Marble nights, or: Haunting

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

Notes

  • 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.

Hopes, or: Smoke rings

A pantoum

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?