My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Friday, March 4, 2011

10 Tanka: Pink Rain

Pink Blooms
(image by rmp, that's me)

magnolia's first bloom
brings sweet memories of you
Pink Dusted Boughs
(image by rmp, that's me)
with gorgeous pink hues
too soon petals fall like tears
purging pain to grow anew

Visions of Pink
(image by rmp, that's me)

beneath lovely boughs
dusted with gorgeous pink hues
i watch it rain
flurries of petals drift down
like scattered visions of you

my favorite part about spring is those few weeks were the trees are dusted in hues of pinks, whites, and purples.  i'm not sure what it is about them, but my heart sighs at the sight of those lovely branches.  For One Stop Poetry's Friday Poetically, we were ask to melt away the last bits of snow that coat our thoughts and think of spring.  in doing so, i found myself think of those blossoming trees and one in particular that haunts my mind.  thus you may find there are whispers of sorrow in these two pieces, but a bit of hope too i'd like to think.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

20 silent screams

i have an affinity, or so it seems,
for torturing myself with hopes and dreams;
so i do my best to tuck them away,
never mention them, or put them on display.
i have this insane apprehension--this fear
that failure is all i will ever hear;
and so i wish to fall flat on my face in secrecy
for fear they would think less of me.
i understand that logic would have me share
so they may hold my hand and show me they care;
but alas, i find myself suffering alone
fidgeting in anticipation that is all my own.
i am bound by this crux of hopes and dreams,
that echo in my mind with silent screams.

inspired by my current state of mind (which i'd much rather forget) and by Three Word Wendesday [3WW=affinity, fidget, mention].

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

6 to be free to touch

her gloved fingers itched to be free.
unhindered by fabric or this gift, she longed
to taste the world as it was meant to be

unhindered by fabric or this gift, she longed
to feel the warmth of his caress
and finally feel like she belonged

to feel the warmth of his caress
as he trailed his fingers along her skin,
was a dream she had to repress.

as he trailed his fingers along her skin,
with her own glove covering his hand
she felt the desire burn deep within.

with her own glove covering his hand
he pulled her close, his eyes focused on her lips
the threat of his kiss was more than she could stand

he pulled her close, his eyes focused on her lips
oh how she wished to fulfill his plea
and touch his mouth with more than glove covered fingertips

oh how she wished to fulfill his plea.
her gloved fingers itched to be free
to taste the world as it was meant to be.

my thoughts earlier in the afternoon were to work on my long neglected tale of With Just a Touch.  technically i have the rest of the story mapped out; i know exactly how it will end...but i have no patience really for lengthy writes.  that's probably why i like poetry; the longest poem i ever labored over (save the cursed ballad that i'm still working on...not sure whether to thank or curse One Stop Poetry's Form Monday for their hand in inspiring me to try a ballad)...where was i...ah, yes, the longest poem i ever labored over was two type pages, but alas the words probably only covered 30% of the paper...

i think i'm off topic...hmmm....  so while i thought to add to With Just a Touch, i was thinking about One Stop Poetry's One Shot Wednesday (and ignoring the fact that it is Tuesday and already the post is up with more than 80 link-ins...i suppose it's Wednesday somewhere).  while i participated once before, two weeks ago, it was with an old poem i thought to share.  i thought this time it might be nice to share something new.  i think i'm off topic again...where was i...hmm, yes...OSP made it very easy for me to push aside my story for a poem instead...

upon further reflection, i thought it was a long time since i toyed with a my brain decided to not completely neglect my story, but to honor it with a poem...this wonderful train of thought was all fine and dandy, but if you read the above poem (and know anything about pantoums) you will know that it is not exactly a pantoum...i sort of truncated it a bit.  after i was done, i thought it would only take a couple of tweaks and one additional line to fit, but i kinda like it the way it is.

i think that's enough rambling for i'm going to link in (probably somewhere in the 90's) and then head off to bed...night...

Monday, February 28, 2011

1 from deep within

i wish i knew where it came from...or at least knew the trigger...

how do i go from smiles to tears in the blink of an eye?  how do i go from a calm soothing state to a tempestuous storm in the flash of a nanosecond?

i fear knowing the answers won't really help.  sure there would be some peace in knowing, but knowing doesn't necessarily change the turmoil that lies buried deep within me from surfacing out of the blue.

maybe i need to work on the power of positive thinking and happy thoughts.  maybe i need to ride out the storm and hope the next will stay at bay for about wishful thinking.

