Tag: Poetry

Last Night as I Was Sleeping by Antonio Machado

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Antonio Machado 1875-1939

Last Night as I Was Sleeping

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night as I slept,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had
here inside my heart

Antonio Machado
Born: 26 July 1875, Seville, Spain
Nationality: Spanish
Died: 22 February 1939, Collioure, France

Machado was a poet and one of the leading figures of the Spanish literary movement Generation of ’98. His early modernist work evolved into an intimate form of symbolism with a romantic characteristic. Machado’s style engaged with humanity with a Taoist contemplation of existence

Reality Check

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Reality Check
Form: Gwawdodyn

When your words speak so freely of flight
Refuge found on the wings soaring height
Your warrior’s heart waits ready to depart
But to the ground, your feet remain tight

©JezzieG2024

I’m A Fool to Love You by Cornelius Eady

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Cornelius Eady 1954-

I’m A Fool to Love You

Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell you, if she could,
About her life with my father,
A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman.
She would tell you about the choices
A young black woman faces.
Is falling in love with some man
A deal with the devil
In blue terms, the tongue we use
When we don’t want nuance
To get in the way,
When we need to talk straight.
My mother chooses my father
After choosing a man
Who was, as we sing it,
Of no account.
This man made my father look good,
That’s how bad it was.
He made my father seem like an island
In the middle of a stormy sea,
He made my father look like a rock.
And is the blues the moment you realize
You exist in a stacked deck,
You look in a mirror at your young face,
The face my sister carries,
And you know it’s the only leverage
You’ve got.
Does this create a hurt that whispers
How you going to do?
Is the blues the moment
You shrug your shoulders
And agree, a girl without money
Is nothing, dust
To be pushed around by any old breeze.
Compared to this,
My father seems, briefly,
To be a fire escape.
This is the way the blues works
Its sorry wonders,
Makes trouble look like
A feather bed,
Makes the wrong man’s kisses
A healing

Cornelius Eady
Born: 7 January 1954, New York, USA
Nationality: American

Eady is a writer focusing mainly on the subjects of race and society. His poetry is often centred on jazz and blues, family life, violence, and problems in society caused by race and class

Pilgrimage (Weekend Writing Prompt)

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Inspired by and written for the Weekend Writing Prompt, my thanks to Sammi

Weekend Writing Prompt #361 – Pilgrimage

Form: Free Verse

Divinity calling
Inviting the journey
Between the here and now
And the space for inner sanctuary
Where the gods and goddesses reveal
Destiny within nature
Each footstep a question
Asked in silent devotion
Guiding answers leading forward
As the eyes see the truth in the wood lands
And the forest whispers
Among the canopies of the trees
Offering shelter of a gentle embrace
Safe in the wild woods
And the choir of birds
Raise voices in worshipful song
Joining the devotional heart
Here
Deep in the wild forest
The gods and goddesses dance

Word count: 93

©JezzieG2024

One Day 1 (Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge)

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Inspired by and written for the Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge, my thanks to Sue and Gerry

Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge – One Day

Cool idea. I like the idea of thinking of a ‘one day’ so think for me it will work as a title, I hope that is okay

Form: Cornish Sonnet

Destiny leads the way and plays the tune
She’s marking the rhythm of passing time
And I see you waiting in mystic rune
Or deep within nightly magical dreams
That fill my mind to write in verse and rhyme
Of my love waiting beneath the moonbeams

And there we tango in the lunar light
Reunited in the hours of my sleep
That keeps the flames of true love burning bright
Although I know I must now live a life
My heart and soul are still yours to keep
Until once more I can hold you, my wife

Destiny leads the way and plays the tune
And there we tango in the lunar light

©JezzieG2024

Hesper by Henry Van Dyke

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Henry Van Dyke 1852-1933

Hesper

Her eyes are like the evening air,
Her voice is like a rose,
Her lips are like a lovely song,
That ripples as it flows,
And she herself is sweeter than
The sweetest thing she knows.

