Archive for the ‘thought stream’ Category

A Ride In The Dark

Posted: March 14, 2017 in thought stream, urban poems

Lilian hosts poetics at dverse tonight and wants us to write about amusement parks.

From up here I look for an escape route,
but a way out is lost from view.
Everyone is queuing for the big
thrills, refugees from the humdrum
seeking a new voltage for their nerves.
To stretch them tighter until they tear
and escape screaming through
the open mouths
that have become their bodies.

This was a mistake. Through darkness
my ride twists and dives. In this vacuum
it is pointless knowing which way is up as
seamless fear stitches mind to body.
A hessian sack of nothingness
flung into a black hole,
tracing an arc through pin-prick stars.

Only a violent

slowing down,

light,

breathing again,

brings me back to earth.
Pale-faced, unsteady
I lose myself in the crowd.
Move against an electric current
to find that safe static place.

Forest Bathing

Posted: March 6, 2017 in nature poems, thought stream

At dverse tonight Toni hosts haibun Monday – a prose poem and haiku-style ending on the subject of shinrin-yoku .. otherwise known as forest bathing.

Cortisol hormones zing when plucked. An atmosphere stretches
the nerves, cranks up stress until it’s screeching. Fused into your
brain so that your eyes are pinpricked electrics. A prescription
of forest trails, pine needle tranquilisers, wood oils drip feeding
calm disarm words bent on harm.

In spring the owl hoots,
its echo searching for listeners.
Leaf voices die in autumn.

Autumn Pine Forest

The Gift

Posted: February 28, 2017 in thought stream

At dverse tonight Mish wants us to find a special memento and write a poem

At point of detonation
the dandelion clock is
bubble locked.
A frozen moment.
A break for freedom eternalised.

You gave me
this snow storm of seeds,
a snapshot of an explosion
that became us.

 

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Ellis Island

Posted: February 20, 2017 in history and art, thought stream

Margaret at Toads, has us writing about Ellis Island accompanied by some powerful text and photos from which she has asked us to draw on to create a poem – see http://withrealtoads.

Their eyes feed on hope.
Not dulled by what is left behind.

Uprooted. Tossed in the air.
Chaff snatched.
Planted in harshness
that is Ellis Island.
A seed tray but beyond it the place
where eyes are fixed.

They wait.
To be pricked out, repotted.
This multi-culture massing
of a New World.
A Babel-tower crush.
That will grow.
That will not forget its roots.
That will not shut its doors.

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An Algerian, one of 26m immigrants who arrived at Ellis Island
in America between 1880 and 1924 –
a photo from the island museum’s archives.

Tonight at http://dversepoets.com/this-is-us/     Bjorn is hosting and has us looking at Expressionist art … which has been fun checking out. We’re to pick a painting, write a poem. Here it is

 

Somewhere a rope has snapped.
Control frays
                then
                                breaks
                                                down.
Inside
her screaming separates
from its moorings.
Rage of fear and pain
is not contained.
That propped up ego
is carved to stillness,
watches from behind.
The electric thrill.
She waits
for reaction
from those
who meet her inner being.

See her face, a fading sun
as it sets in final fury,

flaring up
in eyes
on lips.

See her tears fan out
across her chest
running for cover.

See her nature swamped
in its violence.
Undisguised.
No longer a walking lie.

ernst-ludwig-kirchner-franzi-with-a-carved-chair1

‘Franzi with a carved chair’ by Ernst Kirchner

Operating Theatre

Posted: February 14, 2017 in thought stream

Tonight at http://dversepoets.com/this-is-us/    Lillian is hosting and wants us to write poetry about hearts ~ February 14 ~ see what she did there?!

He lays out instruments puts on mask
and goggles. Looks at the patient then
reaches for pitching tool and mallet.
First blow jars his elbow, he braces
and strikes again. Soon there’s a rhythm.

Using masons stroke the sculptor
chips away sweeping across the surface,
shattering resistance. Dust blooms
in the air, seed heads of hope.
Earthquake rubble strewn at his feet.

Now he needs to cut deep. With fishtail
chisel he carves valleys, casting shadows
in shadows. He puts ear to rock,
stethoscopes for sounds. Silence.
He starts again chiselling to the core.

Finally there it is.
Tiny.
Still.
His father’s heart.
He touches gently,
it kick starts.
A faint pulse.
A beating stone.