2 frazzled ('cause i already used befuddled)...

this whole tanka/haiku thing has me spinning in circles...add to it kyoka and senryu and well i'm so frazzled...

the two poem pivot of the tanka has me somewhat disconnected.  the 5-7-5 but doesn't have to be 5-7-5 haiku bit has me in a bit of tizzy.  the anti-tanka mad song/poem better known as a kyoka is well rather unknown.  and it would really help if i had a better handle on satirical and irony 'cause otherwise the senryu is just human-nature as apposed to nature-nature.  of course there's the you-really-don't-get-this-form poem, also known as free verse.

i have no idea what's what.  a strict syllable count and inherent theme seem so much easier.  why do things have to get complicated?  how 'bout we just call it a poem?  so do i just give up, write what's in me and not care if it hits the mark?  or do i do my best to hit the mark and search out the answers and advice?

feel free to chime in at anytime here....

Tanka, Kyoka, or Free Verse?

close your eyes my sweet
taste the delicate flavor
my lips offer you
sugary sweetened remnants
taste succulent on the tongue

she defied reason
by not falling for his game
capturing his heart
she stole his play book with ease
and played him at his own game

Haiku, Senryu, or Free Verse?

waters rise
trespassing in homes
melting snow

it was the deers fault
he don't need to read to see
'tis a duck cross here

Sunday, February 27, 2011

10 a real superpower

He watched her carefully
and wondered
how no one else saw it
it didn't take someone with superpowers
like him
to see the truth that took shape
before his eyes
Sure he was a superhero
man of Kevlar
they sometimes called him
steel being taken by Superman
iron being owned by Iron Man
bulletproof belonging to a long line of monks
regardless the dorky title
his speed could not be match and
his strength could not be equaled
but she had something far greater
something so amazing
that she was his crux
his Louis Lane
his Meredith McCall
his Jade
regardless her perceived lack of superpower
she could soothe a crying child
she could bring a smile to the saddest of hearts
she could heal the soul of those she touched
the truth of the matter was
she had the most amazing superpower of all
her heart
and with it
she had managed to uncover his Achilles' heel
and steal his heart

this tale was inspired by Jingle Poetry's Poetry Potluck [Cartoons, Sci-fi, and Super Powers].  if it isn't obvious i spoke to the superpower part of the theme.  first i thought i might write about a super power i would like to have, but i guess somewhere in there i kind of thought that in a way, we all have buried within us an amazing superpower that has the potential to heal those around us...if we choose to use it that is...

4 precious friends

my fingers trace along their spines
caressingly drawing in their essence
a soothing calm washes over me
melting away the world
that surrounds and suffocates me
i find solace
in their creased bindings
in their sun faded edges
in the texture of their pages
in the worlds they open up to me

i step away with fear and sadness
for this beautiful place of sanctuary
is dissolving before my eyes
being replaced with a cold
intangible digital world of convenience
soon these shelves will be encased
in glass boxes with a sign
"look, but don't touch"
libraries will become museums
meant solely house these precious artifacts
never will they feel the touch
of warm hands
of soothing fingers
of salty tears
of sweet laughter

as much as i long to hold on to them
draw them to me and pretend
they will always be
how can i?
when i sit here
my smart phone at the ready
with its dictionary
with its rhyming app
with its twitter app
with its rss feeder

i'm far from guilt free
my fingers typing silently away
composing and sharing digitally
my ereader sitting at my right elbow
long gone are the days
of cave drawings
of hieroglyphics written on stone tablets
of ink stained scrolls
of words typed on the ancient typewriter in my parent's basement

i look at my friends just sitting there
waiting patiently for me to find the time
that eludes me in this hectic fast paced digital society
and a soothing calm washes over me
for i will not abandon them
not completely
because they hold me in the palm of their hands
invoking deep down within me
a passion for the written word
an appetite for life
a desire to slow down and escape
a longing for what could be

Photo by JackAZ

inspiration for this piece came from One Stop Poetry's One Shoot Sunday [interview with JackAZ Photography].  i found myself thinking about this old typewriter and its history, and somehow i went from thinking about what it was replaced with to what is starting to replace its product.  i have a fondness for books.  just being surrounded by shelves of books can sooth my tempestuous soul.  so after an unusual train of thought that started with an old typewriter, i found the above words take form.  (i didn't abandon the typewriter completely, he made a cameo appearance.)