found poem

There was nothing
of high mark
in this.
They were not
a handsome family;
they were not
well dressed;
their shoes
were far
from being water-proof;
their clothes
were scanty;
and Peter might
have known,
and very likely did,
the inside
of a pawnbroker’s.
But,
they were happy,
grateful,
pleased
with one another,
and contented
with the time;
and when they faded,
and looked
happier yet
in the bright sprinklings
of the Spirit’s torch
at parting,
Scrooge had his eye
upon them,
and especially
on Tiny Tim,
until the last.

///

This poem is in response to the Holiday Found Poetry prompt at We Write Poems, and was literally found. It is a paragraph from Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

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Time to Spider

it’s time to spider
to be the shuttle
in the weaving
to attend
to any splits
following lines
making sure
all is clear
and level
repairing breaks
keeping it intact

then the waiting
level-headed
patient
no rushing about

thinking of flying
releasing a long strand
and catching the wind
but too old
for that now
too settled

trying to find
the golden mean
every day

not listening
(for i have
no ears)
but feeling
the breeze
on my body

waiting for the echo
of struggle
in the lines

then i go
inject the venom
pulverize the insides
of my prey
for me to live
something must die

///

This poem was written in response to Wordle 140 at The Sunday Whirl.

Red Wolf emerges from the woods

Very excited about this new anthology from the fine people (also poets) at We Write Poems.

We Write Poems

red wolf eyes
We’re excited to present you the Red Wolf collection, the first We Write Poems prompted-poem anthology.
 
This first anthology is the culmination of roughly three years of work – people writing poems in response to prompts presented at this site. So prompts and the Internet were the great enablers of the creative process by which these poems were written and shared.
 
The title of the anthology, “Red Wolf”, reflects the art banner of our site. We think it helps define who we are, who we want to be – poets who look to play a little dangerously, realizing the hungry teeth also of our natures, and with willingness in allowing risk. Real writing calls for nothing less. But then again, we’ve nothing against also having fun.
 
And because prompts played such an integral part in triggering the poems we write, we decided to feature the prompts…

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apart

an angel apart
descending
to a world of waves
every mass of land
covered with boxes
homes and businesses
for the people of clay
fixed on their simple truths
and complicated lies
he watches them pair off
mooning their days away
trying in vain and vanity
to find what
they think they need
to cover the pain
of pairing and unpairing
of waiting to find another
snatching satisfaction
where it can be found
and it can be found everywhere
but never finding
peace or grace
though it surrounds them
and fills them
the angel helps
when and where he can
sometimes with a message
at other times with a memory
then returns to be
with his own kind

/ / /

This poem was written in response to Wordle 139 at The Sunday Whirl.

Somonka

He thinks I just play
the role of the beloved-
in pursuit of cash
and other goods, swirling my
skirt to beat his defenses

I put on prison
lenses, cloaking my self in
becoming less than-
more Mars than Venus, wild and
a tad cruel in my outlook

This poem was written in response to Wordle 138 at The Sunday Whirl.

Thanks to my friend, Paula, for telling me about the Somonka form.