Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #14

Micropoetry MonthRevisiting the Cherita today, a six line story-poem form invented by Ai-Li. If you haven’t tried it before, it is broken into three verses, the first verse has 1 line, the second has 2 and the third has 3.

Tell a story, write a poem… share using comments or Mister Linky. If you wish, try using the words monk, dragonfly and rain in your poem.

 

the old monk’s begging bowl

half filled with
morning rain

a dragonfly
hovers in the
half emptiness

 

Aspiration

this poem could be something,
a euphemism for peace,
the last wail of a drone slain child,
the defiance of surveilled keystrokes,
the shiver of the winter homeless,
or the angst of the warming sea,
instead it aspires
to be the indifferent begging bowl
of a nameless monk,
as if nothing is something…
is it?

55 word poem challenge at Real Toads.

Filled with Silver Wind

break a chunk of tanzanite sky,
and hold it to the falling sun,
the purple precipitate of dusk
dances within the crystal blue;

sift sunlight through your fingers,
let golden pearls gently drop
around the lava painted throat
of the throbbing valley floor;

gather the jewels if you can,
seal them shut behind your eyes,
look, the ivory gleams pale
against the velvet lips of night;

that lilac breasted roller mocks,
with a flash of silken sapphire wing,
even the river laughs in ruby swirls,
at your thirsty supplication;

for you stand, but a naked monk,
clad in an unseen topaz gaze,
your empty begging bowl
filling slowly with the silver wind;

feed the riches to your soul,
ornament your shrivelled dreams,
gather the jewels if you can
and seal them shut behind your eyes;

propitiate the obsidian dark,
surrender to that opal moon,
gather the jewels in your eyes,
and pray there will be no morning.

 

#NotesFromTheMasaiMara

Sleepless Light

In this town, where light fears to sleep,
worn sun beams weep,
outside prism doors,
on mottled floors.

The black night with the sickle eye,
knocks on the sky,
the lone monk whirls
where twilight curls.

Star silhouettes against the white,
blink out of sight,
as cobwebbed dreams,
swallow their screams.

Minute Poem – 12 lines of 60 syllables- in 3 stanzas of 8-4-4-4 syllables each- with aabb/ ccdd/ eeff/ rhyme scheme. One I wrote earlier is here.
Linked to Imaginary Garden