In Case of Writer’s Block, Break This Poem

Word Help by Anna Langova

I collect words,
abandoned syllables
of overheard conversations
tucked away for a rainy day,
stashing “itinerant” and “furtive”
in empty pickle jars in the pantry,
“mercurial” carefully folded and slid
between boxes of winter clothes
in the top of my closet
next to “pedantic” and “demeanor,”
“serendipity” carried in my pockets
until threadbare and tatty,
files and notebooks overflowing until the day
I recycle those collected words into poetry,
something to touch the dreams of another’s soul
by exposing my own.


Written for the Poetic Asides Poem a Day Challenge Day 11 prompt, to write a poem with “In Case of (blank)” as the title.  Also written for the prompt from Poetry Jam asking about the contents of our pockets.

Life of Pi

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Life is a circle, 

The wheel of fortune

Spinning on and on,

Moving me 

A little further

Down my path.

I've spent years

Trying to measure

The distance across it,

Trying to see

Just how wide

I open I need to be

To wrap myself around it,

Finally realizing

The key to this cipher

Is to know my own value…

3.1415926535

~~~ This poem was written for a prompt from Poetry Jam that asked us to take the title of a book on one of the New York Times best sellers lists and write a poem for it.  The book I chose was “The Life of Pi” by Yann Martel, which is #3 on the Paperback Trade Fiction list this week. This was also for the Poetic Asides Poem a Day Chapbook Challenge day 19 prompt of writing a wheel poem.

Freak Show

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Ladies and gentlemen,
Boys and girls,
Children of all ages…
I invite you to step inside the Halls of Idiosyncrasy
To witness to this spectacle of the bizarre,
Deformities on public display for all to see.

First, witness the contortionist.
Watch as she manipulates
Her limbs into unnatural poses,
Far beyond the limitations
Normally required of human beings,
Shaping herself to the whims of those around her.

Here we see the sword swallower,
Ingesting every blade handed to her,
All those cutting words of sharpened steel,
Risking evisceration with every mouthful,
Her bleeding scars unseen by the outside world.

Next comes the bearded lady,
Genetics and hormones
Transforming this once-beautiful woman
Into a hirsute horror
Seeking to hide her shame
Behind scarves and veils.

Behold the snake charmer,
Whispering just the right words
To calm the wrath of the serpents
Who slither through deception
Then coil in defensive postures,
Ready to strike at any moment.

Finally we have the fire eater,
Consuming blazing words
That should never be left silent,
Determination scorched
In hopes of avoiding annihilation.

And what sets these oddities apart,
You may ask?

This display consists of only one performer…
Me.

Welcome to the freak show I call my life.


~~~ This was written for my prompt this week over at Poetry Jam about the circus.  This is also for the prompt from Imaginary Garden with Real Toads asking us as poets to “break the fourth wall” of writing.

A Season of Grief

Tree Silhouette by Peter Griffin

Her heart lies
Wounded and withering
From near fatal
Blows of mourning,
Languishing in darkness
For too many years,
Too many tears.
All seasons pass
With the turning
Of the calendar page,
But time crawls more slowly
With every loss,
Her hope dormant and waiting
For the next season to begin.

~~~ This was written for the Poetry Jam prompt of “endless seasons” or "change of season."

My Choice

The opportunity has always been there,

Tantalizingly close to my fingertips. 

The time has come 

To climb the ladder  

And grasp my guiding star.

I have the ability to choose my direction,

To make a course correction if necessary, 

And I choose to move on.

I will never be content 

To live in the shadows of life. 

I want my opportunity to blossom, 

To stand in the sun and have my day, 

To seek the applause 

I so desperately want to hear,

If only for just one moment.  

I am tired of suffering in silence. 

Let me sing once again with the breaking morn.  

I cannot continue the way things have been.  

I know that staying the course 

Is a sure path to suicide 

And I will not surrender anymore.

I will not cede my power 

To some bullying tyrant 

Holding me hostage in my own life.

This is my life.

This is my choice.

I choose me.

~~~ This poem was written in response to a prompt from Poetry Jam asking us to write about choices.

Shrapnel to the Heart

Cosma by sabine Sauermaul

my heart transformed,

now a magnet for his shrapnel, 

love, an unavoidable vortex, 

a dislocating kiss 

in the thundering wilds. 

