Saturday, February 2, 2013

Two challenges

I am mixing Laurie's Friday challenge with Marian's  Weekend Mini challenge.
Laurie asked us to write about the term, Phantasmagoric!

(Century Dictionary and Cyclopedia) 1. Pertaining or relating to a phantasmagoria; of the nature of phantasmagoria; illusive; unreal.
(Wiktionary) 1. adj. Characterized by or pertaining to rapid changes in light intensity and colour. 2. adj. Characterized by or pertaining to a dream-like blurring of real and imaginary elements.
(WordNet 3.0) 1. adj. characterized by fantastic imagery and incongruous juxtaposition


Marian asked us to write a Cinquain.  The cinquain poem, while having the feel and style of Japanese forms like haiku and tanka, was created by American poet Adelaide Crapsey (1878-1914).

Guidelines are:
  
 The cinquain is a five-line poem with the following characteristics, in decreasing order of importance:


  1. Strict syllable count: 2-4-6-8-2
  2. Strong title (important with such a tight poem)
  3. Strong imagery (perhaps, even, an image per line)
  4. Nature imagery, as in haiku or tanka (though I certainly vary from this!)
  5. Juxtaposition or a clever “turn” at the end
  6. Accented stress pattern (1-2-3-4-1) and initial capitalization were both used routinely by Crapsey (and are both present in her poems above) but have been all but abandoned in modern cinquain writing. I have not really focused on meter, but may make that my focus this weekend.



earthworms  
find a green home
I need a good manny petty
white roots show at six feet below
up yours  
 

I spy clouds
birds shadow my thoughts
wish for eco friendly view
 you shouldn't piss off Mother Nature
Uranus







 via ***

finger
golden eyes you
 all that glitters is not
born with a silver spoon in mouth
rusted







a flame
she looks like a moth
no that is buttermilk
no she is a rare grey-blue bloodhound breed

bug off


Monday, January 28, 2013

Susan gave us a Second Chance

Susan over in the Garden gave us a second chance with our poem.  She wanted us to play with the last line of a poem we had written and recreate a new poem.   I am rethinking my endings now, lol.   Thank you,  Susan for this fun idea...

Here’s the challenge: Look at five to ten of the latest poems you wrote and find last lines that are rich with possibility for a new beginning. If none of your last lines leap out at you, simply pick one you like and use it for today’s prompt. It will be the first line (or two) of your brand new poem—long or short—that you write this weekend. 








Life's weathered memories
wrapped in bridges of time...
arrive in newsprint n' sepia thoughts
woken by faded blooms 
pressed in brittle yellowed pages
hints of pale pink hues scent
past whispers 
 
Faded n' chipped pearls remember...
the dance of  tender
 green shoots filled
 with spindly hope
cascading towards
the indigo destiny
  
Humble beginnings planted
fragile and young
tucked in a delicate quilt of'
lavender dreams
washed with
 blessings
outlining the soul's
connected dots...
© Ellen Wilson





     


Thursday, January 17, 2013

Mama Zen's Challenge

Mama Zen asked us to write about the difficult. A poem of 75 words or less that expresses the hard, something that we wrestle with...   Mama Zen I did squirm, I did!





 unique text
surrounds my sewing machine
vintage lace piled 
ideas dance in doubt
clouded gray
I want to create
tired of your
white gloves, your brass buttons and starched mood
leave me
in my piles of ideas, in my recycled treasures
I have so many, yet
I can't create
when you are here
you sucked my soul through a straw
you won't read my words
you don't see me
anymore





My muse won't come out when my hubby is home. She hides and tucks her ideas and thoughts in notebooks!   She waits, to be alone to create...





Friday, January 11, 2013

Double, Double Toil and Trouble

Fireblossom asked us to write a poem about doubletalk.  Yikes...so I went with the first dust mote that floated into my mind's eye.





I am an artist
glitter and dust on my dishes
blue paint fragments my hair
 tools layered with peeling glue fingerprints
passion's pink holds hopes hand
purple prose aligns
orange cheer cascades over my blue thoughts
torn lace n' thread on my floor
the yellow in me fades to query again
blue doubt pools
its salty kiss touches my lips
I am an artist



Thursday, January 10, 2013

DREAM

DREAM






Diamonds Backgrounds, Tumblr Themes, Premade Tumblr Themes
cherrybam.com



Kim over at Poets United asked us to write a poem on Reflection!  Here is mine...
I thought I would play with images on the site Polyvore.  It is addictive ;D



Memories pool
in
languid dreams
tarnished
diamonds
coated with smoke
lost in a sea
of diffused ink
blueprints
erased
yet
lines
redrawn
as I begin again
to connect the
cheery dots
of me


Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Wednesday's Challenge

pastiche [pa-steesh, pah-]
noun
1. a literary, musical, or artistic piece consisting wholly or chiefly of motifs or techniques borrowed from one or more sources.
2. an incongruous combination of materials, forms, motifs, etc. taken from different sources; hodgepodge.

See also the Merriam-Webster.com definition for an exhaustive set of synonyms.

Kerry challenged us to do a prompt on this word, this technique called Pastiche!   I'm excited she thought of me, when it comes to hodgepodge.  Thank you Kerry~


I found this quote, which I think really does sum up the idea, so well, at least in my opinion!

"Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work(and theft) will be authentic." -Jim Jarmusch




Lucy in the sky with diamonds
with a million eyes
sometimes is miffed and muddled
by her search of wonder
in pale hours it is lost among the dust, the fog, the dangled light
every thing will change her world
as the blue hour awakes Dali's Tangerine Rose
meditative mood lost in wonder and clouded white
awakens Lucy
she cries wondering when she will change the world

Lucy hears her whispers
in the universe
sees through night's fog
beyond the backdrop of Lunar's casted light
the romance of the world
every thing will change her world
Lucy tends a twinkling garden of silver bells and cockleshells
and sees the snail's silver trail of thin light
move time's course
every thing going to change her world
hidden secrets blanketed in indigo dreams
when red sun's delight aligns 
and cascaded light awakens her sister
Soleil
Lucy knows the
 brilliance
it changes everything
but so won't hers
String's theories song
waiting for the sunbird to arrive daily
spreading  her tail feathers and the perfect color
of day's dance spirals forth
Lucy knows everything will change her world
she waits for her chance to paint with her portrait
with kaleidoscope eyes
 the vapors of cataracts lift
drifting the wet pools of color into 
a river of sight
everything is going to change her world
like a million eyes
seeing her dreams
you will thank the Universe
She paints after a temper tantrum
her art makes a 

random appearance, it soothes you
her painting
will
make you smile
and thank the Universe
every thing is going to change her world
when she shares
you'll see...

 Photo: Patrick Emerson








Wednesday, December 5, 2012

The Dickens with dickens













HOLIDAZE


Parking lot drama
fighting over space
Hurry scurry through the door
they run at a mad pace
holiday sales, blue light specials
Black Friday,
discounted red coupons
Marketed by color
we're in the red
we want the black
and Santa wears those
colors...?
red light, green light
more like yellow
why, why
 rush in, race to find
bargains
run to check out
then 
 near the exit
let's go, let's move and 
at the final 
 electronic doors
they turn into rusty robots
their butts stick out, arms
lean forward, they tilt
they text and stop right after they
get out of the last door.
like a funeral 
procession
moving slow, then stop
traffic jam 
why
hey what's the hold up
the funeral was back at the register
c'mon
now 
let's move
move along
there is nothing to see
here