Tuesday, March 31, 2015

National Poetry Month

National Poetry Month 2015

As most of us involved in (and out of)  the cyber-world of poetry have already noticed, April is the month of the year in which the spontaneous generation of poetry in all forms is celebrated and encouraged. There are many organizations and sites, blogs and writer's groups which encourage and support writing a poem a day. My own favorite poetry site, the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, will be offering a daily challenge throughout April to help provide inspiration, as will many others. 

I have been blogging here at Verse Escape since October of 2010. Since 2011, I have written 30 poems in April each year, and this will be my fifth year of attempting to do so. I want to emphasize the 'attempting' aspect, as I never know if I will actually be able to do it. I also am adding another goal to the month, and that is to READ a (non-blogged) poem a day, from an actual book, of which I have many, and which too often spend their lives gathering dust. In the event I cannot write a poem for any given day, I will share my daily read here.

During this highly focused period, everyone appreciates and needs support, even though sometimes it's hard to make the usual rounds and leave the usual in-depth comments, so I want to say in advance, I am grateful for just a word to know you have been by, and if you are also doing this project, please let me know, so I can in turn support your efforts, even if not in my usual lengthy and verbose style, to which you have hopefully become accustomed. ;_) For those not involved in the madness, I will still be around to read and comment as usual.

 I look forward to seeing the fireworks that this sort of discipline can produce, and to enjoying the company of those as stressed as myself coming face to face with that blankness Bob Dylan once described when he said: "...if there's an original thought out there, I could use it right now..."

 Happy Poetry Month To All

Photos: copyright joyannjones 2015
 Please feel free to use the 'poetry month' photo if you'd like, any way you'd like.


Friday, March 27, 2015

Perfect Day

Perfect Day

Clothes colored dirt
hair blown like hay
hands in the birth bed
where laboring lays,
easing and turning
crumbling and pushing
life from old life,
broken as an eggshell
by tireless pecking,
face to the wind;
a scatterer of seed
gatherer of water,
an eater of flowers
to which meal
the last.

~March 2015

posted for    real toads

Challenge:...An Old Man's Fancy
Corey Rowley (Mexican Radio) asks us to visualize the perfect spring day; therefore I have forced myself not to write about anything ominous, shadowy, dark or painful, so enjoy it while you can. 

Photos copyright joyannjones 2015

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Out Of The Mirror

Out Of The Mirror

"Everybody's wearing a disguise
to hide what they've got left behind their eyes
but me, I can't cover who I am..."
~Bob Dylan, Abandoned Love

She saw the way his restless eye
moved blind past her every word
and so she took his face out of the mirror
carried it carefully home
to keep it nearer.

She put it in a special box,
a casket carved with sunsets,
walled with moon
and told it all the jokes
he never gets.

It laughed so intimate and close
and winked at her with
a silver seeing eye
made suddenly luminous,
all callousness washed out,

sketching sweetness in the charcoal 
smudge of the remitter,
delusion's kiss---
till in some ignorant apogee of bliss,
she let it out.

The box spilled hot laughter hissing
back to its glassy home, and
a bloodstain on the nacreous quilt of dawn,
as surely all along
she should have known.

~February-March, 2015

posted for             real toads

The Tuesday Platform

Image:  Still Life with Spherical Mirror, 1934, by M.C. Escher
Fair use via wikiart.org

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Night Ride

Night Ride

Don't let go the mane of the mare,
the mercury mare married to night.
Look down, love, at her wild eye-white,

turn your face to her cinnamon stare,
the jeweler's work deep-set in her skull
bridging abyss, canceling null.

Don't draw back from her wire-harsh hair;
she's your only way in, only way out,
my Dancer on memory, Rider of doubt.    

Fill your eyes with her fine Arab air; 
the delicate leg, the hooves henna-bright
pacing the years from sundown to light.

You know she'll toss you, but not just where--
which rippled well, which beckoned bend.
Only let go where the fall never ends.

Lay your hand on the mane of the mare,
bury your face in her cinnamon stare.
Comb the wind from her wire-harsh hair,
fill your cup with her fine Arab air;
you know she'll toss you, but you don't know where.

~March 2015


posted for     real toads

Challenge: Play it Again with Margaret

The discerning eye of Margaret Bednar (ArtHappens365) once again winnows out three selections from the plethora of past Garden challenges . I have chosen to try my hand at one of Kerry O'Connor's form challenges, The Constanza, explained with all Kerry's usual clarity HERE.  
Caveat: I have not, however, stayed completely faithful to it.

Images: Bathing Horses, by Volodymyr Orlovsky    public domain via wikiart.org
Rearing Horse, by Leonardo da Vinci, 1503   public domain via wikiart.org


Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Wolf Wind

Wolf Wind

She wears night
for a bonnet, winter
her black pelisse, hood flared
in the wolf wind.

She never looks
anything in the eye;
it's all done with
the shrug of a shoulder.

She carries grey shadows
to term in the flare of her hips,
breaking them from her skirt
in eddies as she walks.

In the snow of her petticoats
dawn lies stillborn;
the cricket's fiddle is iced
in the drying rushes.

Every door is barred
against her,
yet she comes and goes
as she wills

in the same dusty clothes
and behind her,
darkness pushes.

~March 2015

posted for     real toads

The Tuesday Platform
Sometimes you see something, and it makes you write.

pelisse: 1.an outer garment lined or trimmed with fur. 2.a woman's long cloak with slits for the arms.1710-20; < French < Late Latin pellicia: mantle, noun feminine of Latin pellicius: of skin...pellis:skin   Dictionary.com Unabridged

Image: found on facebook, author unknown
no copyright infringement intended

Saturday, March 14, 2015

Dining In

Dining In

You looked at me across
the brimming glass. I seemed to see
a butterfly on your plate,
a meal on wings in a web too blue to be.
Serve yourself, you said, as sweet
as summer almond on the spur,
for what you've fluttered for
is blooming here.

Nibbling the small absurd
crustaceans of indifference well-assumed,
followed by a toss of  salad words,
fatigued in vinegar and oil to bite and blur,
till appetite on top at last flicked off
the garnish, two soft-curled buds
beside the tart smooth cream;
wine spilled on scarlet linen stays unseen.

Next there came the twist,
main course surprise,
all salt and sauce and judgement over-ruled--
the steam of it rose humid in our eyes;
in the end we had the dish we each would choose--
brief, delicious, light but quite forgettable,
with endearments for dessert, so green
so indigestible.

~March 2015

posted for     real toads

Weekend Challenge: Poeticizing Out
The multi-talented Karin Gustafson (ManicDDaily) asks us to write something inspired by a meal at a restaurant. I have kind of run a bit wide and wild here, but that's where I started.

Top Image: copyright Karin Gustafson,
Used with permission
Footer: Still Life Of Fruit And A Plate of Oysters, by Osias Beert
Public domain via wikiart.org