Sonnet (Three Sisters)

“Three Sisters”

Three wicked witches summoned from the air.

To taste the murky evil, they aspire.

In haste they double-hex `ed Macbeth’s lair

the devil’s twisted sisters in a choir.

Their song is “Double, fiery, trouble-burn

into the blackened cauldron cast this spell.

And now we see the dagger’s bloody turn

that surely drips from tips of surly hell.”

Three witches baste the pitted throat of toads;

their poisoned entrails swelter in the pot

so stirred and charmed at once and aptly bodes

her evil tongue is steamy for the plot.

She rises from the trio’s muddy stew

ambitious (Macbeth’s Lady) from this brew.

You will find this quote, “Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire, burn, and cauldron bubble,” in the fourth act of Macbeth. Three witches open the scene, creating a diabolical brew in their cauldron.

Clogyrnach Poem

“My Place”

My life belongs to this one room
where it is quiet like a tomb:
Solemn, hollow space.
Single, sodden face.
None embrace
single gloom.

(Clogyrnach form: Syllables: 8,8,5,5,3,3.  Rhyme: a,a,bbb,a)

Autumn Dancer (2)

under-red-trees
Autumn Dancer

Her Autumn feet now flash across the floor.
She spreads her limbs and trembles in her flight.
She moves and sways like never did before.
Her frost now fails to dim against the light.

Escaped, bronze leaf trips to her heart’s delight.
She swirls in madness for that love expressed
before her waltz is over-shrouded white;
her silken gown so many hues have kissed.

Oh, leap, bright Autumn kick your heels and run
for moments come when you must take your leave.
Race past the gasp of summer’s misty sun.
Become that woman: golden, garnet Eve.

Bold Autumn, bravely does your glow entrance:
so delicate your step; so brief your dance.

Photo credit: <andreiuc88’s Portfolio on Shutterstock>

 

“Sylvia”

“Sylvia”

With wind upon each page, her ink dries quick
and with a churlish lip, she wrote her book.
Behind her gleamed a road of yellow brick
that shone with choice of words she aptly took.

Another poet found, she sampled life
but dirty dishes, kids are small cartoons.
Withstanding disappointment, she’s a sight
as Ted has left for woman or saloon.

Such sadness when the madness did arrive.
And, sadder still,  when choices made are clear.
His pudgy, fat balloons resound and cry.
His mother’s voice no longer will he hear.

Her story older than that pot of gold
she won but was too blind or sick to hold.

“To Autumn” for Trifecta 33 words

photo by jacqueline caseyjacqueline casey poetry

“To Autumn”

Autumn, you bring solace born
of cooing as we mourn.
You bring muted, painted sky.
Gray-blue were his eyes.
Sweet Autumn’s leaf
Oh, purple grief
hear my call, companion
for his sleep.

Apostrophe:  A Poem which is directly addressed to a person or thing (often absent). An example is Wordsworth’s sonnet Milton which begins: ‘Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour’.  Other examples of apostrophe include A Supermarket in California by Allen Ginsberg (addressed to Walt Whitman).

Gwawdodyn entry for Writer’s Digest Contest

        Farewell to Avalon

Above the trees, he hears the breeze hum.
Rowing his boat; we see a phantom.
Wisteria worn upon his lapel.
His spirit swells as mandolin strums.

‘Oer the water, this gallant roamed free
’til near the stone church, Saints by the Sea,
he saw her;  she shone bright as Avalon;
his sight delighted in her beauty.

“Daughter, beware the awesome stranger!
Your heart lies now in mortal danger.
There’s no turning round should love be betrayed;
your road, still, be bound as obliger.”

This story told by Morgan the True:
three hasty hearts played havoc for two.
So, Arthur with tear; deep sadness within.
We’ve heard Guinevere; her heartache grew.

Top o’ Mouse Mountain moans lazy tune;
a Stack of Stone and a pretty rune.
Hasty hearts haunted once distance between.
Yet love lies, undaunted, mid her bloom.


Basic rules for the Gwawdodyn: Quatrain (4-line stanza) with an a/b rhyme.

First, second, and fourth lines have 9 syllables and rhyme with each other.
The third line has 10 syllables and can either have an internal rhyme with itself–or an

internal rhyme with an internal rhyme in the fourth line.

Example,see my “haunted” in 3rd line and “undaunted” in 4th line (last stanza).

The Island of Bardsey sits in the sea like a huge mouse, with a gentle,  dome-shaped hump at one end and a long tail of flat land stretching out behind it off the SW coast of Wales.  On the leeward side of the island, is a small harbor where boats have landed saints, pilgrims and visitors through the passing centuries.  The water that swirls between the island and the coast is swift and dangerous.

Never Forget

AmericaFlagOur face defies emotion with a stance

though years of suffered loss bring no relief.

Remembered is the gas mask at a glance

by firemen-stunned below the Tower’s grief.

Our face defies that memory recalled:

that day we ran, all ashen_ panic stings.

Our skin and hair so gray; we’re aged, all

that day we flew, gray-haired,

our feet had wings.

Remembering 911

The face denies the hurt; they mask a smile
yet years of suffered loss show no relief.
The faces of the gas-masked worn awhile
by firemen-stunned below the Tower’s grief.

The smile denies the memory recalled:
that day we ran, white-faced, along the street.
Our skin and hair turned ashen, ag`ed all,
that day we ran, white-haired, along the street.

I turn away but looking back, I see
those wary, stricken eyes behind the mask;
those charging masses flee that destiny
yet bravely are they equal to the task.

The faces of New Yorkers make me proud:
with weathered soul; with courage their endowed.

 

For Bloom site: Looking forward; looking back…

 

“This Day”

I sit in spaces that I call my Now
yet know there was a past. I lived there, too.
I’ve photos of the longings and the vows;
I’ve closed that book and start each day, anew.

“You must go on when all your love is lost”
so say life’s tomes; some shrewd philosophers.
But I reply: “I’ll not be journey tossed;
I’ll stay right here and be adventurer.”

I’ve been there and done all that once before
And, grateful for the presence I now live,
Though past is gone and future not implored.
I am that lark that simply, rising, gives.

I’ll sing, remaining in this moment’s play
accept whatever life will give today.

Prose Poem

ephemeral-photo.jpgProse Poem for the word:  “Ephemeral”

We had been friends since teenage angst appeared.  She expressed her fears; I told her mine. Our innocence and our secrets settled there, on those walks, before life took us on separate journeys; before time and life and distance parted our ways. But sometime the memory of that camaraderie; that longing returns, like image stamped upon the sidewalk of my brain, and I find
myself passing there again, expressing my deepest heart.