A slender, haunting, twilight form
Of wonder and surprise,
She seemed a fairy or a child,
Till, deep within her eyes,
I saw the homeward-leading star
Of womanhood arise

Henry Van Dyke
Born: 10 November 1852, Pennsylvania, USA
Nationality: American
Died: 10 April 1933, New Jersey, USA

Van Dyke was an author, educator, diplomat, clergyman, and poet. Various religious themes are often expressed in his poetry, hymns, and essays. Van Dyke composed the lyrics of the hymn ‘Joyful, Joyful! We Adore Thee’

Out on the Hills

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Out on the Hills
Form: Free Verse

A backpacker roaming the English hills
Saw the wind dancing over the peaks
Its tango rhythm catching the trees and then letting go
And the tree nymphs wanted more
So the wind swirled around
Rustling the leaves like flowing gowns
Eager nymphs dance blissfully unaware
Of the changing tempo moving through the wind
Branches stretching and bending too far
SNAP!
And the wind moved away

©JezzieG2024

Menu (Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge)

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Inspired by and written for the Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge, my thanks to Gerry and Sue

Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – Menu

Form: Contrapuntal Poems

Take-Out

The apps light up offering choices
Which one to choose
Main courses and sides
Ordering drinks too

Work Day

Booting up a computer screen
A click on the work icon reveals even more
Where does one start
And the aroma from the pot calls

Menu

Booting up a computer screen
The apps light up offering choices
A click on the work icon reveals even more
Which one to choose
Where does one start
Main courses and sides
And the aroma from the pot calls
Ordering drinks too

©JezzieG2024

Guadarrama by Antonio Machado

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Antonio Machado 1875-1939

Guadarrama
1969

Guadarrama, is it you, old friend,
mountains white and gray
that I used to see painted against the blue
those afternoons of the old days in Madrid?
Up your deep ravines
and past your bristling peaks
a thousand Guadarramas and a thousand suns
come riding with me, riding to your heart

Antonio Machado
Born: 26 July 1875, Seville, Spain
Nationality: Spanish
Died: 22 February 1939, Collioure, France

Machado was a poet and one of the leading figures of the Spanish literary movement Generation of ’98. His early modernist work evolved into an intimate form of symbolism with a romantic characteristic. Machado’s style engaged with humanity with a Taoist contemplation of existence

Season (Ovi Poetry Challenge)

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Inspired by and written for the Ovi Poetry Challenge, with thanks to Ronovan

Ovi Poetry Challenge 45: SEASON is your inspiration.

Form: Ovi

If life is seen as but a year
Do seasons laugh or shed a tear
Do changing tides bring hope or fear
In spring, summer, fall, or winter

From darkness, we come into life
Without doubts, adult stress, or strife
In this our spring we’re running rife
While learning and growing too fast

Summer comes with pubescent pains
Too young for love we want its gains
Broken hearts sobbing summer’s rains
Soon enough we find that one love

Together hear wedding bells ring
See our children begin their spring
Then feel the chill autumn can bring
Beneath greying hair, time moves on

Our sunset years of growing old
Are graced by colours bright and bold
Until widowhood makes it cold
Then winter must be faced alone

©JezzieG2024

End of the Road (Ragtag Daily Prompt)

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Inspired by and written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt, my thanks to Bushboy

Ragtag Daily Prompt Thursday: End of the Road

Form: Zejel

I found a pebble on the beach
It lay within the tidal reach
Beneath blue skies where seagulls screech

Pebble please will you answer me
How does it feel there in the sea
Rushed by the tides, can you be free
I asked the pebble on the beach

‘It’s a journey’ the pebble said
‘It ends with shore on which I’m laid
Before that, I don’t see ahead’
Now it’s here in the tidal reach

Journey done, tomorrow is closed
From the deep it has been exposed
I pick it up to be transposed
To echoes of a seagull’s screech

