I long
To climb into the sky.

© 2019, Cubby (Reowr, Poetry that purrs. It’s reowr because the cat said so.)

Sonya Annita Song’s (a.k.a. Cubby) Amazon page is HERE.


March Madness – A Haibun

It is March and I am Mad. The sky is a vibrant electric blue. The clouds are soft cotton pillows. The sun is bright but not warm enough to melt the recent snow. It is a fake spring.

But when a gentle wind blows, soothing my brow with the feel of soft yellow daffodils and hot magenta tulips, I release the anger and betrayal.

Disappointment healed

By springs flowers marching on

The promise of hope


Another coming together of prompts! Merrill at dVerse requested a Haibun about “March Madness” while Jamie Dedes’ Wednesday Writing Prompt asked: How does nature inspire joy in you, inspire your creativity and perhaps even your sense of peace? For me, the symptoms of spring sparks joy however where I am now, spring has been a tease – snowing one day then 60 degree temperatures the next. It is enough to drive one mad!

© 2019, Irma Do (I Do Run … And I do a few other things too …)


The Trees are making music

The trees
Are making music
To the sky today,
In apology for
Yesterday’s silence.

Music
With crystal bells
Of questions,
Hanging on the limbs,
Unspoken,
Unanswered.

© 2019, Jen E. Goldie (Starlight and Moonbeams and the occasional cat)

DANCE WITH DESTINY

 

ETHEREAL WHITE SNOWFLAKES GENTLY

FALLING FROM AN UNSTIRRING GREY SKY. STATELY

FIR BOUGHS LADEN AND RELENTING UNDER  

NEW- FOUND WEIGHT. I’VE LOST MY LULLABY.

 

ONE PROLONGED AND LONGING BREATH AFTER

ANOTHER AND ANOTHER AND YET ANOTHER.

 

EYES FILLING WITH TEARS YEARNING FOR BEAUTY

TO ENFOLD ME ONCE AGAIN. MY PENCIL

SCRATCHES PAPER BUT I STILL CANNOT

SEE THE BEAUTY SURROUNDING ME,

 

A FOG OF DISMAY WASHES OVER ME

AS THE MIST DOES THE MEADOW.

THOUGH DESIRE IS ARDENT, MY VISION

IS CLOUDED, MY MUSE HAS ABANDONED ME,

 

ADRIFT IN A SEA OF MISCONCEPTIONS, NEGATIVITY

AND TRAGEDY. SPRING WITHIN MY REACH,

SO MUCH BEAUTY YET TO SEE, MY EYES

WEARY, MY SOUL MIRED AND LOST IN MISERY,

WARRING WITH COMFORT AND CHARITY.

 

JOY BROUGHT DESPAIR ALONG FOR COMPANY,

I TOOK HIS HAND AND HE DANCED WITH ME

THE WORST OF IT, IS, HE HAS STAYED WITH ME,

WHILE JOY LEFT THE FETE WITH HARMONY.

 

MY HEART HAS DONNED AN ICY COAT TO

HIDE ME FROM SADNESS, I CANNOT SEE THE

PATH TO HEAVEN, THOUGH I SEE THE ROAD

TO HELL, AS I DANCE WITH DESTINY.

 

© 2019, Jen E. Goldie (Starlight and Moonbeams and the occasional cat)


Wordsmiths

Letters inscribed in air; branches
write the seasons and their fickle
variations, shredding coherence
as they thresh and whine, blasts and rants
of leaves and barren seeds.

Gift of the wasp’s gall: indelible
tales from the oak’s heart and hearing;
grand hotel and shelter, shade for
transient languor.Acorn fall.
Sap retreats slow to reticence.

Meditation under rimed sky,
the hermit’s calligraphy spread
across the crystal sheet, utterance
of promise laid in autumn’s scatter.

The year turns; dew-varnished beech glints
with angled light. Decipher the forest’s
library: curlicues unfurling
on spring-dancing branches, stickiness
and insect hum, in April’s breeze
the Book of Kells unscrolling.

© 2019, Frank McMahon


.turkey island.

they say it is too cold there. cold as icebergs

none came the year the storm broke, breached

the shingle bank

decisions were made

i hear

to not repair

now there is salt marsh where samphire grows

some eat it

i don’t

i like turkey island

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher

.clean water.

we left early to visit

clear pools of water,

the mountain sloped.

here we wandered,

among sheep.

watched the bug

glide the water,

sucked down

the fish leap.

storm past, this

was a day of sunshine.

we are good friends.

we got better.

so it goes.

© 2019, Sonja Benskin Mesher


I just met a turtle

I just met a turtle in the park.

