#Quatrains

[env0writes]

NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 17.22.24 “Sibling Fued"

Oh, sister, I found you I made you anew From flesh of the same beast Very same that slew You Oh, sister, I found you After ghasts, ghouls, and geyser Learning deep secrets Yet, grown none the wiser Oh, sister, I found you What big eyes you have Big hands and teeth to hold me Oh, sister you would not believe it, not even half Oh, sister, our journey– Delicious yet desperate Why are you drooling? When at last we’ve found respite Oh, sister, this dungeon In which we’ve found each other Please regain yourself It is me– your only brother Oh, sister, don’t make me choose When the choice leaves you behind Oh, Falin I’m falling, I’m failing you Were only there magic to let us rewind Oh, sister, I’m sorry That you must die That after this ordeal Tomorrow, I’ll wake, alone–and try To continue without, you

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!   Photo by my friend Mika

[creatediana]

"Lines Written Hastily on Someone Else's Desk" - a poem written 3/27/2024

I have to sneak into your desk— I've calculated every risk— I have to test out all your pens and blot out with them my chagrins. I have an urge for every ink— for every mark I make I rank the color and the thickness.—In my rainbow correspondent brain this is the peak of knowledge—yes, the summit of my study's bliss. I snoop and steal to these fair ends— my paper keeps exotic winds.

[francepittoresque]

4 mai 1555 : publication des prophéties de Nostradamus ➽ http://bit.ly/Propheties-Nostradamus Son vrai nom était Michel de Nostredame. Les prophéties ou "Centuries" consistent en des quatrains censés prédire l’avenir jusqu’en 3797 ! C’est un outil qui pourrait être précieux, mais certains vers sont tellement ambigus qu’il est possible de leur donner bien des interprétations

[poem-today]

A poem by Ursula K. Le Guin

Quatrains

AUTUMN gold of amber red of ember brown of umber all September MCCOY CREEK Over the bright shallows now no flights of swallows. Leaves of the sheltering willow dangle thin and yellow.

OCTOBER At four in the morning the west wind moved in the leaves of the beech tree with a long rush and patter of water, first wave of the dark tide coming in. SOLSTICE On the longest night of all the year in the forests up the hill, the little owl spoke soft and clear to bid the night be longer still.

THE WINDS OF MAY are soft and restless in their leafy garments that rustle and sway making every moment movement.

HAIL The dogwood cowered under the thunder and the lilacs burned like light itself against the storm-black sky until the hail whitened the grass with petals.

Ursula K. Le Guin (1929-2018)

Author Photograph: William Anthony

More poems by Ursula K. Le Guin are available through her website.  

[rudysassafras]

U n e a r t h l y A f f e c t i o n

Undimmed are the eyes that behold you

Unbound are the hands that embrace

Unchained is the heart that beats for you

Unburdened when touched by your grace

Unmortgaged affection without you

Undone by the sound of your voice

Unmoored was I dear, till I met you

Unhappy but then I rejoiced

Unlyrical till I wrote for you

Unspirited till you inspired

Ungentle was I till I touched you

Unlaced and unfurled and on fire

—rudysassafras

[astredempouck]

Recueillement, Charles Baudelaire

Sois sage, ô ma Douleur, et tiens-toi plus tranquille. Tu réclamais le Soir ; il descend ; le voici : Une atmosphère obscure enveloppe la ville, Aux uns portant la paix, aux autres le souci. Pendant que des mortels la multitude vile, Sous le fouet du Plaisir, ce bourreau sans merci, Va cueillir des remords dans la fête servile, Ma Douleur, donne-moi la main ; viens par ici, Loin d’eux. Vois se…

[batgovernor]

Using form: Quatrains: Stephen Gold, 'So Pseud Me'

My verse is of the humorous variety, And does its best to brighten up society. To spread a little joy’s a noble calling, A life without a laugh would be appalling. Yet still, of late, I’ve had a thought that niggles; What worth is work that just produces giggles? Should it be judged as slight and ineffectual, Compared to art we label intellectual? And so I did what “proper” poets do, And signed…

[philgennuso]

Memories (#Poem #GraphicArts #ThursdayMemories)

By Phil Gennuso Arts Old vintage bottlesstored in grandma’s cabinetprecious momentos passed downthrough the generations

[radio--katsuyu]

In the Court of an Atlantean Queen

In accents of the lute where I was dwelling, I heard in cascades of a time departing, The faerie voices ancients fires quelling And novel fires on their altars starting.

Oh how the throng of voices in the river That ran nearby a stalwart temple, swaying Like bees whose membran'd wings in trembles quiver, Sang in the face of stone, I sat dismaying:

Was there a secret in this grotto waiting For shuffled minds to ravish graves and chances, Ancient stories in remembrance hating New attempters trying ancient dances,

Or was the secret place of marble glory And porticos that hung with heavy heaving Lungs relieving figures in the hoary Hours of death that they were not believing?

In circles spread a play of light and folly, And through the foils of aspens came a scene That laid the time long past and life as jolly As once the court of an Atlantean Queen.