Here in the cottage at the lane’s end
Round the corner and past the bend
Upon on a shelf, my stoney friend
That dear pebble from on the beach

©JezzieG2024

Vow of Beltane

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Vow of Beltane
Form: Constellation Sonnet

On Beltane’s Eve where fairies come to dance
Between willow trees and the river flow
The air shivers with the breeze of romance
For the spring is high and love is on show
Summoning gods so we can take a chance

Beneath the weeping boughs came love’s advance
As your voice so softly whispered its vow
I made mine as dusk fell into its trance
The magic of spring began to endow
Our joining of love and mystic romance

The cascade of leaves carved a holy space
As the night echoed with eternity
And my hands gently lifted up your face
We kissed beneath the sacred willow tree

©JezzieG2024

For The Future by Wendell Berry

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Wendell Berry 1934-

For The Future

Planting trees early in spring,
we make a place for birds to sing
in time to come. How do we know?
They are singing here now.
There is no other guarantee
that singing will ever be.

Wendell Berry
Born: 5 August 1934, Kentucky, USA
Nationality: American

Berry is a novelist, poet, essayist, cultural critic, environmental activist, and farmer. He is closely identified with rural Kentucky and his attention to the culture and economy of rural communities can be seen in the novels and stories of Port William. An elected member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers, Berry is a recipient of the National Humanities Medal

Never Goodbye

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Never Goodbye
Form: Free Verse

I miss you
but not to grasp threads
of what used to be
for my past is in my reach
they said it’s happening too fast
but it really happened too slowly
the drips of pain
denied before they could be expressed
like picking currants out of a Chelsea bun
the battle within
only we could fight
sugarcoating my thoughts
until we ran out of sugar
and I lost my grip
had enough
we had enough of it
but I knew you understood
that it wasn’t goodbye
never goodbye

©JezzieG2024

Rich Days by William Henry Davis

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William Henry Davies 1871-1940

Rich Days

Welcome to you rich Autumn days,
Ere comes the cold, leaf-picking wind;
When golden stocks are seen in fields,
All standing arm-in-arm entwined;
And gallons of sweet cider seen
On trees in apples red and green.

With mellow pears that cheat our teeth,
Which melt that tongues may suck them in;
With blue-black damsons, yellow plums,
Now sweet and soft from stone to skin;
And woodnuts rich, to make us go
Into the loneliest lanes we know

William Henry Davies
Born: 3 July 1871, Newport, Wales
Nationality: Welsh
Died: 26 September 1940, Gloucestershire, England

Davis was a poet and writer. He spent much of his life as a tramp or hobo in the UK and the USA yet became one of the most popular poets of his time. His themes included his observations on life’s hardships, the human condition reflected in nature his travels as a tramp, and the characters he met. Davis is classified as a Georgian Poet, however much of his writing is not typical of the group in style and theme

Eloquent Dream

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A Garret Poet

Eloquent Dream
Form: Cross Sonnet 2

Thy picture in mute, lifeless art
Reflects my soul in its despair
Yet love declares we’ll never part
I whisper thy name like a prayer

Not with laughter and not with tears
But with love’s air to where thou waits
That eloquent dream holds no fears
As time and distance dissipates

Thine hand my guide through all of time
These times alone I feel it most
In the language of love and rhyme
Just like waves rolling on the coast

I feel thy presence over me
Too real to be a memory

©JezzieG2024

Deuces Sonnet Notes

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A Garret Poet

Deuces Sonnet Notes

Created by: Mary Lou Healy
Structure: Three quatrains and a couplet
Meter: Decasyllabic or Pentameter
Rhyme Scheme: abba abba baab aa

Example

And So It Began by JezzieG

In those days past so very long ago
When magic was shared on gossamer wing
With old stories told by the bards that sing
And fairies danced amid the moonlight’s glow

While sprinkling their magic dust where they go
To refrains plucked out on the bardic string
Soon to the song the fairies learned to bring
Their own voices to the musical flow

Around the world we could hear them all sing
Enchanting songs only magic can know
Mankind heard it too where the spring winds blow
To the choir early man’s voices did ring

Of when the world was young with all to show
In those days past so very long ago

People Who Live by Erica Jong

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Erica Jong 1942-

People Who Live
1973

People who live by the sea
understand eternity.
They copy the curves of the waves,
their hearts beat with the tides,
& the saltiness of their blood
corresponds with the sea.

