The spark from Sprinklers Showers of stars Falling down my fingers Landing on the ground To extinguish like the passing of millenia
For even as light triumphs Darkness waits For when the time light is extinguished And Sparklers run out Stars hitting the ground
This is for a dVerse prompt: I am sure you must have guessed, the prompt for today is sparklers. … Give us a sparkling verse of 44 words only. Hope you enjoy!
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T’was without a head Most likely dead Upon a horse he sat
Throughout the town He’d go round Chasing children no head nor hat
His horse was black Headless upon its back Dark as midnight sin
Red eyes a glow Flames his nostrils did blow Hell’s beast a true kin
Come out to ride On one special night to bide Collecting naughty children
He’d ride through the town Going to and fro, up and down Snatching up brats for his cauldron
Oh mothers would cry And fathers would try For their naughty offspring to bring back
But the horseman would come A face he’d wear that would chill some For upon his shoulders, was the head the child would now lack
So be good dear children on this night Or be prepared for an awful fright A horseman without a head will come your way
But if you’re good As you well should Candy you’ll receive and home you’ll stay
This originally was for a dVerse prompt but this took too long. Originally I started it and didn’t know where I was going with it, then I didn’t like the direction it was going and then finally went with it and here it is. Enjoy!
A Taste of Stew
A collection of poems from seductive and spicy to thoughtful and observant. 39 poems from the AuthorStew blog and scattered across the Internet gathered together in this chapbook collection. Something for everyone and every mood. We’re sure there is something within this collection to delight you.
What is it about this German man that I should remember him? What, ever, has he done for me? Who in the hell is Gunter Grass?
What are gurkins? Pickles. Hmmm. What is it about this German? Could not they just call them pickles? Who in the hell is Gunter Grass?
Dill pickles are best. No codfish thank you. Caught Baltic fresh are they? What is it about this German? Who in the hell is Gunter Grass?
Who in the hell is Gunter Grass? Pickles and codfish, Baltic Seas, no common law or honest wife. What is it about this German?
This is from a dVerse prompt: And for today’s MTB prompt we are continuing with the 16th theme and writing a Quatern
“The Quatern (Latin= 4 each) is a French verse form, possibly from the Middle Ages since it is so close to the Retourne and Kyrielle. It also employs a refrain…. from stanza to stanza.”
Poetry style:
16 lines in total divided into 4 quatrains (4 line stanzas) 8 syllables per line (iambic tetrameter an optional metre) 1st line is the refrain which moves consecutively downward through the 4 stanzas as Line I L2, L3, L4 usually unrhymed but this is at your discretion
Poetry Theme
An optional suggestion is to engage with one of Gunter Grass’s poems:
taking a quote as an epigram write an answer to/ response to one of his poems (for, against or along the same lines/style)
I combined the two and wrote a Quatern as an epigram to the following quote from Gunter Grass
...”Remember me, over plates of boiled codfish, write my epitaph in sprigs of fresh dill when you finish the dish to serve up to your dinner guests. Remember me, when you cut the gherkins to accent the meal: the salt of my sorrow, the bitter vinegar of my lot. When you visit the fishmonger, remember me. The common-law wife you never made into an honest woman. Remember my un-common recipes, cooked for you, back in the days when fish fresh from the Baltic wasn’t priced beyond the means of a poet,...”
Image by esvisionaria & Image by DrSJS from Pixabay
The rain fell lightly like the sky was holding back tears. I stood face upturned, letting the falling water mix with my freely flowing tears. Dark stains on my suit where rain and tears fell appeared as bullet wounds. Mortal injuries to fabric and soul. She was gone. The official cause: heart failure, unofficial: old age, to my grief stricken heart: neglect.
What will I do there without my hands upon your summer face?
The words she spoke as I left for New York, state not the city. I had accepted a job to teach corporate mid-levels how to successfully integrate AI. It wasn’t my dream job but it did pay. And that was the important thing, right?
Four months later she fell sick; Ten months later she was gone. Neglected.
What will I do here without your winter eyes to reflect my face?
This was for a dVerse prompt: For your prompt today, I’d like you to use the following lines in your Prosery:
“What will I do there without my hands upon your summer face?”
Write a piece of prosery of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line in the order in which it has been given. You may add or change punctuation, but you may not add or delete words.
Hope you enjoy!
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Well it’s about time. I stretch and yawn frosty breath upon the dawn. Summer’s heat has left the fields, September at its end. October welcomes frosty ground and white tipped grass; My personal hello.
Nip at your nose and shivers up your spine My specialties. See your breath, when I’m about, Speak to me between chattering teeth. I’m Jack Frost: Cold of hand, head and heart.
As the orange glow of Autumn begins, The calendar says ‘O’. It is my time to rise and give crunch to fallen leaves, In the dim light of morning glow. The cool wind of October blows Through ripe apple leaves and pumpkin fields.
So welcome me in October. The month I enter in. To frost the tips of berries still on the vine, White outline on window panes, Precursor of snowy days. It’s October. Jack’s Home!
1) Serve up a pumpkin as the main dish (literally or metaphorically) or as a side.
2) Adopt a persona and write in the first person voice of a regional folklore character (e.g., Baba Yaga, Tam Lin, or Ichabod Crane) or fairy tale character (Rumplestilskin or Cinderella).
or
3) Help us see, smell, hear and feel October in your poetic lines, grilled over the fire of memory and imagination.
I went with 2 with a dash of 3. Jack Frost, who I found out does not have definite origin or singular first story or fairy tale. He just kind of evolved and is hero or villain based on creator’s whim. Hope you enjoyed reading!
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The Rogers Centre in Toronto, Ontario. Photographer unkown.
They come into the dome A game of great consequence The crowd abuzz Electricity fills the air I sit with you Full of nervous energy The home team up Two outs I bend the knee Strike three! And the crowd boos She said yes
This is for a dVerse prompt: “Don’t be bamboozled. Just scare us up a poem of exactly 44 words (not counting the title), including some form of the word boo.”
It’s playoff baseball time here in Toronto and the city is buzzing with the Blue Jays winning. So it played into the poem today. Hope you enjoy!
How do I love you? How could I not? I love by my actions By my thoughts and words The beats of my heart
How do you love me? How could you not? What are your actions? Do you think of me? Speak of me? How does your heartbeat change At the mention of my name?
He stood there a question on his face How could he do such a thing? Yet how could he not? His actions betrayed him As did his words and thoughts His heart raced as he saw her
How do we love each other? Could we really be apart? We love by being together You finish my thought and my sentences Our hearts beat as one
They love each other don’t they? I mean how could they not? See how they are with each other They’re practically one, finishing each others thoughts They are the alternating beats of one heart.
This poem is for a prompt from dVerse: “So today I would like you to challenge yourself and try to write from a different perspective or maybe even several perspectives than what you normally do.
You can do this by either writing something totally new or if you prefer, take an old perspective written from for instance first person singular and change it to third person.”
I couldn’t think of what perspective to write from. I usually write from first or third, though I’ve done second a bit and even third plural. Those have all been done in prose writing mostly. But the thought of taking one piece and switching the perspective intrigued me so I figured I’d do one stanza in each perspective. That is what you got. I hope you enjoy!
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The Author Stew webpage - Stories & Poems 