The queen sat golden in the wake and pondered, Her eyes were full of love and still the glimmer From minds that heard her stood and shone and wandered, Where was all that that she had burning in her.

She spoke in speech forgotten in this hour, Reserved her eyes with nothing to behold, But when a story of some grace would lour Spread light and glory with an look of gold.

The music of the court was hers to carry, A kingly love to cherish and entrance, Her consort would not shuffle, move or tarry, If it was not for her to sing and dance.

It was a time of peacocks, doves and starlings, They ferried through the birds of song and light And chipper'd through the waveless creeks as darlings Bound by but love that held them fair and tight

And drew them softly through the verdant world -- And back the faerie voices called the greening Foliage that over me unfurled, And left me with an image and its meaning;

Bestowed no doubt from goddesses she mustered The fullness of a memory to keep Each note unfurled in accents taut and flustered A small child's wish when it would go to sleep.

The last note wavered on the sundown planes, The temple and the circles blue with sleeping, Disturbed the light and closed their shimmered panes, And left a note for cherishing and keeping:

No such wild grace hath ancient sites to share, Nor men or women could in dreaming ween, The harmony that one soft look can bear As in the court of that Atlantean queen. © 2022.

[env0writes]

NaPoWriMo Vol. 3, 4.12.24 “Tall Tales"

He’s six foot and charming And does what he’s asked He’ll say please and thank you And he’ll do what is tasked To the music, he’s dancing Sanctimoniously Effortlessly romancing Unintentionally He’s uncertain with his sanity And isn’t sure if he’s real He’s doing what he can Which is everything; what’s his deal? To the moonrise he is staring Filled with gumption Filled with caring Constant are his thoughts, cautious in assumption He’s the author and writer and hides behinds words Sending out calls to the morning; he’s brained with the birds

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!   Photo by my friend Mika

[creatediana]

"Leap Yeep" - a poem written 2/29/2024

[francepittoresque]

4 mai 1555 : publication des prophéties de Nostradamus ➽ http://bit.ly/Propheties-Nostradamus Son vrai nom était Michel de Nostredame. Les prophéties ou "Centuries" consistent en des quatrains censés prédire l’avenir jusqu’en 3797 ! C’est un outil qui pourrait être précieux, mais certains vers sont tellement ambigus qu’il est possible de leur donner bien des interprétations

[bills-bible-basics]

NOSTRADAMUS: PROPHET OF GOD, OR MESSENGER OF SATAN? -- a Bill's Bible Basics Article This #BillsBibleBasics article by #BillKochman can be read online at the following URL: https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/nostrad1.html https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/nostradamus-prophet-of-god-or-messenger-of-satan-a-bills-bible-basics-article/?feed_id=50011&_unique_id=643ea5e37310e&NOSTRADAMUS%3A%20PROPHET%20OF%20GOD%2C%20OR%20MESSENGER%20OF%20SATAN%3F%20--%20a%20Bill%27s%20Bible%20Basics%20Article

[thejewofkansas]

They took me to a ghostly tree,

a line of snow on ev’ry branch,

whose bloom, which winter cannot stanch,

is more than I shall ever see.

 We feel the warmth of spring so rare

whose leaves have fallen, and the frost

but takes the place of what was lost,

though guarded with exquisite care.

 We make so very little sound

who home to God the trumpets call,

who grasp the void and simply fall,

our length to measure on the ground.

 We speak so few coherent words

who fight for breath we cannot gain,

yet find a sudden end to pain

and find our souls among the birds.

 We do not often come again,

or bid our weightless souls not soar

to walk this solid Earth once more –

to crawl beneath Time’s thumb again.

 We are not moved by grief or mirth

who soon will lay us down to sleep

and pray that God our soul will keep,

however much that soul is worth.

 We cannot stop to say goodbye,

however much you bid us pause

and give your burning tears as cause

that those you love should never die.

 The noose that leads me on to Hell

may yet my knotted neck unbind,

that ere I dangle, peace I find,

the clapper of a phantom bell.

[rudysassafras]

Once a Man, Twice a Boy

Twas in the womb I learned to read and write

I was astute and I was erudite

But slowly I began to lose my age

I hocked my cane and dusty wardrobe, beige

Each day I wake to find a thought in flight

I watch it fly into the early light

The things I knew when I was old and wise

Elude me now, each morrow that I rise

My youth is catching up to me so fast

The wrinkles and the aching didn’t last

I’m sprightly now, with head of wholesome locks

In twenty years I’ll buy a set of blocks

—rudysassafras

“I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.”

—Bob Dylan

[princessijessi]

Bottle

You can bottle gold or silver tie them neatly with a bow stitch and sell your silk and satin as the heaviest things to hold.

And weigh your head down further still with those diamond necklaces and lift it only to partake of wine and drunken recklessness.

The riches of the world are bottled touched and coveted and sold but the riches of my life are heard felt and loved and will grow old.

You can’t bottle Melodies nor can you own the Sea or Stars you will never bottle Skies or Storms or Light or Sunset’s Hours.

Color or Lightning or Flickering Fire will never belong to you so leave the bottles and coins, and see that my Love for You is true.