They know that the house of flesh
is only a sandcastle
built on the shore,
that skin breaks
under the waves
like sand under the soles
of the first walker on the beach
when the tide recedes.

Each of us walks there once,
watching the bubbles
rise up through the sand
like ascending souls,
tracing the line of the foam,
drawing our index fingers
along the horizon
pointing home

Erica Jong
Born: 26 March 1942, New York, USA
Nationality: American

Jong is a novelist, satirist, and poet particularly known for her novel “Fear of Flying” (1973). The book was famously controversial for its attitudes on female sexuality and became prominent in the development of second-wave feminism

Dreamcatcher (Ragtag Daily Prompt)

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Inspired by and written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt, my thanks to CuriousCat

Form: Zejel

It sways gently on the night breeze
Offering protection and ease
As in its web, the nightmares freeze

To bad dreams a no-entry sign
That are captured in strands of twine
While the good dreams pass through just fine
Closing down the bad memories

Each night as my eyes slowly close
The dark thoughts no longer compose
I am safe in sleeping repose
As I dream where my senses please

©JezzieG2024

Beautiful Stranger (Simply 6 Minutes)

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Inspired by and written for Simply 6 Minutes, my thanks to Christine

Simply 6 Minutes – Welcome to the Challenge: 04/23/2024

Form: Italian Sonnet 3

He emerged in the glade lit by the moon
A wolf, wild and beautiful but fearsome
As through the woods echoes the spirit drum
Enchanting sounds like a magical rune
The primal force of nature coming soon
The ancient ways through the night air now hum
As with his blazing eyes, the wolf must come
For in this hunt, his voice calls out the tune

He opens his tail displaying his pride
So his beauty fills the quiet moonglade
Such beauty surely, he must come in peace
Alone he stands, at man’s hand his pack died
Revenge is now his calling and his trade
The lives of men are now at his caprice

Time: 8 minutes

Word Count: 114

©JezzieG2024

Mortal Question

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Mortal Question
Form: Ivorian Sonnet 116

Think on this, mortals of the human race
You’re born with a destiny to embrace

The world’s newest member, future unknown
And of the past, you have no memory
Your parents influence until you’re grown

They’ll manipulate what you know of things
Sometimes guiding you to grow in their way
And other times they’ll be pulling your strings
But once you’ve grown, you’ll live life your own way

And maybe you too will be parents one day
If that is what your destiny so brings
Creating a world for your kids to face
Will it be a world where a bird still sings
Or a dying place where nothing is free?

©JezzieG2024

Old Age Gets Up by Ted Hughes

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Ted Hughes 1930-1998

Old Age Gets Up
1979

Stirs its ashes and embers, its burnt sticks

An eye powdered over, half melted and solid again
Ponders
Ideas that collapse
At the first touch of attention

The light at the window, so square and so same
So full-strong as ever, the window frame
A scaffold in space, for eyes to lean on

Supporting the body, shaped to its old work
Making small movements in gray air
Numbed from the blurred accident
Of having lived, the fatal, real injury
Under the amnesia

Something tries to save itself-searches
For defenses-but words evade
Like flies with their own notions

Old age slowly gets dressed
Heavily dosed with death’s night
Sits on the bed’s edge

Pulls its pieces together
Loosely tucks in its shirt

Ted Hughes
Born: 17 August 1930, West Yorkshire, UK
Nationality: English
Died: 28 October 1998, London, UK

Hughes was a poet, translator, and children’s writer. He is considered one of the best poets of his generation and one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century. Appointed Poet Laureate in 1984 he held the office until his death. Hughes was married to the American poet Sylvia Plath. Some Plath admirers blamed Hughes for her death by suicide and his last poetic work, Birthday Letters, addresses their relationship and whilst referencing her suicide, they do not address the circumstances. Last Letter, a poem discovered in 2010 describes Hughes’s version of the three days before her death

Punctilious (Ragtag Daily Prompt)

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Inspired by and written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt, my thanks to Martha Kennedy

RDP Tuesday! Punctilious!

