A poem a day: I wrote these in April 2012, participating in a challenge for National Poetry Month. My favorite is probably "Rising above the blood (a touch of sarcasm)".
Cindy Moon McKee
In the river-
with a liquid crown
litter bobs in the river
trembles of colors
under trembling mist
litter moves in the river
_In the morning news-_
in the tradition of Ci, form Daolianzi 捣练子 Song of a washerwoman
straight up nine
shows others' fates, line by line.
I raised my face to their pain
then lowered it back to mine.
Daolianzi has one stanza, with 5 lines. The first two lines have 3 syllables each, the following lines have 7 each. The second, third and fifth lines rhyme.
There are many different fixed forms in Ci poetry, which is a type of Chinese poetry http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ci_%28poetry%29
_In the morning paper-_
I raised my head into your pain
then lowered it again to mine.
In Earth's kitchen-
The orange amid brown counterspace,
sun's juices coalesced for you.
Just scattered by the pane, grapes race
the orange. Amid brown counter space
the beams have found a landing place.
So, what's in space? Loose photons strew
the orange amid brown. Counterspace?
Sun's juices coalesced for you.
grape - a color and a fruit
orange - a color and a fruit
brown - look at the title
(maybe a subtitle should be _Space and counterspace_ )
So, what's in a triolet? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triolet
_In the mail-_
I unwrapped the package.
It was a gift of books
sent by the dead
who will never read my thanks.
_I wish I could go back, but I've got no back to go to_
Our search plane spots them.
They sit outside, chat seems idle.
Body paint glistens.
Some work the community garden.
We sit alone in a four-walled home.
Oh, but we've got communication!
"Please leave a message after the tone,"
our touchless tweets of Idol chatter...
(who's the best this season?) and so on.
I read about one- (savage?)
saved to civilization.
Explorer hubby took her home.
To an apartment.
Oh, but she had her mother-in-law to talk to!
And our miracle, television.
She went back.
To communication and community, I expect.
type of poetry: Free as in libre
The measure of Man is His accomplishments -- according to men.
Earth measures Man by stacks of bones. My, my, how time does fly.
Our bones are piled high. Heaven finally -- is almost in our grasp.
type of poetry: Sijo: http://www.ahapoetry.com/sijo.htm
guns and wiretappers.
type of poetry _quincouplet_ : http://quincouplet.org/rules/
"...And fun aside, if written properly, quincouplets teach (or reinforce) one of the most important lessons a poet can learn: that words are the most important parts of poems. When writing quincouplets, one must constantly be concerned with words, because one only has five to work with. That means not a single word can be wasted, and each should be the best possible word one can use." --Benjamin Krause, inventor of the quin http://galatearesurrection16.blogspot.com/2011/03/feature-article_26.html
_Be a bad cow, go Ubuntu
(Do the Ubuntu moo)
(Make the moo-ve to Ubuntu)..._
Microsoft's good times, with users complacent as cows come,
coming to hard times, as bad mooers now move to Ubuntu.
In English the *elegiac couplet* is often written with both lines in dactylic pentameter, but if you want to write one in a more classic form, put about six stresses into the second line, even though it's called a _pentameter_. Also break the third dactyl in that second line. Try to get a caesura, with a word ending within a foot, into the middle of each line.
My couplet could stand a little more rearranging and I know I'm far from an elegiac tone! What am I thinking, I've got people mooing like cows in an elegy?!
Good examples of modern English ones: http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/showthread.php?t=6740
My scansion (the way I say it out loud):
Microsoft's good times, with users complacent as cows come,
- u u - u || u - u u - u u - -
coming to hard times, as bad mooers now move to Ubuntu.
- u u - u || u - - u u - u u - u
key: - means stressed syllable
u means unstressed syllable
|| means caesura, a pause
The interesting world is in her head
In this world
She draws a superhero
looks out the window and talks
doesn't touch her homework.
There's no place for a little girl
who inhabits her head.
She'll be left behind this year.
But tell me, where is Behind
and what will she do there?
