#TankaTuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 257 #Ekphrastic #PhotoPrompt

Circling 'Round

he pursues truth down linear paths
disappears ‘twixt thick lines of text
grasping blindly in a maze
foiled at every angle
lines crossed and tangled
he’s far afield
unaware
that he’s
lost
her
powers
encompass
cycles and spheres
universal dance 
Sun and Moon, Earth’s seasons
clarity circling near
reciprocation and return
magic is held in roundness she knows

The Tanka Tuesday challenge from Colleen Chesebro is to write an Ekphrastic poem, a response to “The Crystal Ball”, a painting by John William Waterhouse. The syllabic form I chose is a double nonet.

d’Verse Poetics; The Poet’s Store House

Laura Bloomsbury is tending bar at d’Verse, the pub for poets tonight, and informs us that today is National Thesaurus Day. She tells us she has recently purchased a copy of Hart’s “Thesaurus of the Senses” (I recommend it, beautifully written and collated solely into words that resonate with the five senses) and from it comes the first part of today’s prompt:-

1. Write a SOUND POEM which includes AT LEAST ONE from EACH of the FIVE HEARING CATEGORY SELECTIONS below: (reference the hearing words you chose in your post).

  • bellow; clink; drone; jingle; quiver;
  • clamour; dissonant; rip-roaring; tempestuous; vociferous;
  • dulcet: honeyed; poetic; sonorous; tonal;
  • blabber; cackle; dribble; gurgle; seethe;
  • beseech; chant; drawl; embellish; intone

The second option is to write about that wonderful storehouse of words, the thesaurus. I tried option number one.

Here’s the thing—

(About that full moon?)

a quiet one, honeyed

humming soft because of the snow 

(now there’s the problem— snow!)

Not because of how it muffled the moonlight

(because remember

moonlight did not gurgle through the tree branches 

didn’t babble like a brook rolling over dissonant rocks

as it might on a clear night

Its light didn’t crackle and jingle as it would on a cold night)

Not to change the subject

not to harp on the problem of snow,

but it’d be good to have the language of the Inuit

to possess a toolkit of nouns 

to apply to the different defining snows;

snow-nouns providing context

imparting specifics

instead of flailing with adjectives inadequate

to the task of describing that veiled Wolf Moon that withheld  its howl

but suffused snow sodden clouds

with intoned cantillations

and drawled soft copper notes 

endlessly echoed by the silent ringing snow.

#PicoftheWeek; My View

A partridge in a birch tree, January 15, 2022.

Looking up from my cozy couch, I saw this partridge (ruffed grouse) feeding on birch cones. It was well below zero (F) on the other side of the window. This week I am using the “My View” square from the #2022picoftheweek bingo sheet created by Maria Antonia . Maria also offers a “Reader’s Edition”: If you’re not really into photography, but you’re a reader, you can also play the reader’s version. Just post a photo of a book you’re reading that has something to do with the prompt. (Eg: For a book about Valentine’s Day, you can check off the “Tickled Pink” prompt.)⁠

d’VerseQuadrille #143; Muse Cues

This week’s Quadrille host at d’Verse, the pub for poets, is De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo. A quadrille is d’Verse’s own creation, a 44 word poem exactly, excluding the title. The word today is Muse.

Jigging

My muse is a squid

and I’m just a kid 

jigging off the wharf

hooked line dropped into watery dark.

Unamused—

pumping ink out its ass

it’s a slippery flash 

challenging to hook and to land.

Lines lie slack, nothing to bring to hand.

Blue Skies; #2022picoftheweek

March 2021

Birches clap blue sky

Blue! Blue! Blue! peals joyful praise.

Hallelujah. 

***********

This is my first post for 2022 and it is a first for me. I rarely post photos and am not a particularly good photographer, but am submitting a photo in response to Maria Antonia’s photo challenge, #2022picoftheweek. I was led to Maria’s prompt by someone who is a fantastic photographer, Crispina Kemp. Her Sunday Picture Post is a visual treat and you might also enjoy taking part in her weekly photo prompt, Crispina’s Creative Challenge.