Form: Zejel

Initial thoughts are written down
On paper as images drown
In odd lines of ink; verbs and nouns

A draft appears upon the page
Now a poet must earn his wage
Crafting rough lines as thoughts engage
Rough ideas into a poem sown

Meeting rhymes both perfect and eye
Reading aloud to see its lie
Meticulous work so say I
From the rough words I’d written down

The editing eye makes its mark
Careful red lines begin to spark
This writing game isn’t a lark
Rewrite, rewrite, it makes me frown

Attentive thoughts that once were coy
Now there for the mind to employ
Until lines and verse bring me joy
From the page, a poem has flown

©JezzieG2024

Fountain (Word of the Day Challenge)

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Inspired by and written for the Word of the Day Challenge, my thanks to Cyranny

Fountain

Form: Zejel

I walked too fast; I walked too slow
I didn’t know where I should go
Instincts said just go with the flow

The way was long and I was tired
My senses numb were once hot-wired
Even the path is muddy mired
Emotions sinking far below

Along the way, I met a man
Who said be still to hear the plan
It sprinkles through you if it can
You must hold hope, not let it go

I stood there silent for a while
And then I felt it with a smile
Hope within without my denial
As something new began to grow

Pouring forth into the fresh light
Sparkling dreams gushed into my sight
My future hope was burning bright
It’s flowing beauty mine to know

©JezzieG2024

Nevertheless by Marianne Moore

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Marianne Moore 1887-1972

Nevertheless
1944

you’ve seen a strawberry
that’s had a struggle; yet
was, where the fragments met,

a hedgehog or a star-
fish for the multitude
of seeds. What better food

than apple seeds – the fruit
within the fruit – locked in
like counter-curved twin

hazelnuts? Frost that kills
the little rubber-plant –
leaves of kok-sagyyz-stalks, can’t

harm the roots; they still grow
in frozen ground. Once where
there was a prickley-pear –

leaf clinging to a barbed wire,
a root shot down to grow
in earth two feet below;

as carrots from mandrakes
or a ram’s-horn root some-
times. Victory won’t come

to me unless I go
to it; a grape tendril
ties a knot in knots till

knotted thirty times – so
the bound twig that’s under-
gone and over-gone, can’t stir.

The weak overcomes its
menace, the strong over-
comes itself. What is there

like fortitude! What sap
went through that little thread
to make the cherry red!

Marianne Moore
Born: 15 November 1887, Missouri, USA
Nationality: American
Died: 5 February 1972, New York, USA

Moore was a modernist poet, critic, editor, and translator. Her poetry is best known for its formal innovation, precise diction, wit, and irony. Moore was nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1968

Nocturnal (Ragtag Daily Prompt)

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Inspired by and written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt, my thanks to Sgeoil

RDP Monday: NOCTURNAL

Form: Zejel

Across dark skies, he flies the night
Sonar senses pick up a bite
But he’ll be gone before the light

His tired wings say ‘It’s time to sleep’
In the belfries and castle keep
He hides away but not to weep
Until the night when he’ll take flight

For him, the stars dance in the sky
When he chases where the moths fly
The moon shimmers as he goes by
The hours of darkness, his delight

©JezzieG2024

Metrical Feet by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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Samuel Taylor Coleridge 1772-1834

Metrical Feet
1806

Trochee trips from long to short;
From long to long in solemn sort
Slow Spondee stalks, strong foot!, yet ill able
Ever to come up with Dactyl’s trisyllable.
Iambics march from short to long.
With a leap and a bound the swift Anapests throng.
One syllable long, with one short at each side,
Amphibrachys hastes with a stately stride —
First and last being long, middle short, Amphimacer
Strikes his thundering hoofs like a proud high-bred Racer.