VERY expressive faces
New Neighbor claimed the vacant place,
to be near the nigh casino,
he said. _Obsessed gambler I guess_,
_A weird reason to relocate_.
I try to shine my polite smile.
I'm an apparent aberrant.
"It gives scholarships!" he bickers,
bending in with clenched fists and face.
I wisely decide on silence,
but dumb Face mutters judgingly.
As he raps me back to my house,
I at long last activate Mouth.
Mouth howls for my hound of the South,
Basset Baby, a great bayer.
Obsessed One was stopped, not by bark,
by one gaze at Baby's sad face.
This is all about assonance, unfortunately failed assonance and also alliteration
http://www.chaparralpoets.org/devices.pdf Thanks to Beverly Rivera for that link: https://plus.google.com/101423581602122657410/posts/H1HWPxU3V3b
The internet is the power to...
Once upon a time, people couldn't contact one another.
Well, they talked to their neighbors. They might know someone across town.
They believed what the papers said. They believed what their governments said.
Good people do.
What a shock when they got online and someone
from an _unfriendly_ land
said, "That ain't so. I know, because I lived it."
And they tell you.
_The door divides me_
Wind lifting strands of hair, strands of grass beside me, leaves above me.
I stayed for hours. Until there were no more thoughts to think,
till I felt as green as the bottom and the top and the sides of the world.
Going back indoors was immersion in gossip and news.
Words seemed alien.
true talk is wordless.
La pordo dividas min
Vento levanta miajn harojn, herbharojn apud mi, foliojn super mi.
Mi restis horojn. Ĝis ĉiuj pensoj estis jam pensitaj,
ĝis sento ke mi verdiĝis, samkiel la subo kaj la supro kaj la flankoj de la mondo.
Reveno tra la pordo estis enmergiĝo en klaĉojn kaj novaĵojn.
Vortoj ŝajnis fremdaj.
Naturflanke de la pordo
senvortas vera parolo.
_Poem in the tradition of Ci, form 16-Syllable:_
Some holding babies, some tombs
It's a house
Of rejects and wombs.
_*The mind in 'creative mode'*_
note: I put the title after the poem because I didn't want to reveal the meaning till after.
I didn't really want to rhyme 'rooms' and 'wombs', because I didn't want to sound like Elmer Fudd...but, oh well.
The Ci form 16-Syllable is a toughie, because of the dense rhyming - three times in only 16 syllables. The first line has only 1 syllable, then 7, then 3 for the only unrhymed verse, then 5.
In the Ci group I belong to, the shorthand notation is: 1,7,35
That's the syllable count for each line, with a comma behind the rhymed lines. But note: the last line of a Ci is *always* rhymed -- no exceptions -- that's understood, so there's no need to put a comma behind it.
Rising above the blood
We are no longer born bloody:
We pity people with free water,
free food, no rent
known as primitives.
We of constant cubicles
We've never touched a butchered hog
we, the unbloodied.
That was triggered by: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/22471
The path to normalhood is paved with fallen poems
Dandelion's really pillow down, Mom,
but it got a second chance
and flies now with the other geese.
That was cute when you were five, hon,
but now you need to think like a big girl.
(sad isn't it, when we try to 'normalize' our children (especially older children) by discouraging every slightly unusual thought?)
Inside my head
there's a blackboard
where I write myself assignments-
Inside my head there's monkeys
jumping across the screen.
I try to translate them into words
with some success.
Sometimes one takes the pencil from my mental hand.
It finally dawned on me.
Most people stop at their own skin.
I saw another rainbow
this time dancing in a glass
held up to light.
I couldn't stop staring.
The guy holding it thought I was enamored.
I didn't even notice there was a guy attached to the glass
till I saw glittering eyes.
I thought about advising him of his held rainbow
but knew from lessons past
that's a faux pas.
Thank you, French words, for being so darn correct
even though you don't sound your own consonants.
He came toward me.
I blurted, "Back off. I want to look at your rainbow."
Sing the sunrise
I open to Life
birthing in a cloudnest.
Birds sing the sun closer.
I leave the door open
while I light the morning fire.
