autumnal mist hung
on cusp of winter’s tooth not
biting yet ~ waiting
.
haiku
.
apologies for the unseasonal nature of this haiku
Category Archives: Seasons
winter fest
homage to darkness
mid winter feast signals slow
sure return of light
.
haïku
ébloui
new life in the dead
of winter sunlight surrounds
the leaves as he leaves
.
haiku
christmas wish, this
i put a pear tree
in a partridge in a swan ~
longing for sweetness
.
haiku
wintery-weak hours
outside & in us
darkness lays a fog; takes what
watery daylight
.
haïku
tinder
tender, delicate
spring begins ~ storms of blossoms
shoots of green sun
.
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.
insistent joy — pouring
pale-green tea in a delicate cup
unceremonious —
koi in a pond swimming up
miniscule coal glowing in foaming
waterfall in my infinite chest
autumnal tumble spring expressed
palms pressed, lips open
to happiness —
to all things beckoning
recognising every small thing as tasting
fortuitous —
that stuff of thankfulness
.
oh, that soft embrace from — you know who
you are — rhymes of mint thyme coriander sage i
planted in a riot of wild flowers and trees i
will never see the shade of
oh, and that kiss — you know who
you are — amber and a thousand stars
stammer
in a pond swimming in
your mouth making the sound of
my name secure
murmur
oh, and that caress — you know who
you are — a sacrament of butterflies, thunder
rising on a summer breeze — a whole summer
lain in front of us to pray in
cascades made of holy gifts sipped to my infinite limbs
in the pond swimming around
winter hours shining in burnt orange glints
oh, and that gaze — you know who
you are — tiny tremors that become exquisite
shivers on a fresh blanched page
oh, and that hand in mine — you know who
you are —
oh,
you are
in
bubble-wrap pops
copper-blue eggs
nut-brown arms
cornflower silks
twitterings of little tits
snatches of salt-sharp winds
silver pepper-pot twists
dapples of yellow apples
white-linen billows
black-chocolate pebbles
thick-cream envelopes
effervescent-cobalt soaps
ecetera eceteras
sent to my infinite heart
insistent persistent gift
oh, joy — you know who
you are
.
not a haiku
.
NaPoWriMo day 13.-
….in honour of the potential luckiness of the number 13, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that, like the example poem here, joyfully states that “Everything is Going to Be Amazing.” Sometimes, good fortune can seem impossibly distant, but even if you can’t drum up the enthusiasm to write yourself a riotous pep-talk, perhaps you can muse on the possibility of good things coming down the track. As they say, “the sun will come up tomorrow,” and if nothing else, this world offers us the persistent possibility of surprise.
capture
carefully
the land dangles charms
sprinkles pearls, bees, birds
sound answers, tugs beasts
and buds forth to birth ; churns
of complexity ; bursts
of simplicity ; betrayed
roil of restless
cobweb -dreams escape
to wake
for rapture
.
only creatures
see empty bounty
a season of plenty, so
a season of menace for
those whose treasure must be exposed
that freshest wet innocence brought forth
in inexorable trust , hunted
again.
.
not a haiku
.
https://www.napowrimo.net/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/napo2021button1-1.png
NaPoWriMo day 6 prompt : to write a variation of an acrostic poem. But rather than spelling out a word with the first letters of each line, I’d like you to write a poem that reproduces a phrase with the first words of each line. Perhaps you could write a poem in which the first words of each line, read together, reproduce a treasured line of poetry? You could even try using a newspaper headline or something from a magazine article.
.
Pps
in hindsight, i think i may have misread the prompt… oops twice!
P.s you will find the poem chosen (at random) below . I copied down the first words and avoided reading the poem so that I would not be influenced. I did, however count the words in each of her lines and kept the same in my own poem ( there is one line longer though , oops ( poetic licence?))
Poem chosen:
Late October by Maya Angelou
.
Carefully
the leaves of autumn
sprinkle down the tinny
sound of little dyings
and skies sated
and roseate sunsets
roil ceaselessly in
cobweb greys and turns
to black
for comfort
.
Only lovers
see the fall
a signal end to endings
a gruffish gesture alerting
those who will not be alarmed
that we begin to stop
in order to begin
again.
bee-ing
dragonfly hovers
butterfly flits
i sit clean
in meadow grass; dream
.
haiku
barbaraturneywielandpoetess 