If Derwent be innocent, steady, and wise,
And delight in the things of earth, water, and skies;
Tender warmth at his heart, with these meters to show it,
WIth sound sense in his brains, may make Derwent a poet —
May crown him with fame, and must win him the love
Of his father on earth and his father above.
My dear, dear child!
Could you stand upon Skiddaw, you would not from its whole ridge
See a man who so loves you as your fond S.T. Colerige

Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Born: 21 October 1772, Ottery Saint Mary, UK
Nationality: English
Died: 25 July 1834, London, UK

Coleridge was a poet, philosopher, literary critic, and theologian who was, along with William Wordsworth, a founder of the English Romantic Movement and a member of the Lake Poets. He also collaborated with Charles Lamb, Robert Southey, and Charles Lloyd. He is best known for his poems The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Kubla Khan. Coleridge suffered crippling bouts of anxiety and depression throughout his adult life, and speculation suggest he had bipolar disorder which had not been defined in his lifetime. As a child he suffered from a number of illnesses which led to his poor health as an adult. He was treated with laudanum which led to a lifelong addiction to opium

Cernunnos Rising

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A Garret Poet

Cernunnos Rising
Form: French Canadian Sonnet

The sounds of morning echo from outside
As the sun awakens to the birdsong
And at last, the days are now getting long
For the days of spring can don’t need to hide

And though it may be warm or may be cold
As the winter battles to stay around
With stormy winds and rain upon the ground
The spring sunshine days are getting too bold

The sun, he rises calling his blue skies
His warmth spreading where the winter defies

But there’s no stopping it, the wheel must turn
Although the winter fights for all its worth
The new life is welcomed by Mother Earth
Cernunnos reborn, winter must adjourn

©JezzieG2024

Wait (Ragtag Daily Prompt)

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Inspired by and written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt. My thanks to Dr Kottaway

RDP Sunday: wait

I think both the word and the picture can function as a prompt here, so that is where I will be going

Form: Zejel

You must lose a couple of stone
The doc said in sardonic drone
But that battle you fight alone

Meanwhile, your name is on the list
The pounds falling, they’ll not be missed
Time passing to that fated tryst
And the doc smiles at what I’ve done

Step on the scales so we can see
If you are where you need to be
Tomorrow you’ll meet destiny
Just scars now, I’ve faced the unknown

Was it worth it, all of that pain
Yes, I would do it all again
The list was long, but not in vain
Now I live life as it’s my own

©JezzieG2024

Mislead (Word of the Day Challenge)

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Inspired by and written for the Word of the Day Challenge, my thanks to Cyranny

Mislead

Form: Zejel

Pains of love that raise the shield
Emotions that cannot be healed
Twist like steel wire for the heart to wield

Innocence given, lost in trust
Trampled desire like worthless dust
Behind the shield, the feelings adjust
Inner secrets never revealed

When their words carry no disguise
As their voices utter more lies
Once stray senses have become wise
To the truth all those lies concealed

©JezzieG2024

Parable of the Four-Poster by Erica Jong

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Erica Jong 1942-

Parable of the Four-Poster

Because she wants to touch him,
she moves away.
Because she wants to talk to him,
she keeps silent.
Because she wants to kiss him,
she turns away
& kisses a man she does not want to kiss.

He watches
thinking she does not want him.
He listens
hearing her silence.
He turns away
thinking her distant
& kisses a girl he does not want to kiss.

They marry each other –
A four-way mistake.
He goes to bed with his wife
thinking of her.
Sher goes to bed with her husband
thinking of him.
-& all this in a real old-fashioned four-poster bed.

