I doubt if I’ll keep up with all the great prompts at all the great sites (Big Tent Poetry, We Write Poems, Poetic Asides, Writer’s Island, POW, and others), but all the talk of Ren Faire lately made the Big Tent’s resonate.
calling out with a slightly off mystique
wallowing in the seedy sensual
exhibiting only the bizarre freak
challenging reason’s illusory dual
to run away, chase possibilities,
to dive deeply within that core of wants
to fly far above the hope and the tease
to pick your own craziness, mirrored taunt
is nothing but a cloud of dust raised up
being left behind the traveling sideshow
was only passed fancy filling this cup
am I left here with empty hopes in tow
next time around, again, I’ll follow chance
before I’m left with dreamed lusty romance
I do have to admit that my first, knee-jerk response was a tad shorter.
on running away
my calling litters the road:
Often posted to the 17 or haiku groups on identi.ca:
Standing by the track, hoping to catch the earliest passing cool breeze.
And there it goes away on the breeze, my fried brain.
often bring out those feelings
undeserved but true.
Where some see lines, others feel sight pulled taught across imagination.
get out of the way
let words sing and shine.
I want naught but love
though less physical than that
A nearly full moon
wearing a fast cloak of cloud
calls forth a fresh Spring.
And yes, I know some people roll their eyes at short forms. “The short forms aren’t enough work to be poetry.” The other side is that they’re accessible to all. Anyone can add a little form to an observation. That renders it special simply by intent. And poetic, by intent to be formed and special. I have no illusions about speaking deep truths or grand images. I just speak. That’s all I can do.
For some reason, my head kept twisting today’s RWP prompt from intuition to inspiration, perhaps because I need some. Quickly written during lunch before diving back into proposals and project reviews:
facets of light
falling all over
splashes of warmth
tinged with chill
run curved paths
engage the senses
trigger tiny thoughts
flowing into ideas
then dry off
trying to remember
before they’re drained
And a bonus senryū that ultimately is related to the Poetic Asides prompt:
darkly crowd narrow paths to
And, really, related to the mountainous deadlines keeping me from reading, commenting, and thanking people. I do appreciate all the wonderful comments and encouragement.
I’m torn between letting everyday haiku, senryū, and other short forms float away into the stream and skipping my pebbles here. I’ll try posting for a bit and see how it feels.
The week has shattered
into shards. Empty bottles
toast the fledgling spring.
In response to Kris Lindbeck:
I had forgotten
senryu most accurately
reflects what I write.
Classy, MARTA style:
Sell switchblade lighters,
call her bitch behind her back,
then go for digits.
Listening to WWOZ one fine evening:
Dr. Longhair rolls
out the speakers, our outside
crickets as chorus.