Poetry

Writing 201: Poetry – Day 7 — ‘My Fingers Touched the Keys of Silence’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Today our assignment is to write a prose poem (poetry that makes itself apparent as such although written as prose — without standard meters or rhyme schemes.). Our subject is fingers, and the poetic technique that we are aiming for is assonance (repetition of vowel sounds).

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My Fingers Touched the Keys of Silence

My fingers touched the keys of silence, and I played its song. It pulled from me a longing that I thought was gone forever – the yearning to release my soul in flowing words that birth new life in images and sounds that intertwine and reach another soul and draw it close to mine. I feared my well was dry, my soul an empty sieve, and that I’d nevermore know a yearning to create with words that live. Ah, the peace, the solace that replaces fear. For now I know I have it still – the gift to make words living things. All it took was spending time with silence for a while, and as it’s music played, it filled my well again.

 

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Tickle Me Tuesday – Week 4

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

CARTOON MAN LYING DOWN LAUGHING 2Are you ready to grin, giggle, or just feel good?  That’s what this little challenge is all about. We share posts that are happy, light-hearted, funny, or downright hilarious. Make it prose, poetry, picture, graphic art, a joke, a song, a video ……. Whatever your heart desires. Post on your own blog and hop over here and paste your link into the “Comments” box so we can visit your site and grin, giggle, and feel good with you. Just please remember the site is for general audiences.

Here’s my contribution this week. I sneaked into Life Is Worth Living by Vera Faye Wallace (my mom) and snatched this little ditty.

BLUE CAR - AIRBORNE 2

DRIVING INSTRUCTOR

I really thought the thing to do

Was to teach my wife in driving.

But, on second thought, I’m asking you;

I know you love skydiving!

MAN WITH BIG EYES CROPPED sepia

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Writing 201:Poetry – Day 6 – “The Ballad of Sister Mary Margaret

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Today’s subject is heroes and heroines. The form is the ballad. And the poetic technique that we are to use is anaphora or epistrophe (simply the repetition of words or phrases at the beginning or end of lines for the sake of emphasis). So I have given you the story of the bravest nun in the west: Sister Mary Margaret.
BULL RUNNINGTHE BALLAD OF SISTER MARY MARGARET
(Town of Petticoat Ridge, Nevada, circa 1868)

Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
I guess you’d say the story’s set in stone.
Our town is now quite famous, and the tourists flock around.
And it’s for sure the credit’s hers alone.

But Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down.
She did wait for somebody else to act.
But since no man among us would move to save the town,
The sister did her duty well; that’s fact.

But Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
You see, a bull came charging down Main Street –
Stompin’, snortin’, chargin hard at people all around –
And all the folks made haste in their retreat.

Poor Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
She had just finished services at church.
She stepped out to the street; her smile became a frown.
Her gold-rimmed glasses on her nose she perched.

Ahh, Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
The bull so wild was goin’ to take a life.
Up came her skirt; her petticoat she ripped it right around:
A petticoat as RED as cherries ripe!

Poor Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
The gasps of horror echoed through the air.
For no one – not one single person ever could condone
A nun who wore bodacious underwear.

Sad Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down.
But at her petticoat that bull did charge.
And Sister Mary Margaret taunted him right out of town,
And off the cliff that bull she did discharge.

But Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down.
Poor Sister Mary Margaret will never, never, never live it down.

~~~

Writing 201: Poetry – Day 5 — ‘Too Late’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Today’s prompt word is “fog.” The form we’ve been asked to use is the elegy — with strong encouragement to try using elegiac couplets. And the technique assigned for today is the metaphor.

I’ve offered my piece in a slightly modified elegiac couplet, and the only occurrence of a metaphor is in the second line. But since this is the poem that came to me, I did not try to force myself to comply with more exact or more numerous metaphors. I sort of liked the piece the way it came. So, dear readers, that’s the way I’m serving it to you.  (And to set your mind at rest, I will tell you that the poem is NOT based on personal experience — I’m thankful to say.)

CEMETERY - JEFFERSON STREET - PUBDOGTOO LATE

Out from the fog and the daze I am struggling to make my way.
Scrabbling to gather the pieces of my tattered life.

Once I was warm with a love that imbued me with happiness.
Now only memories haunt me and cause my heart strife.

I sought to hold you, to own you, to bind you to me for all time.
Giving no freedom, no breathing space, no chance to fly.

Smothering you with my paranoid jealousy; making you hate me;
Turning your poor heart to stone, and that caused you to die.

Oh, how I long for just one day to relive my tragic mistakes –
One hour to whisper that finally my lesson I’ve learned.

One precious moment to bare my soul as I have never before,
Offering you only the unselfish love that you earned.

But wretch that I am, I have come to the truth only when it’s too late.
Repentant in heart, but with no where to go to confess.

For cold, ‘neath the ground you have lain all these months, and your ears cannot hear.
I’m eternally lost in this fog of remorse, and there is no rest.