I hang my emotions 

on the clothesline

to dry my wrenched tears,

fevered delirium 

embedded in each fiber, 

a mournful marathon 

through an auburn Tuesday night. 

he rendered me helpless, 

a phantom vapor 

chasing her siren, 

holding his howls 

close as remedy

before planting myself 

in a sheltered corner. 

a melancholy wind blows, 

swaying my grasses,  

erotic scents floating 

with stray powders 

from fairy wands.  

I float on his tides, 

a helpless captive 

to his churning waters,

the ebb and flow of his world 

determining the shape of mine. 

~~~  This poem was written for the prompt from Imaginary Garden with Real Toads asking us to draw inspiration from the words of a fellow poet and to write a surrealistic poem.  My inspiration came from the line “…sheltered in the corner of your shrapnel heart” from the poem “Box Shaped Heart” by Hannah Gosselin. I’m also linking this up for this week’s prompt over at Poetry Jam and the OctPoWriMo Day 25 prompt, which both asked us to write about love.

Shadows Dance

Photo by Mary Mansfield
Yard Haunt, 2012

At twilight, when the shadows dance,
The brave of heart can take a chance
Against the specters of the night
Who wander free in manic flight,

Unhindered by our mortal glance.
At twilight, when the shadows dance,
The witches brew their magic potion,
Strengthening their dark devotion.

The air is filled with howls and screams,
The kind found in demented dreams
At twilight. When the shadows dance
And sway across the dim expanse,

A demon risen from its tomb
Will lure us toward impending doom,
Ensnaring us in fear’s grim trance
At twilight, when the shadows dance.


~~~ This poem was written for a prompt from Poetry Jam asking us to write a poem about shadows.

** Note:  Oops!  I had originally labelled this as a kyrielle when in fact it is a quatern.  Fixed the labeling!

Bedtime Story

Dark Rose by Petr Kratochvil

She clutches her pillow as a charm
Against the unbearable stillness.
Night should bring
The mending serenity of sleep,
Not fevered paranoia
Wrought by brittle nerves
Crusted with the scars of the past.
A midnight breeze
Rustles the willow branches
Outside her window,
A sound more like the scratching
Of unsheathed claws
Waiting to pierce tender flesh.
She measures each breath carefully
With a silent prayer on her lips,
The lurking unseen demons
Waiting to explode into her room
Much less scary than
The monster sleeping next to her.


~~~~  This poem was written for my prompt this week over at Poetry Jam asking us to write about monsters.  This was partially inspired by the Day 9 OctPoWriMo prompt about sounds/noises.  I also used this week’s words from The Sunday Whirl.

Junkie Poetics

Salvia by Ben Kokolas

poetry burns in my blood,

strengthening me

as I forge meaning 

from words and lines,

a luscious roll

through syntax 

and 

connotation,

an addiction I can never

walk away from

having surrendered fully

to the insanity;

but let those words 

linger unsaid in my mind 

and I shake 

in uncontrolled withdrawal,

a fraud revealed 

for all to see,

a trespasser 

into the world 

of the artist,

a shell of a writer

frantically counting

syllables on my fingers

while

muttering incoherently

of iambic pentameter,

begging for 

just one more verse,

one more fix.

~~~  This poem was written in response to a prompt from Poetry Jam asking us to write about a love/hate relationship.

resistance

Good Punk by Sabine Sauermaul

resist the poisons 

pumped 

into our weakened bodies,

man-made plagues 

set loose 

upon an unsuspecting world

resist the lies 

injected 

into our minds 

by manipulators  

seeking more sheep 

to cower 

at the feet 

of their masters

resist the misdirection 

of the magicians of power

with so much to hide,  

subterfuge 

their only armor 

against the truth

resist the invasion 

of the eyes and ears 

of the betrayers; 

gird your houses 

in silence,

for the time of battle 

approaches

there is no other option

we must resist 

~~~ This poem was written for a prompt over at Poetry Jam, asking us to examine ars poetica, didactic, and subversive poetry.

Wishes in Waiting

Close Up of Dandelion by Sharee Basinger

A thousand wishes 

Dance on the head 

Of a dandelion, 

Waiting for some dreamer

To breathe them into life.

