In Peace?

In a darkened room the angels hover
while a woman sleeps

And thunderous rain sends morse messages
to the heavens

while down the stairs a raging fire burns
warming cold souls

Twelve bells as the old clock marks the hour
not recognising day or night

Blossoms in the gardens fold their petals
fearing the dark

And all the while, gentle clouds of breath
escape those red lips

Oblivious, cocooned in starched sheets
on a bed of down

The woman rests before her last descent
Weeping angels watch

As the fire rages on

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What’s it mean? Wednesday

Magniloquentspeaking or expressed in a lofty or grandiose style; pompous; bombastic; boastful.*

What a great yummy word!

Say it out loud – it starts with that hard ‘g’ at the back of your throat, then a roll of the tongue, and ‘oh’ and then softens off at the end with a gentle ‘t’.

Mind you, you’d probably be guilty of that very thing if you threw it into a conversation or bit of writing.  I must say, I hope I’m not magniloquent.  I like to think that anything I write is fairly simple, readable, and concise, and I do tend to use pretty basic language (let’s be honest here, I’m not actually sure I could use anything but simple words even if I wanted to).  Sadly though, even simple words can easily be misenterpreted, or not interpreted at all, and as bloggers, of course, we should be very considerate of that.

I often write verses the meaning of which is perfectly clear to me. Yes, of course I use metaphors and similies and all that stuff, but I always think they’re obvious not just to me, but to any other readers too. Clearly they are not. Well, not to everyone.  Our minds work in different ways.

For instance, I changed the name of a recent poem I posted.  The original name was ‘Suicide Son’ which is kinda what came to mind as I was writing it, but I thought it was a bit of a horrible title, both shocking and unpleasant, so I changed it to ‘Why?’ (you can read it here).  From the comments I’ve had both on the blog and from family and friends, it is obvious that this has several completely different interpretations to the one in my head when I wrote it.

Not that I mind. Perhaps the original title would have made the intention clearer, but I think poetry should be open to interpretation, and it’s just as well that not everyone has a macabre mind like mine. And after all, I can console myself with the fact that I find even the most famous poets work pretty mystifyi ng sometimes.

Anyhow, I guess making things a bit ambiguous isn’t quite the same as being magniloquent, so I’ll just keep on keeping on for now.

Toodle-ooo!  🙂

*definition courtesy of Dictionary.com

Workout

Panting and puffing I’m feeling the burn
Even though I’ve done only a minute
This machine is the work of the devil I’m sure
Oh god, I think I might vomit

I’m treading the mill to try and get fit
But I think this thing’s going to kill me
My bosom is heaving I’m sweating like mad
All this jiggling…. It’s making me wee… (just a little)

Increasing the incline and upping the speed
My little legs pumping like crazy
I feel the weight lifting I’m floating on air
Oohhh… everything’s going quite hazy

Finally, slowly, it grinds to a halt
I’ve done ten whole minutes… can’t talk
Although I’m all wobbly I’m feeling quite chuffed
Maybe one day I’ll jog, not just walk

Sorry, it just came out that way…

Oh dear, I am sorry about this. I don’t really know where this came from today.  I was in the mood for writing a bit of verse and just came up with the first couple of lines and, well, it kinda gathered pace from there.

Sorry, no accompanying picture to cheer things up either. I did have some beautiful dark velvety tulips last year, but the bulbs were severely trampled on by the man-fence men when they installed the man-fence a month or two ago, so I think I might be tulip-less this year…

Anyhoo…sorry again for this bit of quite depressing verse!!

Why?

They asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave
The petals
Unforgiving to the touch
with fragile strength
cloak a secret centre
Their elusive lustre
glimpsed for but a moment
then quelled in this perfidious place
How earnestly they droop their sombre heads
As lifeless they lie limp on burnished wood
And they asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave

Five day challenge, Day 5 – Athenaeum

The last day of my five day challenge – gosh that’s gone quickly!  I must thank Scillagrace for inviting me to take part, it’s been fun!

For today I’ve written a couple of verses inspired by the photo of the famous Bodleian Library which I took a few years ago when we visited Oxford, England.  I had never visited Oxford before, but my husband studied there so knew it well, and he was able to show me all the sights, as well as taking me punting on the river!

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Athenaeum

In the labyrinth of my mind
My memory library dwells
That vaulted endless space
Where secrets quietly die
and story-spun webs
Are bound with the knots of life

Accommodating each new day
The dusty library swells
Discarding faded pages
‘til but snapshots remain
Of long-gone skies and
Half remembered faces

Every Tiny Stitch

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Creating the canvas with silken thread
Each day with different colours weaving
On whitest linen in smallest stitches
The complexity of life I’m living

Red jelly and custard birthday parties
a childhood spent in lonely play
Crepe paper hats and satin costumes
Kite flying on a windy day

Sunshine yellow of early teen years
Pop idol screaming in the park
Hot pants, boas, and minis and maxis
Cow bells, music, moon walks in the dark

Shocking pink in early womanhood
living dangerously on last tube home
first job jitters, first date delights
while family snaps to monochrome

Rich dark purple of dreams destroyed
Bleeding wounds traced in crimson thread
Tear tracks, pills, and Empty purses
Disillusioned, discarded, life filled with dread

But then the scarlet of surrender
The blush of finding first true love
Warmth of babes, new lives beginning
The tangerine joy of motherhood

Now the lavender skein is needed
As the empty phase begins
How my coloured garden sows those
Wild brown wrinkles on the skin

The final years with wizened fingers
forging murals bittersweet
‘til only the blackest thread remains
the tapestry will be complete

Writing 201, Poetry – Day 10

The last day.  I just knew it would be a bloomin’ sonnet… and ‘Chiasmus’ what the…..!!! Ben Huberman sure knows how to set a challenge.  Anyhoo… it would be churlish not to give it a go.  The theme for today is ‘Future’.

Before I start though, I’d like to say a big thank you to everyone involved in writing 201 – it’s been a blast, and this final poem (sonnet or not) is for you cruel lot!

To be honest, I’ve no idea if this really counts as a sonnet or not, but hey ho…

And so to the future…

I feel so sad on this the final day
of themes and challenges that stretched my thoughts
verse and rhyme that left my mind macramé
and tied my tongue in never-ending knots

Wittily challenged, challenged wittily,
Each sunrise came with devious demands
Devices and words spewing awkwardly
From unobliging pen in clumsy hands

But slowly, slowly with encouragement
From distant friends within the common web
My courage soon replaced embarrassment

And now my pen is sweeping ‘cross the page
Broad strokes of rhyming rhythm in its wake
more learnèd now I bow from this great stage