I will breathe on the smoke before the rise to you.
In my old age, I will sing.
sung* by the group Walela, including Rita Coolidge
Kantu la sunleviĝon
mi malfermas al Vivo
en kovnesto de nuboj.
Kante birdoj altiras la sunon.
Mi lasas aperta la pordon
dum mi levas la matenan fajron.
Mi elspiros sur la fumon antaŭ la leviĝo al vi.
En mia maljunaĝo, mi kantos.
*The words in the song are ancient Cherokee words that go something like: I am of the Great Spirit; it is so
Long past my death
deep in the earth
I will produce
one drop of oil.
Zeloto in worship of a tool
Give yourself to the green goddess
and she'll dance on your tomb of uselessness.
The wife will dance alone to thinning bones.
As you look up from the songbook
in full worship of the words
do you see man, his meaning?
Aaron's patterns and designs-
Aaron's poetry and ours in G+
In the +ent, he draped his design for the following day.
Pa++ern makers aren't paid well, so he went home to soup.
The plussers will do their own fitting; first and last definitions: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fitting
No mental jailbreak for her
He lay there, caregiver turning him, washing him.
But he wasn't there.
He was in the jungle, setting a scene.
In his mind composing a few more pages.
He couldn't move, yet he could.
She forced herself to start the laundry.
Didn't check for stains.
Pain forced her down again.
She tried to picture an island paradise
but pain kept engulfing it in flames.
The tumors of the earth flow birth.
Odd. No correlation for us;
when we rupture, no child crawls out
dressed as hell.
Is the planet another animal?
Why do I think that? In my mind, we sit like ticks
on a dog.
Maybe...the flow is fecal matter, adding to the surface
poop on which we flourish.
I think I'll stop thinking.
(I decided to show the way my thoughts run. Hey, where ya goin' --- are you running?)
When is darkness light?
A rainbow depends on where you're standing.
The middle darkness between a double rainbow--
unseen from your perspective.
When is light darkness?
we like them in other lands
where we can't see them--
convenient line of sight to name our darkness light.
I was going to sit and write a subtle poem
but my dog rammed her body into my legs.
Which means she's hungry.
I was going to become more mature
but I live on a hill.
I can roll downhill so fast I get dizzy.
We were going to be courtly dames, but we hear
To be built upon
Enter Linux, a pyramid in the jungle
at ground level
full of books
but no priests.
We can stay - Gnu added air conditioning.
We can build -
Gnu/Linux published their books
on air conditioned pyramids.
(it's cool :)
Gnu/Linux is something I think is very cool.
Someone asked my problem
broke through my bones
played my days gone
dark was baby skin
words hurt the brain, so pictures thought
silence was darkness of the ears
and a toilet my table.
(written the way I think and feel during a migraine)
Iu demandis pri mia problemo
trarompis ostojn miajn
ludis miajn tagojn for
tenebro estis bebohaŭto
vortoj vundis mian cerbon, do bildoj pensis
silento estis la tenebro de la otoj
kaj fekujo mia tablo.
Right as rain
Granny Pyle didn't fire her shotgun often
only for snakes and when she imagined
that man coming to kill her.
We never understood some well-meaning soul
saying something should be done about her.
She drove a team of horses back home
after a bashed skull, blood blinding her.
And when I climbed a tree
trying to leave chores behind
she climbed up after me.
She took up jogging at 93,
not enough to do (no babies to raise).
Everybody since seems soft as light bread
and a little off.
hoMe had a mountain
the culture quaked
Relationship, you say?
I shall accept and sit politely in your house..
Home is a solid word. A word of permanence. Yet it isn't.
Now home is an ever-shifting whim, from house to relations.
The word should be retired.
Take the Me from _home_ and in its place put Use.
A house is all I can expect.
Sitting and doing
Hey you, reading on your porch.
When you -don't- know -it-, there's -a plane in- the sky!
Even when you -don't- see -them,- other people -are- actively living,
while you do -nothing,- other -people are- living: laboring and learning--
Don't you fret about the doings of life.
They're getting done.