Headless Horseman

Credits: Akreon_
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 pot of stew with the title A Taste of Stew written over it.

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.

Buy it on Amazon or your favorite bookseller. Click here: books2read.com/u/bzxzjj

Remembering Gunter Grass, some German man

Image from Wikipedia
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,...”

Hope you enjoy!

Summer face/ Winter Eyes

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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Silent Love Song

Image created from image by Elisa from Pixabay & image by Денис Марчук from Pixabay
Sweet words of flattery
Truth wrapped in soliloquy
The moment your heart stole mine
I want you as my valentine

My love song to you
Simple words and melody
I can’t sing to you

 Lullabies of a sweet good night
If you were in my arms it would be alright
When I hear your moans
I forget everything that I’ve known

My love song to you
Simple words and melody
I can’t sing to you

I’ll sit and watch as you go by
You’ll see me and smile but not know why
It will happen so many times
Regardless of rhythm or rhymes

My love song to you
I’ll sing in my heart
Simple words and melody
You won’t hear them
I can’t sing to you

To listen to this poem as I recite it over music click below.

Music by Andrii Poradovskyi from Pixabay

A pot of stew with the title A Taste of Stew written over it.

A Taste of Stew

Poems from seductive & spicy to thoughtful & observant. A collection of poems from my blog and the Internet.

Get a taste of AuthorStew’s poetry! Buy A Taste of Stew in ebook or paperback. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F6LYFKCZ

October Frost

Photo by John Nupp on Unsplash
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!

This was for a dVerse prompt:

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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And The Crowd Boos

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/You/He/We/They Love Thee

Image by Hanin Abouzeid from Pixabay
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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On a blank page

A rengay I did with David from The Skeptic’s Kaddish

Verse 1 – CSL
I sit and ponder
the many mysteries
that lay on a blank page

Verse 2 – DB
marks surface over the flame
inkless signs begin to glow

Verse 3 – CSL 
burned offerings
of a tired soul
smudged salutations & fictions

Verse 4 – DB
embers write the sky
heat awakens blackened wood
flood recedes to earth

Verse 5 – CSL 
rainbows and butterflies leave
welcoming a beginning

Verse 6 – DB
cursor blinks in wait
one poet inspires the next
a rengay begins
On a blank page, or: A rengay

Happy

The pursuit of Happyness lays in Happy Accidents
Tripped up memories 
Stumbling on happiness like a drunk at the party
The Happy Prince, the curious clown,
More happy than not,
By choice, if not circumstance

Happiness is a choice
Choosing you over me
You are my happiness 
With every smile 
We are Happy together

Let me find happiness in the joy of another
Be it friend or lover
My happy is yours
The gift of a frown turned upside down
Are all the Happy Days I need

This is or a dVerse prompt – “For today’s Poetics, we will try to make this Tuesday a happy Tuesday. I am sharing titles of some books. You can incorporate one or as many as you like in your poem.

1.The pursuit of Happyness by Chris Gardener

  1. Happy Accidents: A memoir by Jane Lynch
  2. The ministry of utmost happiness by Arundhati Roy
  3. Stumbling on happiness by Daniel Todd Gilbert
  4. The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde
  5. The art of happiness by the Dalai Lama
  6. More happy than not by Adam Silvera
  7. Happiness is a choice by Neil Kaufman

If the above titles don’t inspire you, you can simply write us a happy poem. The idea is to smile as you write and put a smile on the face of the person reading your poem.” I hope you enjoy and smile. 😊