Prompt for Hour Three
Write a poem about fishing. It doesn’t matter if you have never been fishing before. The poem must contain at least three lines that involve fishing. Everything else is up to you.
The Hushing Ballade
An artist knows the soul’s effect.
Drops of blue hued eternity
On Life’s canvas forever kept-
Fierce, Bold, tremendously mighty
Deliberately drawn safety
With each brush stroke a million tries
Capturing time’s humanity
Hush, little lady, dry your eyes.
Musicians call souls to connect.
Harmonious identity
In melodic magic enrapt-
Echoing, pings, ringing beauty
Where silence cannot be guilty
Missing the dulcimer’s strummed cries
Organ breathing humanity
Hush, little lady, dry your eyes.
A woman’s soul feeds to protect.
That nourishing mentality
Abundant, fruitful, never scapt-
At times bitter, sweet, and salty
Lest one starve; succumb to frailty
Invigotating ‘neath her skies
Satisfying humanity
Hush, little lady, dry your eyes.
Your soul is my reality.
Your legacy, it never dies-
Drawn song feeding humanity
Hush, little lady, dry your eyes.
by Karen Sullivan
Form: Ballade
Depth
It’s crowded in here
So many thoughts:
Fears
Worries
Too many to sort
More than I can discern
Sinking deeper and deeper
Into the depths of my mind
I fear losing myself
To the Dark
The Emptiness
A Soul Death I cannot fathom
Is creeping on me
A necrotic curse
I long to blame on my conditions
But all things are choice
Even Desperation
Even Loss
So I must learn to choose differently
Not only for myself
But for those I love
Last Dance
they danced like they had never danced before
with joy in their hearts and tears in their eyes
while whispering and holding hands
under dim lit street lights and soft moonlight
they always knew how it would need to be
from the very first day they met
he; drinking coffee
and she; searching for a ‘Treasure Island’ copy
the truth was that he was walking by on that rainy day
he was drawn in when he saw her
and this was their last night together
she shut her eyes to burn this memory into her heart
she could keep this one thing forever
even if they would forever be apart
they continued on, to their favorite after hours spot
and they continued their dance
with broken hearts
then came the morning and the realization
that life has to be lived
life has to go on
and when faced with the choice
sometimes you have to risk it all
they stepped in the sunlight
“good morning”, he said
then they walked off together in the same direction
because they chose love
By: KMH 2015
sylvan moments in a dark
lair beneath the flowered tree
a hidden place
a lonely place.
i told myself about those
imagined people living here
gloomy elves, forgetful dwarfs,
hard working royalty clothed
in woolen, hoods disguising
astonishing loveliness, perceptive
wisdom, beholden to witches
who eschewed ebony robes
of fairyhood for pumpkin hues
denoting holiness, genesis,
transition from ogre to angel.
i dug pebbles from the earth
gave them human names with
charismatic gifts of love,
healing and remembrance
i gained what i had sought
acceptance something more
than charm or magic.
i had believed and I was born.
What A Marathon Poet Does when She’s Not Writing Poetry
What A Marathon Poet Does when She’s Not Writing Poetry
Walks in the garden
Picks the first three ripe cherry tomatoes of the season
Well, almost ripe
Pulls an armful of lemon balm
for the chickens consigned to their pen
because of a resident raccoon
she just couldn’t bear to shoot
Empties the chicken feeder, soaked
after the night’s rain
Washes, dries, and refills feeder
Realizes she skipped breakfast
Forgets breakfast when she also realizes
almost an hour has passed
Makes a list of what she’s done in the past hour
Calls the list a poem
Hour 2–Last Ride With Norm
I signed for him at a shiny table
she responded with a measured smile
transaction completed
I received a box
in a bag
the bag printed with the words “Nakamura Mortuary”
and a stylized logo of bending palm tree
a silhouette respectful yet appropriately tropical
my friend Norm in the box in the bag
ashes
wheelchair no longer required
I put him in the car
he rode shotgun as usual
seatbelt no longer required
I talked to him
I made a right to avoid traffic then a familiar street sign surprised me
I’d never seen the far end of his street
we went for a ride sightseeing on Nakoa Drive
unfamiliar faces watched us
I paused in front of his house the same but not
today the empty house was overexposed like an aging photograph
Norm would not live there now
he was gone yet with me on the passenger seat
“One last look.” I patted the box
the For Sale sign was still there
lawn still dead
the ruthless driveway now benign
“I love you, Brother” is all I could think to say
Treasure
Open the window,
Let in the soft moonlight,
faces can’t be known,
So be honest to join us in,
Good Morning everyone!
Yes it is,
We now know the light,
Its here to guide,
We will travel,
fast and steady,
to find ourselves,
In the treasure Island..
A Teenage Midsummer Night’s Dream
“No- I am not the speaker of things simpler”,
you say–
Do you not want to wish me
a good night’s sleep?
And maybe later, a good morning.
The next morning. I am off to
treasure island. Or perhaps the words
preceding require capitalization. Some
form of revitalization. Treasure Island?
There. I might have fixed it. After all-
I am the fixer of things simpler. I am a bush,
that one Bush. In the aftermath of the after-hours
of the last time I kissed your baby lips… I am clean
and pure-
And surely a little insecure.
Your Face Reminds Me #2/24
Your Face Reminds Me #2/24
Your face reminds me of lines I need to write.
Your lips speaking poetic words about this world
we visit when it’s just us two.
In the room where love came to find us long ago.
I was so far from anything relevant
and you were very bitter like strong coffee.
Late afternoons, the sun slanting in through the blinds–
stripes on the lined shelves of literature.
A place where all else falls away, unnecessary.
Pushing the papers and opened books aside,
sudden lust was a visitor we welcomed.
Pleasure had to be restrained there,
kept quiet as a shameful secret we shared.
What do I miss the most?
The urgency.
I miss
the urgency.