Do they live unhappily ever after?
Of course.
Do they undo their mistakes?
Never.
Who is the victim here?
Love is the victim.
Who is the villian?
Love that never dies

Erica Jong
Born: 26 March 1942, New York, USA
Nationality: American

Jong is a novelist, satirist, and poet particularly known for her novel “Fear of Flying” (1973). The book was famously controversial for its attitudes on female sexuality and became prominent in the development of second-wave feminism

Dream Place

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Dream Place
Form: Epistle Sonnet 43

When in our dreams we create our own place
Is it going to be really perfect
Or will more basic thoughts, too, interlace

So veneration ends with disrespect
Our dreams of a place that is fit for kings
It is our thinking that brings its disgrace
With feastings, orgies, and other delights
Where servants pass around cold, empty draughts

How can we find peace whilst ignoring plights
Is there much suffering in imagined crafts
While we take our pleasure, what of their rights
We should think of them while making our drafts

Of those passing round on fluttering wings
In a place we’ve made of uneven things

©JezzieG2024

Quench (Ragtag Daily Prompt)

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Inspired by and written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt, my thanks to Punam

RDP SATURDAY: QUENCH

Form: Zejel

We are surrounded by the sea
On an island of liberty
Yet the living ain’t so easy

So much water it makes one think
Why is there not enough to drink
As the rain falls, we’re at the brink
Another drought is still likely

To ease our thirst we turn on a tap
Leaving it to drip builds the gap
Precious resources slowly sap
Wastage. It’s not how it should be

©JezzieG2024

Honesty (Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge)

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Inspired by and written for the Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge, my thanks to Gerry and Sue

Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge – Honesty

And I pull a 1-syllable-per-liner out of the form hat -eeeeek!!!!

So honesty – I created this sonnet for a friend for a laugh as she was playing with one-bean lines. Laugh? It’s a nightmare to write so this is gonna suck!!!

Form: Christine’s Sonnet

Stop
Think
Blink
Stop

Words
Cut
But
Words

Talk
Shout
Out
Walk

Just
Walk

©JezzieG2024

Expire (Weekend Writing Prompt)

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Inspired by and written for the Weekend Writing Prompt, my thanks to Sammi

Weekend Writing Prompt #360 – Expire

Form: Free Verse

Stuck on the shelf
And time is running out
Other things are chosen
For the green baskets
But not him, not today
Tomorrow the first red label will
Declare a discount for a quick sale
He feels the shame
Of not meeting his full worth
He tries hard
To look his best
To meet the deadline
Before time runs out
For a humble pack of sausages

Word count: 66

©JezzieG2024

Byronic Embraces

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A Garret Poet

Byronic Embraces
Form: Quatrains

So far from thoughts I held in my teenage dreams,
that web of lies concealed in fantasy’s face,
a simple glance to rip my breath at the seams,
delirium and passion in love’s embrace.

Those poets, whose heartfelt words have deceived me,
their verses of passion are lost in this place;
for love’s wasted inspiring their sonnetry,
when the sweeter tastes are found in her embrace.

I made you gods with the words my mind confused,
the three whose ideals I have woven in lace,
the images of desire, a craven muse,
as my words hunger for my love’s first embrace.

Despising all grandiose senses in art,
as Philistines decry the aesthetic grace;
I now pay homage to truths of my own heart,
which pulsates with passion for love’s embrace

©JezzieG2024

O! Where Are You Going? by JRR Tolkien

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JRR Tolkien 1892-1973

O! Where Are You Going?
1937

O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The River is flowing!
O! Tra-la-la-lally
Here down in the valley!

O! What are you seeking,
And where are you making?
The faggots are reeking!
The bannocks are baking!
O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly
The valley is jolly
Ha ha!

O! Where are you going,
With beards all a-wagging?
No knowing, no knowing
What brings Mister Baggins,
And Balin and Dwalin
Down into the valley
In June
Ha ha!

