The meaning of life is that it stops.–Franz Kafka (1883 – 1924)
Death is a challenge. It tells us not to waste time. It tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other.–Leo Buscaglia (1924–98)
A ‘Magnetic Poem’ tanka
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angel bleeds color desiring eternity father's ghost haunting in joyless kiss lingering marble nights' old prisoner
- For this poem, I decided to use the ‘Poet Set’ on the Magnetic Poetry website, which, I believe, is the first time I have done so;
- I find that switching between the sets of magnets makes magnetic poetry more interesting;
- This poem was, in part, inspired by my having lost my own father nearly three years ago, but it’s not about me or about him at all – it’s an entirely fictional piece;
- I once again opted for a tanka, rather than a haiku;
- As I’ve written before, the extra two lines (14 syllables) provide a greater challenge, as well as a larger canvas;
- I’ve really taken to writing magnetic tankas;
- As an additional challenge to myself, I deliberately wrote this as an alphabet poem;
- I searched for and found the featured image only after I had written the entire tanka.
Thick smoke rings wafted through the steam Small silver spoon stirred dark Earl Grey Night clouds and hopes lit by moonbeam Recurring thoughts began to fray Small silver spoon stirred dark Earl Grey Gnarled finger clutched by digits slim Recurring thoughts began to fray Wise, pale blue eyes could not see him Gnarled finger clutched by digits slim Grandfather watched the sweet newborn Wise, pale blue eyes could not see him Oh, turns of time had left him worn Grandfather watched the sweet newborn Thick smoke rings wafted through the steam Oh, turns of time had left him worn Night clouds and hopes lit by moonbeam
‘Coming full circle’, a d’Verse prompt
The above poem is my response to the d’Verse ‘coming full circle’ prompt, which instructed poets to circle round and end where their poems begin.
Possibilities included pantoums; villanelles; open forms; or even shape poems, but the goal was to attempt a circular poem where the first line and the last repeat (or are close). We were to think about the journey – where has the poem taken us? How has the meaning of that first line shifted? Has it become more certain or less?
God helps those who help themselves.–Benjamin Franklin (1706-90)
Beasts, frogs, locusts, lice Plagued blood boils at the darkness Pestilence hails death