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Printed from https://webx1.writing.com/main/books/item_id/2222258-Promptly-Poetry/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/6
Rated: E · Book · Activity · #2222258

A poem a week for a year.

Anything to break the drought...
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June 29, 2020 at 7:32am
June 29, 2020 at 7:32am
#986751
Green

Bottle green, that’s the one,
but really the green of bottles,
that dark, transparent blend
of colours shifting, always changing,
almost black in shadowed places,
light and airy in others.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
asks the child, aware of only
a handful of options, red, yellow,
blue and green, orange and purple
maybe, but I am trapped
in a translucent world of wavering light
reflected in a million hues
of green glass in a complex curve.
Oh, the satisfaction of that rich,
sonorous note of the darkest tone,
the highlight of light within the glass,
great swathes of pure colour
in the belly of the rounded body,
the gradation from deep to bright
in this peaceful world called bottle.
Yes, green, with all its attendant,
loaded meanings of trees and grass
and fanatic friends of a faded planet,
but my green is a land of constant shifts,
turning with the ephemeral light
to be first one thing, then another,
a kaleidoscope of sensual feeling.



Line Count: 28
For Promptly Poetry, Week 5, June 29
Prompt: Write a poem inspired by a color. Any color, poet's choice.


Signature for use by anyone nominated for a Quill Award in 2020
June 22, 2020 at 7:23am
June 22, 2020 at 7:23am
#986193
Intrepid

Her name was Wanda Dabrowski,
not Wander but Vonda,
not owsky but ovski,
a Polish countess in Africa
and now a humble clerk,
fresh from university and brilliant,
but with that dreamy otherworldliness
of a creature too good for normality.
To watch her cross the street
was an education in itself.
Six lanes one way, six the other,
the street fronting our building,
and we’d gather at the windows
when Wanda set out down the steps,
her daily intent to cross the stream
and never mind the crosswalk.
Courage it took to watch her,
in a ruler straight diagonal,
eyes on the goal, the far side,
traffic avoiding her at the last moment,
dodging this way and that,
and Wanda oblivious, intent only
on whatever beckoned from
the other side, never flinching
nor showing that she knew how close
she came to disaster every day.
Like Moses in a reverie, she parted the torrent,
unaware of the wake she left behind
and we, held in fascination,
unable to do more than stare,
knowing too well that uncomprehending
look in her eye if we tried to explain.
In the end we had to admit it was true,
that God protects fools and drunkards
and Wanda Dabrowski.



Line Count: 35
Free Verse (I think)
For Promptly Poetry, 22 June 2020.
Prompt: Imagine a scene or a moment in a crosswalk
Note: Every word of this is true and was instantly recalled to me by the prompt. I don’t know what happened to Wanda but I feel quite sure that she was never involved in a traffic accident, the world parting before her determined tread as it did. And she did throw the most amazing parties at her parent’s mansion in the country.

June 15, 2020 at 10:29am
June 15, 2020 at 10:29am
#985696
Hymn for Rodney King

Why can’t we all just get along?
Oh, Rodney, Rodney, don’t you know?
That “we all” are the problem entire,
that flawed and broken as we are,
just getting along is beyond our grasp.
Did you not hear that we fell from grace,
that imperfect we’re born, imperfect live,
in the image of God but with illicit fruit
still lodged within our being?
It’s true we’re capable of love,
of self denial, generosity,
of creation benign and beautiful,
yet equally the seed inside
produces hate and murder;
selfishness and a jaundiced eye
are masters of our deep desires
that snare our impulse toward the good,
a permanent battlefield.
So we proceed, like two-faced Janus,
bright as the sun at moments.
dark as midnight in an instant,
forever torn and subject to
the dichotomy of our nature.
Oh dear Rodney, this eternal war
that rages within our hearts
will always find expression.
Getting along out there can only be
if first we fix ourselves.

What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?
Romans 7:24 (NIV)



Line Count: 28
For Promptly Poetry. June 15 2020
Prompt: Select five words beginning with the same letter and write a poem using them.
Words Chosen: Battle, Bright, Benign, Being, Born.

June 8, 2020 at 11:28am
June 8, 2020 at 11:28am
#985247
Waving to a Neighbour

That’s old Whatsisname, I think,
yes, must be, he’s at the right door.
But what? Is that a wave? Can’t be,
he’s as Coventry as me, never
in twenty years has he waved at me
and I, even longer I should think.
A damn smile as well, what’s his case?
Must be for someone else, yes,
there’ll be Mrs Grainger standing
at her inevitable window and waving,
unaware that we don’t do that here.
But now I’m not so sure, the angle’s wrong
and that tree behind me is in the way.
It has to be me, there’s no escape,
can’t even pretend to have missed it -
there was a moment our eyes met,
he knows that I know, I’m sure of it,
and now I have to respond somehow.
Bugger, this is awkward, why’d the old fool
go do a thing like that? It’s not right
to force a feller to make a spectacle
of himself, to give a cheery wave,
or even say hello. No, that’s too much,
I’ll give a wave disguised as salute,
can always say an involuntary twitch
caught me at the very moment,
here we go, I lift my arm, the hand
not waving, more on guard,
but too late, he turned away,
missed my signal, thinks I shunned
his unexpected greeting.
Always the way, these unwanted gestures,
best you mind your business
and I’ll mind mine.



Line Count: 34
For Promptly Poetry Challenge, 6/8/20
Free Verse
Notes: The city of my birth, Coventry, is well known in England as being the most unfriendly place on earth. The truth is that we’re excruciatingly shy and have developed an unspoken agreement to ignore each other as much as possible as a result. On holiday in Norfolk, I once pulled into a service station and a young lass appeared and started to fill my car’s tank. I nearly fell over with shock when she started to tell me all about her troubles with a boyfriend as though I were a long lost friend. People just don’t realise what delicate creatures Coventry folk are.

June 1, 2020 at 8:27am
June 1, 2020 at 8:27am
#984755
There And Back Again

Monday I hitched my wagon to a star,
Tuesday I saw that I’d gone much too far,
Wednesday I began the walk back again,
Thursday I lost both my compass and pen,
Friday I asked a stranger the way,
Saturday I mostly had nothing to say
And Sunday I let my head hit the hay.



Seven Lines
For Seven Days
Promptly Poetry Challenge
Week One



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