National Poetry Month Celebration 2019 - Post Poems Here!

Post by **indar** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 5:00 pm

Triolet 12

We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.
Together, in coolness we forage.
We hurry oft compelled by our moods.
We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.
We measure our bliss by the tonnage.
We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.

Together, in coolness we forage.

Marcel, I've been in a silly mood lately and this one really appealed to me. (appealed---get it?) I have looked up the form triolet since you started posting these thinking the number 3 is somehow involved but I see no reference to it and I sure can't figure it out. Maybe its a French thing? Can you enlighten me? I am in awe of how you can keep spinning them out.

Post by **indar** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 5:27 pm

Oh for heaven's sake I just noticed the 3 time repetition; lines 1, 4 and 6----never mind.

Lecram06 · Post by **Lecram06** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 5:32 pm

indar wrote: ↑
Sat Apr 13, 2019 5:00 pm
Triolet 12

We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.Together, in coolness we forage.We hurry oft compelled by our moods.We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.We measure our bliss by the tonnage.We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.Together, in coolness we forage.
Marcel, I've been in a silly mood lately and this one really appealed to me. (appealed---get it?) I have looked up the form triolet since you started posting these thinking the number 3 is somehow involved but I see no reference to it and I sure can't figure it out. Maybe its a French thing? Can you enlighten me? I am in awe of how you can keep spinning them out.
Indar: A "triolet" belongs to family of medieval songs like the "rondeau". The first line appears three times. This is a new experiment for me. Enjoy and learning from you writing. Marcel

Post by **indar** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 5:45 pm

Indar: A "triolet" belongs to family of medieval songs like the "rondeau". The first line appears three times.

When you publish your chap book of triolets I suggest a beautifully rendered drawing of a trillium for the cover art.

Post by **Sharon Leigh** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 6:57 pm

Dave, thanks so much for your kind words, and also for always supporting my work! It means a lot to me. I have been reading and enjoying your work as well, haven't had time to form a proper comment though (simply whipping up the apple poem this morning made me late, ha!) So my apologies.

Gyppo, I thought of your gift for such rich characterizations while shaping this work (derivative, not copycat heh) so I'm very touched and pleased that it hopefully sparked a poem for you! This little moment was exactly as written, magical in its deceptive bland normality but one of the priceless that I'll wish for someday I know. They are finite.

Indar, thanks a million and yes I know exactly what you mean re: lost comments! I'd written a long one that addressed your poem and one of Gyppos and was sure I'd posted it, but it seems to have ghosted. Frustrating! Who knows. Anyhow I'm going to attempt to catch up soon, I've been enjoying the cornucopia here! Wonderful works all around, & great fun!

I do write of birds a lot

I love them, and they're such good little metaphors.

Off to read some more these!

Post by **Sharon Leigh** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 6:59 pm

indar wrote: ↑
Sat Apr 13, 2019 5:45 pm

Indar: A "triolet" belongs to family of medieval songs like the "rondeau". The first line appears three times.

When you publish your chap book of triolets I suggest a beautifully rendered drawing of a trillium for the cover art.

I love this idea

These triolets are beautiful and musical, every one. I have enjoyed!

Post by **Sharon Leigh** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 7:02 pm

ajduclos wrote: ↑
Sat Apr 13, 2019 6:48 am
Wow, Sharon - beautiful, sensitive... "topics are freely feminine"

Aj, thank you very much

Gyppo · Post by **Gyppo** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 7:12 pm

NAPO 14 - 2019

Sewing Room

When their last child left home,
all settled in their own way,
even the wild-child daughter
staying with her special man
despite spurning marriage,
time sat heavy on their shoulders.

But she wore it well, and patiently,
just as she had the years before.

Her husband of sixty years,
a large and quiet man,
skilled with his hands,
looked at the family dining room
and asked if she was ready for a change.

Between them they planned her sewing room.

First a handmade sewing chair
designed to fit just her.
While he shaped and glued the wood
and made minor adjustments
she sewed the cushions,
a comfortable but solid match
like their life together.

Custom cabinets appeared,
truly made to measure,
filling the emptiness where family had sat.
Ninety-eight shallow drawers,
all in easy reach, just the right size,
for cotton reels, packs of needles,
pins, felt fabric stored flat to avoid wrinkles,
all the paraphernalia of her craft.
No wasted space.

Drop down tables for marking out,
for cutting, for ironing-in pleats.
A miniature 'gun rack' for paired knitting needles,
neatly numbered 'just in case',
though her fingers instinctively knew the sizes.

A tilt table for her sewing machine
which popped up and down on demand,
leaving a flat surface for small sewing jobs,
or a space, just big enough,
for a couple to share lunch or breakfast.

A craftsman's love tokens,
speaking the words he rarely uttered.
All produced in his neat and organised shed,
which she'd secretly envied for years.

Gyppo

Post by **Sharon Leigh** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 7:18 pm

Wow, sounds like she received quite the setup, enough to make the other gals jealous! Charming
write Gyppo, and love the last S, so familiar

Deb · Post by **Deb** » Sat Apr 13, 2019 7:43 pm

Tides

When the muse,
whimsical, stark, melancholy,
and often brutal taps me on the shoulder
or slaps me upside the head
and says, "Write!"
it takes guts.

Beyond trepidation of careless cliché
and a forgotten Thesaurus,
lies a subconscious
of carefully constructed walls
in decay
for they no longer serve.

Mindless games
like Solitaire and Mahjong -
weak levies
against the turbulent tides
of an incandescent ocean
bursting with life.

Sanity ceases the gentle lapping
on the shores of my memories
as a tempest
threatens to break my grip
from the rocks I cling to.

I lose my grasp
on these thoughts
in a tumultuous
tornado of words.
Snippets blown away.

Logic escapes
in churning angst
but the thoughts remain
dancing in kelp gardens
awaiting the next storm.

Although antagonistic,
I welcome the ireful, rising swell
because I know
when the seas settle
an upsurge of anguish follows.

Then the ocean calms
to reclaim
its rhythmic push and pull
of memories
in tiny grains of sand.

The sunken ships
of my regrets,
recovered in the haunting depths
by luminous corals and tropical fish
wearing stained-glass wetsuits.

Low tide creates
a mirror
on the shoreline,
an orange and yellow sunset
with blushing clouds.

I find a sand dollar
and marvel at its wonder.
Catch a glint of well-traveled sea glass
and appreciate the undercurrents
that smoothed its sharp edges.

An intricate, empty seashell
held to my ear,
I listen to the ocean of my life
echoed back to me,
resonating in my soul.

~Deborah Manning-Galarza

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