O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be flying?
Your ponies are straying!
The daylight is dying!
To fly would be folly,
To stay would be jolly!
And listen and hark
Till the end of the dark
To our tune.
Ha ha!

The dragon is withered,
His bones are now crumbled!
His armor is shivered,
His splendour is humbled!
Though sword shall be rusted
And throne and crown perish,
With strength that men trusted
And wealth that they cherish,
Here grass is still growing,
And leaves are yet swinging!
The white water is flowing,
And elves are yet singing!
Come! Tra-la-la-lally!
Come back to the valley!

The stars are far brighter
Than gems without measure,
The moon is far whiter
Than silver in treasure:
The fire is more shining
On hearth in the gloaming
Than gold won by mining,
So why so a-roaming?
O! Tra-la-la-lally!
Come back to the Valley!

O! Where are you going?
So late in returning?
The water is flowing!
The stars are all burning!
O! Whither so laden,
So sad and so dreary?
Here elf and elf-maiden
Now welcome the weary!
With tra-la-la-lally
Come back to the Valley,
Tra-la-la-lally
Fa-la-la-lally
Ha ha!

JRR Tolkien
Born: 3 January 1892, Bloemfontein, South Africa
Nationality: English
Died: 2 September 1973, Bournemouth, England

Tolkien was a writer and philologist, best known as the author of “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings.” He was also the Rawlinson and Bosworth Professor of Anglo-Saxon and a Fellow of Pembroke College at the University of Oxford. He and his close friend CS Lewis founded the informal literary group “The Inklings.” Many authors published works of fantasy before Tolkien, however, the great success of both “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings” directly led to a resurgence in the genre and Tolkien is often referred to as the father of modern fantasy literature

Nell Barnes by William Henry Davies

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William Henry Davies 1871-1940

Nell Barnes

They lived apart for three long years,
Bill Barnes and Nell his wife;
He took his joy from other girls,
She led a wicked life.

Yet ofttimes she would pass his shop,
With some strange man awhile;
And, looking, meet her husband’s frown
With her malicious smile.

Until one day, when passing there,
She saw her man had gone;
And when she saw the empty shop,
She fell down with a moan.

And when she heard that he had gone
Five thousand miles away;
And that she’s see his face no more,
She sickened from that day.

To see his face was health and life,
And when it was denied,
She could not eat, and broke her heart —
It was for love she died

William Henry Davies
Born: 3 July 1871, Newport, Wales
Nationality: Welsh
Died: 26 September 1940, Gloucestershire, England

Davis was a poet and writer. He spent much of his life as a tramp or hobo in the UK and the USA yet became one of the most popular poets of his time. His themes included his observations on life’s hardships, the human condition reflected in nature his travels as a tramp, and the characters he met. Davis is classified as a Georgian Poet, however much of his writing is not typical of the group in style and theme

Don’t Wait, Act

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Don’t Wait, Act
Form: Short Particular Measure

How cruel is the despair
Face alone, none to share
When everything seems so wrong
A lost soul standing there
And no one seems to care
They all sing a different song

This pain of mental curse
Loneliness and much worse
Society’s ultimate sin
To ignore then disburse
No hope must then submerse
That’s when depression can win

‘I should’ve’ comes too late
That moment couldn’t wait
And from that, we can never hide
Time given can change fate
But has a short use-by date
Too many die by suicide

©JezzieG2024

Relief (Ovi Poetry Challenge)

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Inspired by and written for the Ovi Poetry Challenge, with thanks to Ronovan

Ovi Poetry Challenge 44: RELIEF is your inspiration.

Form: Ovi

Under the stress and the strain
My head throbbing with pain
It repeats, again and again
I need some time out

My own time before it’s too late
And voices say I should wait
In my space to meditate
Letting the everyday go

It’s good for my soul and my mind
And my body can unwind
Order of life redefined
And there I find my peace

©JezzieG2024