~~~

Writing 201:Poetry – Day 4 – ‘A Whale of a Tale’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Don’t sit there scratching your head. I’ll tell you what it’s supposed to be.
Our instructions for Day 4 include the subject of animals, the form of concrete (or shape) poems, and the technique of enjambment. Whew!!!  Okay, how did I do? Well, the best I could come up with on shape was what I HOPE looks the tiniest bit like the flippers of a whale — going down into the ocean (of my words). I did try to work with the HTML and type the poem right into my editing window. Not going to happen this time around. I finally ran out of time to spend on it, so I typed my whale flippers into a document, scanned it, and pasted it into this post. Oh well — onward and upward. I took a little liberty with the REAL story as it comes to us in the Word of God, but thank goodness, God has a sense of humor as well.

A WHALE OF A TALE

JOHAN POEM WHALE IMAGE

 ~

SMILING WHALE - WHITE ON MAUVE

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The poem above was approved and endorsed by the International Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Pink Whales.

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Writing 201: Poetry – Day 3 — Two Trustworthy Acrostics

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

The word “trust” is an enormously powerful word — at least to me. It embodies a complete surrender of self-protection and puts one in a vulnerable position. As a result, I don’t trust easily. I’m grateful to say that there are a few people I feel safe in trusting, and although “few” may sound like a negative number, I’ve learned that it’s sometimes rare to have even that many.

However, there is one Person I trust implicitly: my Lord Jesus Christ. And it seemed only natural, when given the word “trust” as our prompt today, that my heart and mind would turn towards Him as I wrote my poem for the challenge. I offer two poems, both of them meeting the challenge of the acrostic form. But since what I wanted to say did not lend itself easily to much internal rhyme, and since I didn’t have much more time to devote to scouring for different word choices, I have opted to let that technique wait for another time.

CROWN OF THORNS ULTRA MODERNTRUSTWORTHY

There is but One whose love and help are sure.
Renewed each day as surely as the sun.
Under His wings of grace I find the cure:
Sin and hate, sorrow, sickness – done.
‘Tis Jesus Christ, the sole trustworthy One.

PROVEN

Tiny babe: He took that form in Bethlehem.
Relinquishing Heaven’s privileges, became a man.
Upon Himself, He took my sin and all its curse.
Secure in Love’s omnipotence, He took the cross.
Then surely I can trust myself into His hands.

~~~

Writing 201: Poetry – Day 2 — ‘Escape’

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

This is day 2 of the ‘Writing 201:Poetry’ course. Our prompt today is the word “journey.” Our form is the limerick. And our suggested poetic devise is alliteration. I used three limericks to tell the story of a journey, and I did manage to throw in a bit of alliteration for good measure. Hope you get a kick out of this one.

TRAIN FROM BACK - OLD GOLDESCAPE

Well, my journey by train has begun.
As for tickets, I don’t have a one.
With police pressing in,
And this shackle ’round my shin,
All I packed was my trusty old gun.

In the baggage compartment I’ll hide,
And my time I will patiently bide.
When we make the next stop,
From this train I will hop
To the next and continue my ride.

It’s a journey to freedom I take.
And I can’t stop; there’s too much at stake.
Since I’m guilty as sin,
In a court, I can’t win,
But I’ve vowed future crime to forsake.

