i met her at a chip shop
she was standin’ outside
she ‘ad a bag a chips
i said can i‘ave one
she said who do you think i am
with one curl of her salty lip
one hand on her hip
that was it
i was smit
.
not a haiku
.
a witness statement
.
a whimsy statement
flimsy at best but
.
could’ave happened, innit!
.
thx BG
hey!
i came here for
lightning, thunder, sun, water,
chili~chocolate ~ joy!
.
haiku
who the hell do you think you are?
barbarabarbarabarbarabarabarabara
the echoes follow me like stray bogs snapping
the meaning is barbaric
and mean
they mean it to be mean
and to wipe the name from my being
making me nameless and nothing
like my very existence is this question/accusation
hung up ugly for all and sundry to see and to shun
.
barbara is strange / outlandish
.
i grow up strange and foreign-language absurdity
i give out sporadic flashes of eye-lit verdancy
no-one understands, see, i am shameless
.
barbara is emerald wit eloquence and foresight
watch out
weren’t expecting that?
.
barbara is a symbol such as
awareness love wisdom
victim!
light knowledge truth
fool!
how dare you….!
.
i claim you!
barabal – i give you my word i promise
bairbre – i avow you are nothing strange nor hellish
.
go forth and practice barbara
the protectrice against bitter
fire brimstones / lightning bones
reveal sincerity of feeling, sister
.
btw april 14 2021
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Barbara: meaning strange or foreign / greek/ Bairbre /irish/ Barbabal / gaelic/
root of the word barbaric
spiritual meaning: symbol of knowledge or truth
precious stone: emerald
Barbara: protectrice against fire and lightning
Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that delves into the meaning of your first or last name.
NaPoWriMo day 5
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Hammered! Into copper-tongued clarity nothing
______matters, does it? Stuffed! Into cotton mouth
answers bluest call, shatters juices more from apple cored.
_____I wince. Panting quietly, my idiotic grin incised.
I can’t remember a taste as metallic as this
_____wishbone ( aptly gnawed) between teeth and trees and faith, passing
flowers have some honey, so does sun, and
_____isn’t that enough? Listen! This is just what
the bees whisper to breezy Spring’s
_____hips, thighs drunk, heavy, rippling, fizzing on
estrogenic tides. Sniffles caught on hazel twigs, drained and skinned.
_____Sorry! I lift my head and toes from this mess, taking intricate
steps. I lift kettle and cauldron down
_____gently, without much clack, fire quietly electricity, lightning cracks,
dying for some scalding liquid sympathy. Sun comes in
____at my waist, pouring pats on porcelain vase on table centre
My mind wanders out the window and teacup
_____strikes formica, gruffly asks a spoon to dance.
When has a morning been dressed as flayed as
_____this? Smashed passion for mama’s cooking, damp dents
in pillows, twisted patterned sheets…….dissipates……
_____The storm inside abates, beaten in syrupy circles
washed out in sea flakes and oat cakes
____a string of fresh laundry strung outside.
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not a haiku
April 5, 2021
This prompt challenges you to find a poem, and then write a new poem that has the shape of the original, and in which every line starts with the first letter of the corresponding line in the original poem. If I used Roethke’s poem as my model, for example, the first line would start with “I,” the second line with “W,” and the third line with “A.” And I would try to make all my lines neither super-short nor overlong, but have about ten syllables. I would also have my poem take the form of four, seven-line stanzas. I have found this prompt particularly inspiring when I use a base poem that mixes long and short lines, or stanzas of different lengths. Any poem will do as a jumping-off point, but if you’re having trouble finding one, perhaps you might consider Mary Szybist’s “We Think We Do Not Have Medieval Eyes” or for something shorter, Natalie Shapero’s “Pennsylvania.”
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Here is the poem that chose me…
Here Are Some Thorns, Splinters, Fishbones
BY SU CHO
Home for a pan-fried mackerel dinner,
my mother watches my chopsticks stumble
around the 가시. Full after a few bites,
I remember a story. When I was a baby
I choked on a fishbone at my grandparents’ house. My dad
wasn’t there. They yelled at my mother
for not inspecting each flaky bit of fish I put
in my clumsy mouth, not teaching me
the maneuvering of spiky slivers with my tongue,
how to place the needles next to my plate,
extract white meat clean. Ever since, she peels and holds
skeletons above our meal—fossils before me.
Still, I am bad at pulling bone from fish, cutting
skin from pears, which means I’ll never
get married. But what about the nights where my mouth
drips with SunGold kiwi, looking over
at my love, my lips smacking unabashedly.
Me cupping the furry layer in my palm, and you
standing over the sink eating it whole.
What would our mothers say? We laugh while I tell you
the story of how once, a splinter burrowed
into the meat of my thumb, and I kept it there for weeks.
Told my parents the splinter came out on its own
while I hoped my body would absorb the slender spear
and disappear the 가시 painlessly.
lightning cracks over
head heat haze reeks sparks parched lips
part begin to laugh
.
haiku
the silence thunders
all about my head a live
coal ~ lightening inside
.
haiku
thought I was flying ~
down through clouds
~ but this is smoke!
Sydney is burning
.
haiku
.
N.b
reporting from Sydney airport – in transit north
, on the news, it seems unreal or at best, distant.
i am a witness.
from this stage, i wave
to the rest of the world
this is real! this is acrid. this is thick. this stinks. this is toxic. this is shocking.
please please be shocked. Please please act.
here i stand. witness to this
not waving, but burning
5.
purple is the rain
boiling with storm cracked like cups
that cannot be fixed
.
haiku
Haiku
blurring of power.
pointed enemy gathers
strength shifting edges
I dreamt of separation and isolation, then
I woke up
barbaraturneywielandpoetess 