onto blurred air , i
draw my body ; sly nude pose ;
mist conceals bruises
.
haiku
Category Archives: art
tiny, beautiful things
looks like glass , pearl , silk . . .
sinuous intensity — slink . . .
feels like . . . some first kiss
.
haiku
grounded
going to garden
centered planted on planet
seeding stars in dirt
.
haiku
fare well
i used to know my sister
til i knew her too well
i don’t miss her
.
i used to work as a school teacher
i learned to show and not tell
i don’t miss this either
.
i used to paint fine art pictures
i’d stick them up on walls to sell
not one was a keeper
.
i let them all go
used up
i used to try to think
i used to be a dreamer
i stopped
i started
to linger
in liminal places
erasing these faces
i surrender
to a sweeter power
and
i woke up to be her
but who is she, ma belle?
.
not a haiku
.
NaPoWriMo day 21 prompt:-
write a poem in which you first recall someone you used to know closely but are no longer in touch with, then a job you used to have but no longer do, and then a piece of art that you saw once and that has stuck with you over time. Finally, close the poem with an unanswerable question.
on heart strings drawn at dawn
.
liccle-itsty-bitty bits & increments
all along lines ( i’ve drawn ) of longtitudes & platitudes
something crawls quietly minding its own bizziness
sickle instrument wrought in criss-crossed hairs –
raised whispers shrink to focus
into being
something multipliesminimalised
zing!
.
indistinct insects aren’t more minuscule than this
abstract concept
it’s simple — a note a mote i wrote-un-written just
folded over a thousand-trillon times in
a chime of homeopathic pearls of petals
a curl of soapy marble mumbles smitten in
to sputters dotted with pollens arrested in syrupy amber still
wet & wept taunt & thick with scents reminiscent of what? still hot
still small
a cerebral cortex stretched &
strung along high-wired spirals & straightened memories slip-wrecked
vibrating sweetly minutely brightly
a distinct reveille
a cell’s reverie
.
somewhere something twangs & swells
cracks at its invisible shells & sprouts its mythical wings
abruptly
it is lost on dusts & mists
of songsitude unplentitudes ( i’ve created ) understated it’s .
.
.
not huge at all
as it happened
did you spot it?
an imperfect ball de-magnified
as speck of ink on a brink
of extinction
so microscopic was it
did you miss it?
.
not a haiku
.
NaPoWriMo day 12:-
Yesterday, the challenge was to write a poem about a very large thing. Today, it is to invert the inspiration, and write a poem about a very small thing. Whether it’s an atom, a button, a hummingbird’s egg, dollhouse furniture, or the mythical world’s smallest violin. Let’s begin…. see above
high~c’s
whirl of sea gulls white
as wind’s full sails on blue skies
tho no sea’s in sight
.
haiku
distance
‘you’ve spoiled the way the tree hangs’, he muttered in passing, the man i’d watched from across the orchard with admiration, imagining some future passion. His torso glowed in the low summer sun. Sweat over taunt muscles, golden fuzz glued, caught in highlights, his face averted, his shorts short and tight.
When he approached me, i’d gasped at the intense scent rising from his body, that eclipsed the perfume of the apples dangling from the branches and fermenting in the grass. I’d felt quite dizzy from it, perched as i was, dangerously high on my ladder.
‘is that a fact?’ i’d offered to his back.
A beautiful, rippling study of manly motion and determination, he attacked the tree next to me with his secateurs. ‘yep’ he said, under his breath, ‘get some perspective’.
i climbed down from the ladder, took a few steps away and surveyed my own tree, glistening with rosy fruit, littered with severed branches and foliage, listing slightly.
He’d made no bones of it. I laughed. He was probably right.
In this tender light, this splendid afternoon spoiled, i removed my ladder to a further tree and began again.
i left my thoughts hanging
.
not a haiku
.
The prompt is based on Robert Hass’s remarkable prose poem, “A Story About the Body.” The idea is to write your own prose poem that, whatever title you choose to give it, is a story about the body. The poem should contain an encounter between two people, some spoken language, and at least one crisp visual image.
nightly
i lay in the snow
gazing at the lights and my
breath freezing like art
.
haiku
subliminal
too sublime for my
too subtle eyes to notice
dragons fly ice dance
.
haiku
Note book for you
Hello readers,
I’ve created a notebook for your THOUGHTS NOTES DREAMS on Amazon.
Each page is watermarked with an original drawing of falling flowers waiting to receive your writings. I hope you like it and use it to express whatever your heart desires.
Follow the link below to find the notebook / journal of your dreams
Happy writing
With love
BTW
barbaraturneywielandpoetess 