~~~This poem was written for a prompt over at Poetry Jam asking us to examine an object in detail.

September Blue

A Blue Sky by Jiri Hodan

There’s nothing like 

A September blue sky, 

Crisp air magnifying brilliance,

A hue more artist’s brush than nature‘s hand.  

Jet trails weave their way 

Through the September blue,

Ferrying travelers 

To places far removed 

From my prairie home, 

The distant sound of engines humming

In the background of my life.  

On a day like this, 

My mind can’t help 

But take a journey of its own, 

Back to that tragic Tuesday 

When the jet trails disappeared, 

A September blue so deep 

It seemed a mournful world 

Had a direct line to the heavens 

To make anguished grief heard. 

The panic, the anger, the fear, 

The uncertainty of the day 

Cast a cloud in my heart

Until a familiar noise arose,  

The drone of jet engines 

Echoing across the land, 

Air Force One 

Escorted by a squadron of steel angels 

Winging their way eastward, 

A trail of hope floating 

Through the September blue 

Reminding us that 

United we stand,

United we rebuild, 

United we survive.

~~~ This poem was written for my prompt over at Poetry Jam this week asking to capture a moment in time.  Seeing Air Force One fly overhead on its way back to Washington, D.C. after the terrorist attacks of September 11 was one moment I know will live in my mind forever.

Scarring

I don’t remember much about that day,
Just broken movie clips haunting my mind,
The orange glow of the flames in the back seat,
My tumble out the door onto the pavement,
The two women with the kind eyes
Holding me on the tiled counter
Next to the sink pouring water
Over my charred skin.

But the scars, those have stayed with me.
As a child they were all I could see
Looking in my broken mirror,
The grotesque bubbling of my skin
From my chubby fingers
up my arm to my shoulder,
So sure that everyone else saw
The hideous beast lurking
In my mirror just as I did.

Scars, at least the visible kind,
Fade with the passing of time,
And today no one even notices
If they do not already know they are there.

It’s the invisible scars
From voluntary fires
That still persist.


~~~ This poem was written in response to a prompt from Poetry Jam asking us to think about a personal challenge we have faced.  I’m also linking this up over at Poetic Asides for the prompt about memory.

~~~ Note:  The image I used with this poem actually started out as one of my senior pictures, with much editing added.

Little Angel

Baby Angels by Peter Griffin
image from publicdomainpictures.net

Spread your wings, little angel,
As you fly away from me
Into the loving arms of Jesus
And your waiting family.
Though I barely got to know you
And it doesn’t seem fair,
Spread your wings, little angel,
Peace is waiting for you there.

Don’t be afraid, little angel,
You have nothing to fear.
If you look inside your heart
You’ll find I’ll always be near.
I’ll keep your memory with me
Until my dying breath.
Don’t be afraid, little angel,
Love lives on after death.

Don’t cry for me, little angel,
Let a smile light up your face.
There is no room for sadness
In that heavenly space.
Your spirit is much stronger
Than this mortal flesh and bone.
Don’t cry for me, little angel,
I’ve got tears of my own.

Fly high, my little angel,
Spread your golden wings and fly.
Find your first taste of freedom
In that great sacred sky.
When my time on Earth is over,
Please take me by the hand,
And I’ll fly with you, little angel,
Into the promised land.


~~~~  This was written for a prompt over at Poetry Jam asking us to consider all kinds of different genres.  I ended up deciding to take my cue from bluegrass music.

Playing with the Master

Chessboard by Anna Langova
Image from publicdomainpictures.net

I was completely taken in
By your opening gambit,
Not noticing the pawns
You were willing to sacrifice.
Your counterplay was genius,
Promising that the king
Would protect and cherish his queen,
But your maneuvers
Left my heart en prise,
Lost in a series
Of perpetual checks.
I foolishly forgot
The role of the queen
Is to protect her king,
Sacrificing herself if necessary,
And by the time I remembered
Even Caissa herself could not save me.


~~~ Note:  En prise is a chess term referring to a piece or pawn that has been left undefended.  Caissa is the goddess of chess.

~~~ This poem was written in response to my prompt over at Poetry Jam providing the topic of games.