It was on the way

Not where its mates

Usually are,

Near the lake

Sunbathing.

It was solitary.

I figured out it spoke

To me.

Told me to slow down.

And so I sat

As words began to dance

In flight

Carrying a smell of pine trees,

Rosemary and lavender.

Like butterfly wings

Fluttering in the wind

They intertwined

And slowly began

To land on my paper

One by one.

I pulled my thread,

Took the needle

And began to sow

One after the other.

A word weaver

Just like my friend

Quim

And all the others.

I just met a turtle.

© 2017 Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

The Park

Trees and blue sky,
sweet lavender and rosemary
not knowing why
a few lines I could invent.
Soft wind caressing my face
and the birds singing distant
feeling this nature’s embrace
longing to hold.
So much there is now at stake
sunbeams crossing through tree leaves,
peaceful water of the lake
sensing all, what nature presents.
Let us go on rowing
together on our humble boat
even though not knowing
how long to keep it afloat.

© 2016, Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

Out of the Shell

Out of the shell!
the tortoise said
out of that hell!
the price was paid.
Now I am cold
but not in vain
as I am told
I won the pain!
I can walk free
did nothing wrong
there is no tree
but I stay strong.

I’m a bit old
and just need love
I’ll be a bit bold
and play the dove.
I found a girl
on a dating site
oh, how I swirl
to her I write.
She’s just too young
or I’m too old
but I’ve begun
and now I’m sold.

My name is Frank
and she’s Nicole
I’m not a prank
yet she’s my goal.
Told her the truth
what will she do?
she’s in her youth
and I feel blue.
Difference in age
is not so good
it is a cage
you think I should?

© 2019. Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

Poem inspired by poet Newton Ranaweera’s post: See, we’re free!!: , and by chapter 6 of Mario Savioni’s novel Pickles and Tarts.


Jewels of Joy

Raindrops in heat,
showered  jewels of joy,
a backdrop white dark and grey,
of infinite mercy, yet warning
thunder, of a power beyond –
what joy I felt, as the sun I found
hiding behind a rainbow –

adorned, in grace crowned
unaware yet cautious, masked thorn,
protection visible, smile on the side
why so quiet in repose, love embodied
profound, yet in complete solitude,
few moments in time,when no words formed,
sweet sounds of love’s intense symphony
in two souls, silently merged, a
rose plucked, surrendered to the hand
that controlled, in colorful scent, that
its joyful destiny, meant,in complete
fragrant beauty, drowned-
Nature’s eternal joy in spirit, replete

© 2019, poem (English and Urdu below), photograph and artwork, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)

rose4.jpg

                             قدرتی حسن کی دلکشی

یہ بارش کی بوندیں  خوشی کے ہی موتی  
ھیں رحمت  کے قطرے  ھے  بخشش برستی

یہ  قدرت کی طاقت  ھے   سب   سے   بڑی 
   خوشی و راحت ملی ، قوس و قزح پہ نظر جو

پڑیدلکش گلاب  محتاط  مسکراھٹ بکھیرتا  ھوا 
وقت کے خطرات سے انجان چند لمہوں میں 

محبت کے ہاتھوں میں مغلوب ،خشبو میں نہایا

ھوا ، کسی چاہنے والے کی خوشی کے لیے 

قربان ھوا، ،کہ قدرت نے اسی لیے ؑبنایا اسے
روح کی گہرایوں میں  اتر کر  خوشی مکمل  ملے

“POETRY PEACE and REFORM Go Together -Let Us All Strive for PEACE on EARTH for ALL -Let Us Make a Better World -WRITE To Make PEACE PREVAIL” Anjum Wasim Dar


ABOUT

Witching Hour … and other responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

“Alas! a woman that attempts the pen,
Such an intruder on the rights of men,
Sucha presuptuouos Creature, is esteem’d,
The fault can by no virtue be redeem’d …
How are we fallen, fallen by mistaken rules?
Ad Education’s , more than Nature’s foods,
Debarr’d from all improve-meats of the mind,
And to be dull, expected and designed …
-Anne Finch, The Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilesea, ed. by Myra Reynolds
as quoted by Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, Shakespeare’s Sisters, Feminist Essays on Women Poets



I think our poets just had a lot of fun with the last Wednesday Writing Prompt,Spinning With Shakespeare, February 20, 2019. I had  fun reading them and so will you.

Thanks Gary W. Bowers, Irma Do, Jan Goldie, and Anjum Wasim Dar.  Thanks also to Cubby (Sonya Annita Song) for her contribution. Please welcome her warmly. She is new to Wednesday Writing Prompt.  Special thanks to Irma Do and Anjum Wasim Dar for the added value of the photographs and to Anjum for her artwork as well. Appreciation to Clarissa Simmens for sharing her Shakespeare homage.  They’ll be shared in a separate post.

