The secret of the Willow
Weeping willow dips
Bows blow, golden tears hang low
Conceal sweethearts lips
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015
POETRY REHAB 101
No longer wanted, tossed
Across a pile of the broken
The outdated, the spoiled
Left to mingle and slide
Deep into the stench
Pawed over by claws
Food for the unbidden
The hidden hordes
Spiders, beetles, millipedes and roaches
Pieces split away
Slime grows white, green and black
Rain dissolves the remains
Washes away anything
To prove I existed
Poetry 101 Rehab June 3, 2015
The challenge this month is spring. Here are my photo interpretations of the month of May.
To begin I will refer you to a previous post a poem: The Sound of Spring Has Come to My Garden.
However you enjoy it, Spring wakes up our eyes, taste buds and imagination of good things to come.
Cheryle May 2015
Day 13’s Prompt: write about finding something.
Day 13’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment — loosely defined.
Since I submitted a Petrarchan Sonnet for the previous post in this series, I have attempted to follow it up with a Terza Rima. The Terza Rima form follows aba bcb cdc ded etc repeat with lines the same length. It is usually in iambic pentameter, but I strayed from this requirement plus I switched up the last stanza.
This is such a formal form, I don’t think my voice rings through.
Black and white kitty with a moustached face
Lost or abandoned, feral life of hell
Ferocious hunter, pouncing prey a race
Secret neighbourhood paths you know so well
Hidden from humans your gender a guess
Male, female, spayed, neutered? No one can tell
Well-mannered kitty never leaves a mess
Human wary, those brooms and boots they toss
Warm engine blocks dangerous for a rest
Harmless hands held out, no scent to betray
Sniffs, licks, purrs, a memory of your loss
Soft fur baby move in my home today.
Cheryle April 2015 Terza Rima
Tears roll unbound down my cheeks
I refold the page, its paper worn
Re-read many times, many years
The letter fell
Left alone and cold
On the street
I look up, around
Rounding the far corner
A woman of a certain age
It is her name typewritten in black
Her heart held by the words
Her life bent over backward
My fingers brush her shoulder
Padded for protection
An illusion of strength
Her head turns
Our eyes speak
My tears tell the tale
Her history struck my heart
I clutch her tightly
Hold her close
Tears flowing freely
She tilts my face to hers gently
Her rough thumb
Wipes away my pain
She whispers softly
It’s Ok, – I survived
She lets go
I am left
Alone and cold
She disappears into the fracas of people
Rushing along the street.
Cheryle April 11, 2015
Yes, I am posting the Day Four assignment before I have done Day Three. I am having difficulty deciding which songs I want to showcase in the commit to writing assignment.
Day Four’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.
This is to be the first of three connected posts, I therefore chose to resurrect a sonnet I wrote a number of years ago while taking classes at the Alexandria Writers’ Centre Society in Calgary. I hope you don’t mind. I plan to create two new posts in response to the serial aspect of the assignment when those segments are presented.
Bonnie Magnificent, Puppy Galore,
Teddy bear Beardie – not up to standard.
Picking you out of the litter – not hard!
Hide your fright. Deeper in my coat you bore
Looking for love – giving me much more.
With your wizard eyes, the soul of a bard
Touching my heart made loving you – not hard!
Seasons grow, mature and seasons expire.
A dark sun fell from the sky and stayed
Clouded your sharp bright eyes, silenced your song
Menacing tribulations set you free.
From six years of Addison’s – you – so brave
My heart reveals a hole – Maggie-dog long.
Still you teach me from beneath the pear tree
Cheryle Baker Jan 26/ 06 edited Feb 2/06 Petrarchan Sonnet
Day 13 – Blogging U – Photography 101 –
A proud sashay
Across the dusty common
Every eye bright
Turns to alight
On the curve
Of the calves
Shaped by dancing
The soldiers strut
The women tut
They watch and leer
At the gypsy seer
The stories grow
She’ll see your future
She’ll cut your heart
One woman alone
The talk of the town
What a lonely life
She must lead
Cheryle – March 18, 2015
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