~~~

Love In A Dead Language

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Latin is often referred to as a dead language. And while it’s true that no culture actually uses Latin on a daily basis as their primary means of communication, the fact remains that so many modern languages owe their very existence to the root words derived from classical Latin. Moreover, many of the systems that are important parts of modern life in any culture — medical science and the legal systems, for example — still derive the vocabulary that makes each system unique from that primary language that has given so much to the world. I studied Latin in high school, and I learned a great deal about my own language and about the history of the world in general through that language. So, in honor of a language that I still love — and in honor of love in general — seeing as how it’s Valentine’s Day — I offer this little bit of verse in defense of Latin.

BOOK & INKWELL - w. TEXT - moderate sepia

Amo: I love.
Amas: You love.
Amat: He loves.
If Latin is a language dead, what gives?

Amamus: We love.
Amatis: You love.
Amant: They love.
With this much love, then surely Latin lives!

♥

Digging Through My ‘Love’ Archive

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

HEARTS - COLLECTION W. BLUEIt’s Valentine’s week, so I thought it was time to make another visit to my archives. This time I sifted through all the ordinary stuff and dug around until I found the posts that had something to say about LOVE.  I found bunches of them, but I chose 14 of my favorites to share one more time. (The number 14, of course, is in honor of Valentine’s Day being the 14th of the month.) I’ve posted the links to them below. Hope you find some of them to your taste and get a little shot of love to help you celebrate Valentine’s Day:

# 1:  For Love of Bernadette

# 2:  The Flood

# 3:  Love Will Find a Way

# 4: Hatred & War Cannot Quench Love

#5:  Love Song 

#6: Blessed Invasion

#7: Love Through The Eyes of Opie Taylor

# 8: Touched

# 9:  Love Letters: 574 and counting

# 10: Valediction to a Passing Love

# 11: Love On The Line

# 12: Behind the Scene: One Act Play

 # 13:  Focused: A One-Act Play to Lighten Your Day

# 14: Birth of a Hero

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Of bachelors, spinsters, and wasting time on ridiculous questions . . .

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

For some reason — and I have no idea what that reason is — my mind has been grappling this morning with a bemusing question.

WOMAN SILHOUETTE, PONYTAILThe dictionary definition of the word spinster is as follows: An unmarried woman of gentle family; a woman who has never married, especially one past the “usual” age of marrying.

MAN PROFILEThe dictionary definition of a bachelor is as follows: A man who has never been married; a man who is not married or cohabiting, but who lives independently.

So let me get this straight: A bachelor is a man who has never married, and by the use of the word “never” one understands that he is well along in years and has passed the “usual” time of marrying. A spinster is a woman who has done the same. Yet the term bachelor carries absolutely no negative connotations with it — and in fact, some people even consider it a mark of distinction. Yet the term spinster — at least here in the U.S. — carries a very decidedly negative connotation. In fact most dictionaries give the term “old maid” as a synonym for the word spinster.

Now for the question: WHY THE DIFFERENCE???

Anyway, while cogitating on this bemusing question, I also got to thinking about a poem that was written by a great friend of mine, Lila Colloton. Lila is now a perky little lady of 82, a widow, a mother, a grandmother, and still an active poet and reporter for a local newspaper. She wrote the following poem when she was 16. I’ve shared it once before on this site, but not for a very long time. Thought you might enjoy it today.

AN OLD MAID

Being an old maid would be fun I guess:
No diapers to wash or children to dress;
You may go shopping whenever you can;
Don’t have to sit home and wait for your man.
Yes, being an old maid would be fun I suppose:
Just one person’s dishes and your very own clothes.

But just stop to think before you continue:
Don’t you feel sort of funny within you?
Kind of an empty feeling I bet.
Just suppose Mom and Dad hadn’t met.
Where would you be?
Nobody knows:
Probably just part of the breeze that blows.

So stop debating before it’s too late;
When he calls up, don’t break that date!

