Storyteller

ancient ritual
carried forward
in the eyes
in the voice
of the storyteller
children circle
squirming bodies
pounding hearts
racing chills
plot and drama
conflict and surprise
twilight stage
fireside or bedside
stories unwind
breathless voices beg
just one more

Stormy Morning - A Shadorma

Thunder shouts
a threatening challenge
pounds against
my body.
Fear in a flash of lightning
strikes, then silence waits.

Raindrops spill
and spatter dry ground;
wet my skin.
My face turns
upward, and trouble’s dark blots
are rinsed from my soul.

My feet find
themselves much lighter,
meander
through puddles.
This deluge---my dear, old friend,
soaks me through and through.

Freshly bathed
by sudden downpour
my soul is
born anew.
Come what may, I’ll face the world
whole and strong again.


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According to Robert Brewer at Poetic Asides: "Shadorma is a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively".

Estrangement - A Sonnet

My heart firmly refuses to keep time,
arrested by a daunting sense of fear.
I long to wake and find you standing here;
and yet this void thwarts reason and all rhyme.
The clock upon the mantle sounds its chime.
Likewise, alarms in me ring loud and clear.
My hands, my arms cry out to draw you near,
to feel you flesh to flesh, relief sublime.
If this critical world would me impeach,
and find me guilty, loving you too much;
I’d gladly stand and face the charges each,
if in the end I’d mercy find to such
degree that I could shortly mend this breach:
consoled--despite the verdict--by your touch.

Returning Home - A Rondeau

Where I keep all my yesterdays,
I know each night my mama prays.
I hear her voice ring loud and clear.
With every mile, I’m drawing near,
to hearth and home, to simpler ways.

I’ve learned to point my Chevrolet’s
toward the north and fix my gaze.
Homeward I go to place so dear,
where I keep all my yesterdays.

Atop the hill the sun’s bright rays
set home’s horizon all ablaze.
My heart beats happy, full of cheer.
The corner turned, and I am here.
My heart beats strong; bright is my gaze,
where I keep all my yesterdays.

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The Poetic Asides Wednesday Poetry Prompt 57 is to write a return poem.
My attempt is a rondeau, and though technically it works, I'm not really happy with it. The constraints of a rondeau are a challenge for me, and make it hard to show instead of tell. This offering is just an attempt. Perhaps I'll rework it at a later date.

Wind

you can hold a breath
you can let it out slow
exhale, oh so slowly
you can well imagine
that you have control

you can fan yourself
scrap of folded paper
swishing to and fro
a flick of your wrist
an artificial breeze

you can stand atop
the highest hill
turn your face to
the driving storm
and beat your breast

you can open your throat
pull air into your lungs
and use it to power
your passionate cries
shouting your pain aloud

yet you cannot tame it
this wild, unruly stallion
you cannot break it
as it goes galloping
over the endless earth

better to surrender yourself
throw open all your curtains
unlock and raise your windows
spread wide your arms
let down your tangled hair

embrace the feral wind
and surrender your will
to it’s untamed fury
embrace its true nature
and you will surely fly


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Prompted by the following last line:

“For now she knew what Shalimar knew: If you surrendered to the air you could ride it.” ~Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon (1977)