If I am understanding correctly, I can choose my inspiration from the bingo sheet created by Maria. You should also know that Maria offers a “Reader’s Edition”: If you’re not really into photography, but you’re a reader, you can also play the reader’s version. Just post a photo of a book you’re reading that has something to do with the prompt. (Eg: For a book about Valentine’s Day, you can check off the “Tickled Pink” prompt.)⁠

 I am starting this weekly #2022picoftheweek challenge off with “blue skies”.

Last Holiday Rerun; Pining For Perfection

six sentence story copy

The following Six Sentence Story, prompt word “pine”, was originally aired in 2019. It’s a fact that I used to retail Christmas trees, but this is just fun fiction. There are two fairly recent Christmas themed flashes, from this year, but that’s it for reruns, the holiday specials are over. Have a safe and happy New Year.

Pining for Perfection by D. Avery

“What do you mean, you don’t have any pine— there must be dozens here.”

“M’am, a pine is an evergreen, but evergreens aren’t all pines; I carry fir— balsam mostly, Fraser fir, some Douglas fir.”

The woman clutched at her fur stole, looking around, still skeptical, until her face lit up; “That one, I want that… fir over there, or even this little one here with the red berries.”

“Sorry M’am, those are part of the landscaping, planted, not for sale, and anyway that’s a spruce and this one’s a yew, in other words, Taxus.”

You are taxing my patience, as I didn’t come here for horticulture lessons— all I want to know is, do you have the perfect Christmas tree for me?”

“Oh, yes M’am, I most certainly do, we’ll find you a Fraser that looks like that spruce, and M’am… happy Holly days!”

Another Holiday Rerun

six sentence story copy

This Six Sentence Story was originally posted in December 2019. Doesn’t that seem so long ago! Anyway, here is yet another holiday rerun, in case you missed it the first time.

Christmas Village by D. Avery

The first year of “Christmas Village Weekend”, she was among a number of people that were actually paid to mingle and be merry, to walk around promulgating Christmas spirit, engaging people and exchanging holiday pleasantries. At the beginning of that weekend she thought she could tell who might be an actor like her and who was really there for the festivities, but the actors were sworn to secrecy about their role, even now in the second year when it was determined their services were no longer needed.

She went back to Christmas Village anyway, where she found there were even more vendors and entertainments lining the pedestrian only streets than the first year, even more bustling throngs of holiday revelers. She found herself searching the crowd for a man she had seen the year before, an older bearded man in red plaid who had seemed inexplicably jovial. Suspecting him of being a hired actor like her, she’d joked with him that she believed, but his laughter had seemed heartfelt and real, something she couldn’t forget.

He must have remembered her too because when she saw him he asked her if she still believed and she said yes; and she smiled, because there he was and if he was real, then maybe she was too.

#SixSentenceStories(seconds); Fair

The prompt this week for Six Sentence Stories is “fair”. Not too long ago one of my favorite characters, Hope, was at a county fair riding a carousel for a Carrot Ranch challenge. This six sentence story follows that one but is also a further exploration of Hope’s mother, who, as these characters randomly show up, has hesitantly revealed herself to be Indigenous. I hesitate to write her but know she has things to say.

Traditional Fair by D. Avery

After Hope dismounted, her long hair as shiny and black as the carousel horse, she and her father walked across the fair grounds to the hall where the baked goods and vegetables were displayed for judging.

“Think your mother has a ribbon for her pie?” he asked Hope, still surprised she had wanted to compete, even after he told her that Mrs. Smith always took the blue. 

“Maybe, Daddy, Mommy’s pies sure are good, and look, there’s people talking to her.”

With a thin fixed smile Hope’s mother engaged with the people who paused at her pie, displayed in front of the container she’d carried it in, but when Hope and her father got to her there was no ribbon.

“These people are not interested in my pie,” she said, “they only want to know about the basket I brought it in, want to know if I’ll make more, offered money, but I tell them I don’t sell baskets.”

She saw the questions in his face but needed to work out for herself her feelings about making baskets; about seeming always to be in the wrong hall, about winners being preordained.