A cappella in Full Moon

[Bravura]

Andante moderato, appena forte

If I could prompt you
I'd say and I'd ask and I'd sit
at your feet, I'd not implore
but I would shed a tear
that contains all the Love
Unrequited love
A love that waits
The love impeded
and Love Unstained

Con brio

Know there's a time
It's a time and a place
Where there's no longer a race
Or any bindings

No sweepings away
Or saying what's Nay
No findings of fault
Just form or Gestalt
 
Meno mosso
 
That tear-like magic elixir
Here to soften Hearts and clear the Eyes
 ~ darkened with places once passed ~
 ~ whetted by songs not sung ~
 ~ covered and caught in webs left hanging ~
 ~ made fearful for being held back ~
It is a sacred thirst that calls for This
Drink This Remedy
"Unfettered"

Adagio

Know there's a time
It's a time and a place
Where there's no longer a race
Or any bindings

No sweepings away
Or saying what's Nay
No findings of fault
Just free-form or Gestalt

Con calore

Imagine what freed might now come
The ribs lungs rise and fall in stride
Tightness finds its ease shoulders
Glide drop their burdens dissolving
Arms disarmed fingers spreading
Spine fluid lending an ear
Down to the toes circulating

[Cadenza]

Senza interruzione 

I am me and you are me and you are you and I am you
and you are me and I am me and I am you and you are you
please let this harmony melt away everything that is not you
and is not me and is not free and is not clearly the LOVE of We

{repeat x1}

of & upon the 27 senses, Anna Blossom:

the bridge

speaking poem amongst the din
                  what was seen remains non specific words
tires spinning metal stretch across the bay
                  heavy heart unburdening without record
this poem naked artless true
                  heart listening within its own measure
nonetheless tasting moments otherwise
                  melancholia undeniable sated
shadowed hard to know what dance
                  all things connected underbelly back body
what contact what continuity
                  touching tenderness speaking unspoken
the span the span the span the span
                 all-is-well-all-is-well-all-is-well-all-is-well
eventual arrival the side yet reached
                

27 rainbows

What if they are right

to count everything but

we’re counting the wrong things?

What if it’s not pulses systolic calories -

what if it’s rainbows?

What if we each only get 27 rainbows?

Or thirty millipede crossings,

or 79 keenings or 9 fruit falling on heads

or 23 frisbee misses?

Are we living in a calculator?

Or it more of praise that the wheels and spheres

churning in galactic bliss

blow round on? 32,758 smiles,

4,569 one eyebrow rising while the other doesn’t.

789 spok hands perfectly split?

Any of these critical thresholds might

involute us into black holes of metabeing,

emitting life so much

it’s like we’re sucking it all in,

we’ve skipped planes of existence.

Don’t trouble on death from this air-sucking sprint,

a momentary blip, bringing grins.   

Really we’re dice tumbling in the

yahtzee cup of life, ripening towards our

27 rainbows.

A portal way to

27 rainbows. 

The Circle of Three

  The

  Two       And there was Two      And

   was                                              there

Three                                           There was                                           Circle

 One

   there                                              was

   And       Two was there And      Two

of

Prompt - This Living Hand

This Living Hand

This living hand, now warm and capable

Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold

And in the icy silence of the tomb,

So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights

That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood

So in my veins red life might stream again,

And thou be conscience-calmed—see here it is—

I hold it towards you.

                                                        John Keats

Write about your hand "capable of earnest grasping" or your hand dealt or going back in time to shake John's hand or the last hand you held or the last hand held out to you, just not one hand clapping

Setting Fires

Setting Fires

burning poems
in
broad daylight

short skirt

matchstick grasses
set
to ignite

grasshoppers, songbirds, honey bees
play their sounds
in the westerlies

burning poems
in
broad daylight

toy soldiers
fire crackered
burnt

dirt spurts

poppies, weed seeds, sweet peas
in the westerlies

burning poems
in
broad daylight

worded paper

set alight

thrills, chills, hills
in the westerlies

blackened
before night

To capture the fallen grape

To capture the fallen grape

The hand squeegees out and rasps too loud against the shelf with garden books

a tall shelf, one with those heavy heave-ho books

to capture the fallen grape.

That’s the kind of thing that’ll give us away. That’s the kind of thing that

Marmalade the orange-hair scoundrel, our school marm

would have chastised us about in “Advanced Sneakery.”

For how many aeons have we perked along in the rooms behind the rooms,

living behind the bookshelves that are really doors?

Sometimes I wish I could come out into the light of day

though moonbeams through the west window and

night dances are full of joy. We are Anne Frank always

and suppressed joy, now that mortal humans cannot stand

the thought of us; their reality spaces continue to narrow.

We live in the ecotone, the thin limn, the third space

behind the bookcases they don’t know slide. One time I dropped my

writing nib, another time a nub of cheese. Getting their

refrigerator doors open can be trouble. Their insomnia

can be frightening: sudden stuttering bathrobe looming.

Sometimes the fable of the nuclear war feels like a dream.

