FRIDAY FICTIONEERS 3-4-2017

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Inside

I can only know you, he said, if I’m inside
And so he crawled in,
My legs spread like a sprawling giraffe.
I am in you.
I am in you.
Like clouds on the sun,
Shadows pretending rain.
When he found nothing
He crawled out,
Walked away without
A word of
Goodbye.

FFfAW Challenge – Week 12-06 through 12-12-2016

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This week’s photo provided by Jade Wong.

Another foray into the attempt at haiku. Or, just a three-line poem if that doesn’t work!

 

Smuggled among glitter

grass, topsy-turvy puzzle.

A paper white bat.

Poetry Moment – Carrion Comfort by Gerard Manley Hopkins

One of my favorite poems even though it is totally different from my style of writing.  I love the rhythmic flow of the words.

Carrion Comfort

By Gerard Manley Hopkins 1844–1889

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?
Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God

Poetry Moment

Woodchuck

in memory of Mary Pulley

Autumn furs rings
winter rolls of fat
angled between
moth-battered windshield
and blue road.
Why did it choose to follow
this arbitrary path?
I cried for an hour afterwards:
something I had never done before,
not even for you.

The soft crunch
of collar bone
beneath wheels
resounds
like the soft plop
of you
beside the bed
dying
a hundred miles away.

CS Knotts

Poetry Moment

Geese

Words whistle through
Emerald leaves of oak.
I journey from the mundane
To the particular,
Searching for pennings
Long stilled.
If I could
Step past the uniform
Grey wash of the sky,
Re-mouth words spoken
In a dream,
I could recall you to me,
But words slip
Through fumbling fingers,
Fly fleece-filled
Across the milky dawn line
Like stag-headed Hunt master
Prancing impatiently-
Cloven hooves like rifle shots-
In crackling clean snow.

CS Knotts

Poetry Moment

Storm

The winter silence
reaches in
from beyond the ridge
of quilts,
burrows into my eyes,
settles like the wings
of a grey heron sleeping.
In the dark
I can only see
the milky white of your
underbelly,
the imagined lines
that curve upwards
to your closed eyes–
are you really still there?
You stir, sigh
like a cat in a dream,
and curl up around me
like a mother
hugging her child
to keep from freezing.

 

CS Knotts