© Lila Colloton


(By the way, if anyone can answer my question, be sure to let me know.)

~~~

The Treasures of Christmas

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

CROSS, MNGR MESSAGE -- NEG BLUE BCKGRD
Gingerbread and stockings …
Christmas trees and holly …
Loving friends and family …
Peace and hope and laughter —
These belong to Christmas.

God’s rich love for mankind …
Word made flesh incarnate …
Coming for one purpose:
Dying that I could have life.
Christmas belongs to me!

~

Healing Holiday

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

Thanksgiving Day is just around the corner,
And I am set to have a lovely time.
First I’ll make a jaunt to church and, kneeling down,
I’ll thank the Lord for all His blessings kind.

And then I’ll journey farther to meet kith and kin.
We’ll hug and laugh and tell each other news.
Then next I’ll help dish up the yummy treats in store;
So many dishes, all from which to choose.

Then after eating more than I could ever need,
And going back again for one more pinch,
I’ll sit by fireplace warm and cuddle little ones,
And soon we’ll be asleep; it is a cinch.

Oh, my, how dear Thanksgiving is to all of us.
It gives us one whole day when we can part
From all that pulls and presses us and wounds us sore,
And give ourselves to healing, loving hearts.

~~~

If you enjoy Thanksgiving poems, you may also enjoy these from previous years:

“Ah, Thanksgiving, How I Love You!
“What’s For Dinner”
“A Lesson In Thanksgiving”

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My Heart Belongs To Autumn

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

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Leaf by tender leaf,
I watch this stately monarch
Dressing up for fall.

Gold, russet, yellow,
And brilliant red — her choices,
For she loves them all.

Hour by passing hour
The change begins subdued – but
Then bursts into flame.

I revel in the site.
My heart belongs to Autumn.
It’s joy calls my name.

The troubles that have pressed
Throughout the year now ending,
Though they’re present still,

Are restrained by the power
Of Autumn’s golden glory
To subdue all ill.

My heart belongs to Autumn.
Indeed, it always will.

~

Limerick Writing Challenge – 10/26/14

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

PLMBER2 - dumb plumber
Since I’m teaching a Writing Poetry class this term, I have, naturally, been thinking about how many different kinds of poems there are. And today I got to thinking about limericks. We all know pretty much what a limerick is: A poem generally written in fun, which has 5 lines of anapestic meter (da-da-dum  da-da- dum  da-da-dum) and with a rhyme scheme of AABBA.  The first, second, and last lines generally have 3 feet of anapestic meter, and the third and fourth generally have two feet.

In the early beginnings of limericks, according to history, most of the themes were fairly absurd and often bawdy or naughty. However, most of us are familiar with lots of limericks that are just good, clean fun.

So, bearing in mind that this site is a G-rated site, I’d like to invite everyone out there to write a limerick — or 2 or 3 — and share them with us. They can be on any subject.

Please post your limericks on your own blog and hop back over here to post the link to them in the ‘Comments’ section below. That way everyone else can find them as well.  We’ll keep this challenge open until midnight next Sunday, November 2, 2014 (central standard time, USA).

I generally comment on your own site after reading your submissions, rather than replying to your comments on my page.

Below is one of my own limericks to get us started:

PLUMB REJECTED  

There once was a girl, name of Summer
Who fell madly in love with her plumber
And each day down her drains
Shoved ridiculous things,
But he never caught on. What a bummer.

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Friday Fictioneers – 9/12/14 – Narcissus

| Sandra Pavloff Conner

I’m going to try to jump back into Friday Fictioneers today with a poem. If you’d like to join in and write your own 100-word story/poem based on the picture below, hop over and check out the details. Today’s picture is courtesy of Janet Webb.

ff

NARCISSUS

It’s true you quicken heartbeats when you enter rooms.
And every girl around competes for you.
The wilting sighs escape when you are passing by,
And “gorgeous” comes to mind describing you.

Your smile – it’s dazzle ‘lectrifies fair maiden hearts,
Your voice – it has a timbre all its own.
And when you stay away, we girls all miss you so;
That you return to find our love has grown.

But all our smiles and sighs have no effect on you.
And year by year you manage to stay free.
Well, I, for one, know why you never choose a love:
You’re lost in love with what your mirror sees.

~

 

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