The Value of Freedom

The Declaration of Independence - John Trumball, 1819

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”  From the United States Declaration of Independence, 1776

Fifty-six men
With pens on parchment
Changed the world,
Declaring their intention
To pursue an ideal
Of equality and freedom,
Knowing that failure
Would leave them branded
As traitorous cowards
Hanging in the public square,
Knowing that the cannons of war
Would destroy the lives
They had sacrificed to build,
But inaction would cost so much more.

Those fifty-six men of vision
Understood the value of freedom
And were willing to pay the price.
Do we still possess that courage,
The willingness to stand
In the face of tyranny
In defense of the values
Earned by blood and cannon
All those years ago?
Sacred honor is a concept
Forgotten by politicians
Masquerading as leaders,
Relegated to dusty books and epic movies,
Yet in the heart of the patriots
Spread across these United States,
The burning desire for freedom survives,
Just waiting for someone to fan the flames.


~~~  This poem was written in response to a prompt from Poetry Jam asking us to write about value and values.

Remember Me

Forgotten

© Teresa ~ Razzamadazzle

Remember me
As more than just a lonely stone
Covered in moss
In an neglected corner of a cemetery.

Remember me
Shooting hoops
On the playground,
The queen of the court
At age nine.

Remember me
Laughing in an August downpour,
Splashing through puddles
Hand in hand
With you.

Remember me
In that black slip of a dress
You loved so much
And afterward
When that dress
Laid crumpled
On the floor
Next to the bed.

Remember me
And my stubborn pride
And the time we wasted
On angry words and accusations.  

Remember me
As the one who got away
Or the bitch who broke your heart.

Remember me however you need to.

Please, just remember me…


~~~ Imaginary Garden with Real Toads posed a challenge to write a poem inspired by the photography of Teresa from Razzamadazzle.  Be sure to check out her wonderful work.  I’ve also linked this up with Poetry Jam this week, where the prompt was to pick a verb and make it the topic of our poem.

In Your Palm

I trace your life line 

with my finger, 

watching destiny curve

across your hand, 

your breaking heart line 

mirroring my own,

But,

when our fingers entwine 

and fates align, 

the real magic begins.

~~~~ This poem was inspired by a prompt from Poetry Jam asking us to conjure up a bit of magic.

A Light Against the Darkness

Candlelight by Charles Rondeau

Evil is not the monster under the bed

Or the boogey man lurking in the shadows.

Evil is real.

Evil walks the earth in human guise,

Bathing in acid rivers of hate,

Stripping away any shred of humanity

To commit unspeakable acts of violence.

Evil is a coward,

Preying on the innocent and unsuspecting…

An explosion of rage that destroys a city bus,

A destructive shower of bullets

In a movie theater or at a summer camp,

Silver wings transformed into lethal missiles

Raining terror down upon an unwary nation.

Evil leaves toxic footprints upon the ground,

A poison strong enough to evoke

Images of the most horrible atrocities

Just at the mention of a name…

The gas chambers of Auschwitz,

The killing fields of Cambodia,

The bloodied plains of Darfur.

Evil is a powerful adversary,

Bloodthirsty and ruthless,

But just as surely as evil exists,

Goodness exists, 

With more power and greater numbers.

Let the good-hearted people of the world

Stand together against the growing evil,

Casting aside that which may divide us

In pursuit of a nobler cause,

With faithful hearts and fervent prayers

Sent heavenward because only

The light of love and tolerance

Can stop the encroaching darkness.

~~~~~ Today’s prompt over at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads asked us to consider the devil and evil in all its various forms, a prompt that seemed especially timely given today’s horrible tragedy in Colorado.  I’m also linking this up over at Poetry Jam.

Parched Love

The little river by sternenfern @ deviantART

This drought-stricken lover
Craves your cool waters
To refresh my inner desert.
Fling my withered heart
Into your raging river,
Let me drift your currents
Into pools of peaceful bliss.


~~~~~ This poem was inspired by a prompt from Poetry Jam asking for poems about rivers.  This was also posted for the prompt from Poetic Bloomings asking us to take the title of our new poem from a line from another poem posted on their site.  I found my title in “Desert Thirst” by Jlynn Sheridan.  You can read her poem by following the link.