I’m tickled to see that folks are commenting on one another’s poems and visiting one another’s sites.  That what it’s really all about. Bravo!  Readers will note that links to sites are included when they are available so that you can visit. If there’s no site, it’s likely you can catch up with the poet on Facebook.

Enjoy this unique collection and do join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.


To Scratch or Not to Scratch

To scratch, or not to scratch, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The itch and burn of abusive mosquito bites
Or to take arms against a sea of irritation
And by opposing end them:

To scratch, to rub, no more;
And by a rub to say we end
The frustration and the maddening,
Relentless shocks that flesh is heir to?
‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

To scratch, to rub – to rub, perchance to slake:
Aye, there’s the bub,
For in that rub of satiation
What doubts may come
When we have abandoned
This self-restraint must give us pause.
There’s the inanity that creates confusion
Of such simplicity:

For who would bear the jolts and pangs of bites,
The insatiable lust,
The sleepless nights,
The pangs of irate skin,
The obsessive thoughts,
The insolence of the unbitten,
And the spurns that impatient scratchers
By the self-righteous take,
When he himself might his liberation make
With a sole finger?

Who would itchiness bear,
To shake and tremble
Under a tortured skin,
But that the dread of something
After the scratch,
The possibility of greater itch to come,
From whose scratch no human can deny,
Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear the itch we have
Than scratch to others that we know not of?

© 2019, Sonya Annita Song (a.k.a. Cubby) (Reowr, Poetry that purrs. It’s reword because the cat said so.)

c Sonya Annita Song

SONYA ANNITA SONG is a poet whose rhymes are loved by both adults and children. Her writing style for children is delightfully whimsical with a natural flow meant for reading out loud. Sonya’s goal as a children’s author is to create engaging rhyming picture books that children and parents will have fun reading together. One of her favorite memories as a child is going to the local library in the summer and bringing back shopping bags full of books to read. Books were, and still are, passports to incredible destinations full of joy and wonder, and Sonya hopes all children will discover the marvels of reading just like she did. Children’s site: http://www.sonyaannitasong.com;  Poemhunter: http://www.poemhunter.com/sonya-annita-song/ .  Clipped from Cubby’s Amazon page.


dj b.ill.e shex

how sharper n a SERPENT’S tooth
n one bare bodkin
[Dies.]
4sooth
singe my white head
4 b n old
2 b r naught
poor tom’s acold

ah words words words
r’t naught th point
o band o bruhs
time out
a joint

© 2019, Gary W. Bowers (One with Clay, Image and Text)


Recycling Shakespeare for a Better World – A Haiku Sonnet

In this brave new world

Plant a heart of gold, harvest

A bouquet of friends

Faint-hearted farming

Doesn’t yield food for the soul

Cold comfort hunger

Break the ice – Be brave

Be fancy free with warm words

Of love and welcome

All our yesterdays

Are meant to be composted

Nutrient wisdom

Silence can kill with kindness

But regretful words do not.

This was a fun and challenging prompt initiated by Jamie for The Poet by Day Wednesday Writing Prompt. She writes, “Fe, foh, and fun … Take a spin with Shakespeare and write us a poem using phrases of his that have come into common usage.” I honestly didn’t realize that all these phrases came from Shakespeare’s work! I’ve really only read “Romeo and Juliet” and some sonnets so seeing all these common phrases attributed to his work was quite a surprise. Check out this link if you want to see what Shakespearean works the phrase I used came from.

And of course, I had to do a sonnet to further honor The Bard. To give it a bit of my own flavor, I chose the Haiku Sonnet form. Again, I never new there was such a thing until I saw it in this website here.

Learning new things and new ways of looking at the world is one of the best gifts I’ve gotten from writing and reading poetry. What do you think of this recycled Shakespearean piece?

© 2019, words and photo, Irma Do (I Do Run. And I do a few other things too …)


Witching Hour

All that glitters, is not gold and

all’s well that ends well, he sighed.

Yet there was no method in his

madness, for the naked truth is,

he made the foregone conclusion,

that misery acquaints a man with

strange bedfellows, and that the

course of love never runs smooth,

which left him heartsick and lackluster.

 

At the witching hour of the night,

When churchyards yawn and hell

itself breathes out, and as he breathed

his one last breath, a ministering

angel of infinite space, came to save

him from the jaws of death, and

trippingly on the tongue, said,

 

What, a piece of work is man.

