Love and life not always synonymous yet why does one always think life is love
Life a gift not promised often unfair but one can’t tell her, “go just get lost life”!
Written for David’s W3 (where the POW D Avery has asked us to write tetractys) and for Eugi’s moonwashed weekly prompt.
Wishing Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate and to the rest, a happy Sunday! My home is all topsy-turvy due to the renovation work going on. I will be unable to blog for a couple of week, so wishing you all the very best for 2023. Warm hugs to all braving storms and freakish cold weather. Stay warm, stay safe.
It alights lightly, fluttering softly, leaving goosebumps, then you become aware of it when your heart is all aflutter, beating to a primordial song, awash in indescribable emotions, blood afire in your veins, your soul lit with the luminosity of pure joy; at once divine and carnal and there is no need to shout from the rooftops, for love like fragrance cannot be hidden. And yet, life is about living, not regretting so it is always better to proclaim.
Written for dVerse MTB. Today’s host, Björn, has asked us to get aphoristic. You can read about it here.
By the banyan tree in the courtyard Freezing in the cold January night Passion died under the onslaught of ego At the altar of doubt, love felt forsook Its last breath darkened the already dark night Blossoming romance couldn’t survive till daylight.
By the time dawn removed the curtain of tenebrosity Freezing earth had thawed, shedding rivulets of tears Passion couldn’t remain moribund any longer At the retreat of self-aggrandizement, Its fire revived again, its flames stoking fervour Blossoming again into all consuming ardour.
Written for dVerse MTB. Today’s host, Laura, has asked us to choose ONE of the following lines and write a stanza(s) taking each word as the start of each successive line i.e. the first word begins the first line, the second begins the second and so on.
Rules: You must keep the same sequence though you may reverse it Your poem should preferably be at least 2 stanzas long Rhyme is optional but try to stick to the meter of your chosen line.
The love that we share is like the misshapen stuffed beagle our son dragged by the ear when he was barely four passion has dulled a bit like his button eyes but the cuddles are as warm as they were before the mundanity of living has taken toll on the sheen but the familiarity has only increased our rapport we both may be spilling out of our seams the sight of each other still makes our hearts roar just as it occupies an honourable space our love over the years has quietly matured.
Today’s challenge is to write a poem that contains at least one of a different kind of simile – an epic simile. Also known as Homeric similes, these are basically extended similes that develop over multiple lines. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they have mainly been used in epic poems, typically as decorative elements that emphasize the dramatic nature of the subject (see, by way of illustration, this example from Milton’s Paradise Lost). But you could write a complete poem that is just one lengthy, epic simile, relying on the surprising comparison of unlike things to carry the poem across. And if you’re feeling especially cheeky, you could even write a poem in which the epic simile spends lines heroically and dramatically describing something that turns out to be quite prosaic.
Pain assauged through each word written therapeutic exercise I employ
Each experience enriching however broken; beautiful, life is.
Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Grace, says: write a Synchronicity poetry verse.
This poetry form is written in the first person revealing accidental yet seemingly synchronized events.
The definition of synchronicity is the state or fact of being synchronous or simultaneous; synchronism. Coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related.
As a poetry form, this consists of eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. This poetry type has no rhyme and is written in the first person with a twist. The twist is to be revealed within the last two stanzas. This form was created by Debra Gundy.
I still remember the dusky saltiness of your satin skin the way it turned liquid under my warm gaze the first time I tasted the saltiness of love was when I kissed your lips. now, a solitary salt laden tear I shed in remembrance.
Written for dVerse. Today’s host, De, says: Today, I want you to sprinkle the word salt into your poems. Whether you make it the seasoned center, or just dash a smidge of it in at the last minute, just be sure some form of the word salt adds a little zing to your piece: Salty. Saltine. Salting. Saltlick. Saltatory.
Poetry is a labour of love, dare I say it starts in the mind but then the heart holds sway Words start stringing themselves prettily in the mind lustrous they are, when with heart they are entwined Words woven with the warm threads of emotions myriad colours expressing all notions Gradually through words heart begins to unravel sometimes it snivels and sometimes it can dazzle I hide behind the images that I create but disrobing of soul is what I abominate Poetry is a labour of love, dare I say It starts in the mind but then the heart holds sway.
Words start stringing themselves prettily in the mind lustrous they are, when with heart they are entwined My words and I become one when through them I speak whether I write of joys untold or of sorrows bleak I lay bare my self all naked and vulnerable sharing my pains and what makes me miserable Anger finds release through sharp, stinging, staccato words as my heart releases these tormented caged birds Storm clouds darken my heart when atrocities it suffers viscous black ink spills forth without any buffers Poetry is a labour of love, dare I say it starts in the mind but then the heart holds sway
Words woven with the warm threads of emotions myriad colours expressing all notions Mending, healing, becoming whole happens organically through the pen, when words flow unchecked and free My broken heart heals when sutured with verse it is often a blessing but also a curse The language of souls speaks in a common tongue all hearts in a common thread are strung I am filled with diffidence with every verse I write though even the most nondescript one fills me with delight Poetry is a labour of love, dare I say It starts in the mind but then the heart holds sway.