twisting
coral beads
tighter
leaving
indents
like
teeth marks
turning blue
.
haiku
Category Archives: Colours
under the summer trees
gossamer & gold
citrus blossoms’ sweet mischief
blushing mauve madness
.
haiku
coming through
desert of the night
curtain edges becoming
light & blue & you
.
haiku
hue
your favourite colour ?
he asks , green, purple, blue ?
oh , i say , it’s you
.
haiku
glimpse
the yellow lights shone
through darkness’ bones and flesh
flashing oily death
.
haiku
crimson expansion
sea poppies drift in
to existence
to breathe
rouge
swifts
between tree ribs
.
haiku
blue salt call
come to me darling
and i will drown you in me
it won’t hurt at all
.
haiku
playing
his bright blue marbles
he looks at me ~ rummaging
around in my soul
.
haiku
defiant chill in the air
.
summer’s here, not gone, you insist
it’s beauty emptying and fermenting
tempting trees to bare their teeth and throw down arms
though barely September, winds whinge and whine
querulous as a passels of squirrels rustling and thieving stashes of nuts
but autumn comes in hobbling like two old biddies in dirtied petticoats —mouths
prattling, puckered as a skinny cow’s arse and just as fetidly malted
shocking as the hot stench of wolves on the cooled nostrils on a fist of horses
shivering, prickling as a torment of digits in agony on the return of blood as tips thaw out
summer’s not gone… you insist, hunkered into your nest of jewels and tattered letters —
like a tiny brown shrew nibbling whortleberries that stain like gossiped loot —
the colours, taste and scent that lasts well past memory, dribbled and inked in wines
behind preserving glasses- solitarily grasping at remnants of loves and leaves almost gone
to seeds, pulling heads in for a duration you shall not mention or admit —
except in the writing of this
.
not a haiku
.
.
p.s A whortleberry is a forest-foraged berry, also known as a bilberry or huckleberry. Traditionally, after a harvest of them was sent to the kitchens of London and other important towns, ( from Porlock and its environs ) remnants were sent to be used in the dying of airmen’s uniforms. (So i’m informed)
Napowrimo day 26.-
A couple of days ago, we played around with hard-boiled similes. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that contains at least one of a different kind of simile – an epic simile. Also known as Homeric similes, these are basically extended similes that develop over multiple lines. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they have mainly been used in epic poems, typically as decorative elements that emphasize the dramatic nature of the subject (see, by way of illustration, this example from Milton’s Paradise Lost). But you could write a complete poem that is just one lengthy, epic simile, relying on the surprising comparison of unlike things to carry the poem across. And if you’re feeling especially cheeky, you could even write a poem in which the epic simile spends lines heroically and dramatically describing something that turns out to be quite prosaic. Whatever you decide to compare, I hope you have fun extending your simile(s) to epic lengths.
wear the yellow wellies
pray for rain, for darkest sun
say the word storm til it hums, honey
in the base of your tummy
hurry-flurry from home
wear the yellow wellies, silly
the spotted overalls, the lightning gnomes
everyone forgets to
. . . . .
pack only a ring of bells
one ( or two ) cracks of shells
a smack of berg-a-mots and cloves
three ( or four ) knocks and shoves
for good luck
smatter in some syllables
shuck some pebble-marbles
for kicks and giggles
then
. . . . .
leave them out on the porch
bring a torch
go insid
where you hid
as a kid
flash-splash beam-scream mutter-whisper
call to all your jammy jars of sea foam whiskers
tickles
you kept for later
watch
cock your ear
the path is clear
corkscrew your self to where you are young
find the poem – ( fully-fledged )
bouncing on your tongue – right at the edge
left right where you left it
catch its skin in your pearly teeth
like light from the storm beneath
bubble up, laughing
in your teacup, paddling
.
not a haiku
.
.
NaPoWriMo day 4: write a poem . . . in the form of a poetry prompt. If that sounds silly, well, maybe it is! But it’s not without precedent. The poet Mathias Svalina has been writing surrealist prompt-poems for quite a while, posting them to Instagram. You can find examples here, and here, and here.
barbaraturneywielandpoetess 