If they would just die, as Genny suggests, we’d have the

run of the place. But life would be hard, how to get used to the

sweep of open land, the cold touch of stars, the rush of air, the rain.

We’d have to start stockpiling pincushion seeds, and wild mustard

against the frost times.

I’m game, ready to be released from

the time of humans; they’ve lost their way.

Perhaps if we can telegraph our kin

who live in the pentagon bookshelves,

we’ll do them in. 

Responding to

http://imunuri.blogspot.com/2012/06/ideas-for-prompts.html

Prompt 4:

4. Secret doors in bookcases. Pick a wall in your home, a book case or shelf, and write a poem describing the life of the beings who come and go through the secret access door of that shelf, which actually slides back to reveal... what? Use concrete words and full senses to make it real for us...

Con brio ~ Spirited, a prompt

Music and Poetry, close relatives, if not siblings, share so much. Both rest in the hands and hearts of humans in numerous kinds of relationships. They are both scores at times, as Music is written and Poetry is written and then both are expressed or 'read' from those scores such that Original Breath of their Emergence may be again tasted. 

This prompt is an invitation to explore ways of notating your poetry score such that your score has the benefit of noted tempo (timing), dynamics (loudness), emotionality (quality of feeling) for the reader and for the possible speaker of your written word.

Here's some direction, if you wish: look up some the musical terms on the Wikipedia sites (see below) to stir inspiration in whatever way you'd like your 'musicality' to be expressed in your poetry. There was a time when composers only had their notations to convey all the other aspects of their music than simply the notes on the page.

A page of the heart-shaped manuscript by Baude Cordier, showing a rhythmically complex piece of ars subtilior.        ~ Notes from Wikipedia: "Coloration of single notes could also be used to override rules of perfection/imperfection that would otherwise have been called for. The use of red notation flourished in the so-called ars subtilior. Perhaps the most famous example is a heart shaped manuscript by Baude Cordier, which uses the notation for its symbolic effect to set down a line of music all in red within the larger heart."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tempo

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dynamics_%28music%29

Or the more general Glossary of musical terminology

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Affettuoso#A

IMUNURI prompt: Meta Part 2

This week, follow with someone's prompt...

but consider adding a twist:

- changing the rules

- running directly counter to the prompt

- over-literalizing the prompt

- ??

Or just go with what's given and see what you come up with

labels: your name, poem, meta

Ideas for Prompts

1. Three times three times three. Write a poem with the number "27" in the title. Enumerate or elaborate in striking terms, using lots of 3 letter words, or nine letter words, or even twenty-seven letter words. For example, Honorificabilitudinitatibus is the longest of Shakespeare's words and features alternating vowels and consonants...


2. Triangle world. What would a culture based three instead of two look like? What would a world inspired by triangles instead of the modern two-world of line, polarities and bifurcation be like?

3. Wallpaper. Select a wallpaper and write a poem as if you are living underneath the wallpaper or riffing on the print of it. Make sure some word related to wallpaper appears in the poem's title.

4. Secret doors in bookcases. Pick a wall in your home, a book case or shelf, and write a poem describing the life of the beings who come and go through the secret access door of that shelf, which actually slides back to reveal... what? Use concrete words and full senses to make it real for us...

5. Frenemies. Write a poem as if though addressed to your favorite "frenemy" - a person you intensely and viscerally react to but with whom you must get along. Simper you sycophant, and almost make us believe you really like us and like to keep us close.

6. Cloudsky 34. This is your poem's title. What is the poem?

7. Lawnmower sounds. Write a poem that describes an invention that takes all the sounds from lawnmowers and turns them into electrical energy for the grid. How would the world be different if there were no more sounds coming from lawnmowers? And/or what apparatus or consequences are involved in this innovation?

Experience as prompt, reporting as poem

Write in prose about an experience related to writing a poem in an unusual way.
Here are five ideas of ways to manifest this:

1. Write a poem. Burn it. Post some writing about what you experienced.

2. Write a poem in chalk on a sidewalk or in wet sand with a stick. When the poem vanishes, write what you remember of the poem and write about the experience of watching it vanish.
3. Convince someone to buy a poem on spec. Then write the poem and give it to them. Post about the poem you sold and the experience.
4. Take a walk without paper or pen and compose a poem along the way. When you get home, write what you remember of the poem and write about what you forgot.
5. Simply write a poem and then post about the experience of writing the poem, but don’t post the poem itself.

IMUNURI prompt: Meta

"Torso" by Lauren Ari

This week, write a prompt.

Your prompt might by the only thing you post this week. Or you may follow your own prompt and post the results as well. Or you might post a prompt and follow somebody else's prompt or a prior prompt you may have missed. Or your poem may be about prompts, prompting, being prompted -- or being prompt, which this prompt is not due to the Memorial Day weekend and the vagueries of early summer.

Keep in mind that a prompt can take many forms. You can prompt a poem by requesting a subject.
You can give a few words to be used in the poem or the title.
You can prescribe a form or format.
You can prompt a poem by requiring a certain technique or influence on the action of writing.


Prompt away!

tags [poem, your name, meta]