Of poems in my mind swirl a bevy, As caffeine surges over grey levee; My heart pounds ever faster, Craft rushes t'ward disaster; My wayfinding won't help w/ head heavy
My 1st puente
In the form of two envelope quintets
This heart has no other blood known than flowed through all past generations linked one-by-one through space and time by ancient Hebrew conversations echoing through flesh and bone ~ ever more so as I've grown ~ This mind has grasped that nothing's known though men cling tight to correlations creating of them gods sublime and altars built on false foundations they worship while I stand alone
d’Verse poetics prompt:
Build a bridge
At d’Verse, poets were instructed to either:
- Write a poem about bridges that uses some form of the word ‘bridge’ in the poem or in the title, or:
- Write a puente (bridge) poem, which does not need to include the word bridge (but it can).
I opted for the 2nd alternative, and decided to make my puente poem out of two envelope quintets. Given the rhyme structure of my poem, I envision it as a suspension bridge.
We live in Jerusalem, our apartment at an intersection on a major thoroughfare, the central north-south artery running through the city center. This is convenient for a family with no vehicle; a bus stop rests just outside our window, making the Jerusalem downtown readily accessible.
As you can well imagine, we constantly hear the sounds of traffic from our home. Ambulances, police cars, honking, stop announcements from passing busses… Our landlord told me that he could never live in such a noisy place as this (his grandparents were the ones who purchased and once lived in this apartment). Nevertheless, none of this bothers us – we’re used to noisy city life.
Right now, at 1:40 AM, the bus stop sits empty, visible under the street lights. Little Israeli flags flutter above it, stretching over the thoroughfare, as Israel Independence Day was just two weeks ago. The soft rumbling of car engines is heard, a reminder of humanity’s footprint. The day’s heavy winds have given way to a chilly night breeze, but it’s strong enough yet that I decided to pull the window closed immediately after snapping a photograph.
Stillness in motion Silence is momentary Israel's heartbeats
d’Verse haibun Monday:
‘The present moment’
The d’Verse prompt: Let us now bear witness to the present moment! However you experience it, write a haibun that expresses the present moment.
A ‘Magnetic Poem’ tanka
Wanna try? Click here.
mother and father always belonged together their child remembers moments of joy, tears, and heart night takes life, but can't touch love
- For this poem, I decided to make use of the ‘Love Set’ on the Magnetic Poetry website;
- I think this is a brand new set of virtual magnets because I noticed it for the very first time tonight when I visited the Magnetic Poetry website!
- I once again opted for a tanka, rather than a haiku;
- The extra two lines (14 syllables) provide a greater challenge, as well as a larger canvas;
- This particular poem is something of a reflection on my memories of my parents and my childhood in the context of my Papa’s death nearly three years ago;
- I searched for and found the featured image only after I had written the entire tanka.
My 1st kimo
Night envelopes; penetrates; becoming; Absent moon leaves empty space; Thoughts sparkle among stars
What’s a kimo?
According to this website, kimo poems are an Israeli 🇮🇱 version of haiku. Apparently, there was a need for more syllables in Hebrew. That said, most of the rules are still familiar:
- 3 lines.
- No rhymes.
- 10 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second, and 6 in the third.
Also, the kimo is focused on a single frozen image (kind of like a snapshot). So it’s uncommon to have any movement happening in kimo poems.