What  fools these mortals be,

violent delights have violent ends.

Ah, There’s the rub.Truth will out,

he’s had too much of a good thing.

Love is not love which alters

when, it alteration finds.

And thereby ends the tale.

Which is tedious as a

Twice Told tale, but

What is done is done.

© 2019, Jen Goldie (Starlight and Moonbeams and the Occasional Cat)

In Words: A Shakespearian Tale

Neither a borrower nor a lender be!
As luck would have it, in this brave new
world I managed to break the ice,
discovering that brevity is the soul of wit.
The fellow refused to budge an inch, this
was cold comfort as conscience does
make cowards of us all. I, with bated breath,
In one fell swoop, decided to play it fast
and loose, set my teeth on edge
and with a heart of gold, proclaimed,
ill wind blows no man to good!
You have eaten me out of house and home,
For goodness sake! Good riddance!
I am more sinned against than sinning!
In my heart of hearts, I had to conclude
the game is on. Love, is blind filled with
forgotten yesterdays. I gave the devil
his due, for much ado about nothing.
“O God, O God, how weary, stale,
flat, and unprofitable seem
to me all the uses of this world.”
“My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break.
And rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please,
in words.”

© 2019, Jen Goldie (Starlight and Moonbeams and the Occasional Cat)


‘Tis the Road Out of the Frame

1535606_10152158621385747_420230311_n

Who’s there? unfold yourself ‘
Oh ’tis the road, out of frame, once
in grace, wore an inky metaled cloak …

With memories sweet- on it
trotted Arabian horses, held by leather
reins, with mirth in riding, jingling bells

Would lift the learning loads and
stay on the beat-  but
something is rotten, makes me sick
at heart-  behold  in silence it lies 

So defiant in dilapidated defeat!
it seems to be there, still serving in retreat-
Though gone is the tar crush and concrete;

Ah Old  Harley Road, I speak with reason,
You have the best on you, treading 
You are replete with learning homes
words words and words,

But، Ah there’s the rub-
The craters humps and dilapidation-
Oh Lord, what are we learning  
in this precarious condition? 
That is the question-

While yet the memory of good times
be green ,me thinketh,
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer,
the slings and jumps of outrageous travel-
The heart aches, thousand natural shocks
that the flesh is heir to-or to take up arms
against oceans of ditchy trouble,
Or by opposing, clean sweep them…?

Who would bear the whips and scorns
of time immemorial, the laws delay,
the repairs astray, the rains decay ;
all is not well, tis an unweeded garden-
do we continue to grunt and sweat
on a weary road? tis but my fantasy,
as  foul deeds will rise’, beware  the
Ides of March…

Oh Fair Poetess, soft you now ,
Ah there’s the bump..OUCH…!
Angels and ministers of grace defend us’

s.peares home
Shakespeare’s Home -An Artist’s View

© 2019, poem (English and Urdu), photograph, and colored-pencil drawing, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)

کچھ  خستہ و بدحال سڑک کے بارے میں

کون ھے؟
اپنے آپ کو ظاھر کرو

ارے  یہ  تو  اکھڑی ھویؑ سڑک ھے  زخمی 
کبھی  گہری   شاھانہ  پوشاک پہنے ھوتی تھی

میتٹھے سہانے سفروں کی یادیں سمیٹے ، گھنٹی
بجاتے تانگوں پہ بچوں کو سکول پہنچاتی تھی

اب  خاموشی  میں لپٹی  اطاعت  سے  بچھی ھے
 گر  چہ اڑ  چکا ھے  تار کول ، غایب ھے بجری ساری

دلاؑیل  سے بات ھو تو سوال اٹھے ، جھٹکے دھکے
کھا کر گزریں، کیا حاصل علم ھو ، روحانی یا کتابی

جب تک اس پہ گزرے وقت کی اچھی یادیں باکی ھیں
دل تھام کہ اٹھایں غلیل ،مرہم پٹی سب کرواین  سرکاری

 کون کرے انتیظار،قانون پہ  انہسار، ھو بارشوں میں خوار
  ملک مشکل میں ،کھرپا  درانتی نا مالی، پھر خزانہ بھی خالی

اے شاعر معصوم  انجم   مہینہ مارچ کا سخت ھے بچنا زرا
 یہ  لو ، کھایؑ   اک اور ظرب کاری speed breaker آیا آیا او 

“POETRY PEACE and REFORM Go Together -Let Us All Strive for PEACE on EARTH for ALL -Let Us Make a Better World -WRITE To Make PEACE PREVAIL.” Anjum Wasim Dar


ABOUT

%d bloggers like this: