From Robert Lee Brewer:
Somehow we’re already on our third Two-for-Tuesday of the month; time is flying.
Somehow we’re already on our third Two-for-Tuesday of the month; time is flying.
Here are the two prompts for today:
- Write a life poem. The poem could be about the miracle of life, the complexity of life, the game of Life, or anything else that means life for you. Or…
- Write a death poem. For most organisms, life leads to death. So this should be as full of possibility as the life poem.
LIFE
ReplyDeletesometimes it's calm
like a shimmering lake
with swans floating
gently in the sun
so warm
at other times
it is like
unto an ocean storm
waves slap hard against
sharp rocks
cause gentle
souls to bleed and
hearts
to recede and shrivel
there never seems to be
a middle ground
for life
up and down
we laugh
we cry
we live
we die
with so many
people asking
why...
DEATH
I've been very close to death
been out there
floating away
looking down
at my own lifeless body
I had a choice then
go to the light
or back into myself
I heard voices
call my name
it was after an auto accident
on the coast of California
I went through the windshield
the one strange thing
was, I never felt pain
when I came back...
I like the life one best... it's more emotional and draws the reader in... the death one is good but not the same emotions... we both had different experiences with death... i saw nothing.. no light ... nothing and when I came back I hadn't even been aware I had died,
DeleteI liked both too. And maybe the death poem needs something more than just the statements but more the feeling experience. Good Job.
DeleteI like both, although I agree I like the Life one better especially the end.
DeleteI have so many poems about life and death I could have cheated, but I've been working with a new form (to me) called The Bop and thought it made a good form for this challenge.
ReplyDeleteWhen the Sun Will Rise Again (The Bop)
The hospital bed holds me prisoner
entombs me in the mattress
suffocates me under the blankets
tubes force oxygen into my lungs
my body cannot move - there is no hope
I’m not sure I want to be alive
When the sun will rise again.
An ambulance takes me to a new place
where I will learn to walk again
to become more than a lump on a bed
I’m too weak to sit let alone stand.
To walk seems an impossibility
I cannot brush my own teeth
or even comb my own hair
I fear the moment
when the sun will rise again.
It’s been weeks and progress made
I stand yet I do not walk
my muscles strengthen
as I am pushed to try harder
months pass - we push hard - I walk!
That night I couldn’t wait for
when the sun will rise again.
Wow!!! That's all I can say, WOW!!! I like the form too. hope you will comment on my poem of yesterday also.
DeleteYea!!! This poem is a wowser!! The form goes well with it also!!
DeleteAwesome poem. Can you explain the form?
Deletethe Bop is a form of poetic argument consisting of three stanzas, each stanza followed by a repeated line, or refrain, and each undertaking a different purpose in the overall argument of the poem.
DeleteThe first stanza (six lines long) states the problem, and the second stanza (eight lines long) explores or expands upon the problem. If there is a resolution to the problem, the third stanza (six lines long) finds it. If a substantive resolution cannot be made, then this final stanza documents the attempt and failure to succeed.
Another old one. I will still try to write a new one but once again, a busy day.
ReplyDeleteSEARCHING FOR MY MOTHER
a sestina
The first November freeze. I reach far back
in my closet for my coat, can’t believe
it’s winter. In the pocket, my hand finds
something foreign, a black leather strap watch.
I don’t wear a watch. It is my mother’s,
taken from her dead wrist, still keeping time.
Time reels. I hold it to my ear, believe
this inanimate object holds life, find
nothing. Do her skin cells cling to the watch?
I sniff, try to find, be with my mother.
It is odorless, cold as wintertime.
My hand moves to my pocket, puts it back.
In church to hear the musician, I find
my long lost faith still unrestored. I watch
the ceiling. It does not fall. My mother
isn’t there. Still, I check several times.
One woman has her hairdo, one in back
has her eyes. I wonder how they believe.
I visit Erie in June, the beach, watch
sunbathers, waves, drifting sand. My mother
used to drive the peninsula. This time
I’m alone, drive past her house on my way back.
Her garden still blooms. I could believe
she's there, but don’t of course, know what I’d find.
I go through recipe files my mother
used, sort greasy magazines, take my time,
find a handwritten book. Taken aback,
her presence, I stare at measures, believe
her essence resides in recipes, find
cookies, pies, that she had baked as I watched.
Andy Williams died. I call my mother.
She has all his albums. It rings three times,
a stranger answers. She cannot call back.
She is dead. Sometimes, my mind still believes
she is where I can still talk to her, find
her number, her address, her ticking watch.
I cannot go back in time, but will bake
her cookies, cherish memories and find
my mother’s watch once again come winter.
this is simply beautiful... such lovely memories and I do enjoy those Christmas cookies just like mom used to make.
DeleteI'm choked up with tears in my eyes...this is so emotional and beautiful...I love it
DeleteWhat a lovely poem and how sweet the memories you have shared. Bless you!
DeleteShe breathed a deep sigh
ReplyDeleteThe light was getting stronger.
At last, it was time.
Her body grew heavy
And then became very light
She let go and left.
Birth and death are one
To die is to become light
We only know then.
Wow. Powerful poem in so few words.
DeleteThank you. I value your words so much.
DeleteI've "Kued" again, somehow it just deemed like the paradox was right there.
ReplyDeletethis feels so real as if you had experienced it yourself. well done and powerful.
DeleteKued?
DeleteHaikued, just my silly short hand. Ought to be written 'Kued.
DeleteThanks, Bonnie, you are kind. I never have but I have ad a lot. And believe this is the case.
DeleteOOPS, I didn't notice the misprint, I have READ a lot about it. that is to say...not experienced it as yet.
DeleteI love this one. You combined life and death.It's very realistic!!! I've watched three people succumb to death and your powerful poem pin points the drama of it...
ReplyDelete