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The second of my collections of poems written for "Express It In Eight." |
| As usual these days, I choose blog format because it offers more space for the work. |
| Taxi Driver My sister drove a taxi it was neither mini nor maxi and she always maintained it was best when it rained though the roads became a bit waxy. She also asserted and often insisted that she loved it when rain persisted and cried if it ever desisted. Line count: 8 Form: Enhanced limerick, rhymed aabba ccc For Express It In Eight, 11.05.24 Prompt: Taxi driver. |
| Common Sense Common sense tells us all that is known - or, at least, what once was obvious. But now it seems that reason has flown, a thing of which most are oblivious. For all that is up, we’re told is now down, and ugliness become the new beauty. I’m tired of a world that does nothing but frown, and needs nought but a kick up its booty. Line count: 8 Rhymed abab For Express It In Eight, 11.04.24 Prompt: Write a poem that begins with these words: “Common sense tells us…” |
| Maybe, But He Was Mad I suppose I should get annoyed by the dearth of meaning in this piece. And no, I’m not holding a horse - I’m reading this damn poem. You see, there is little point in writing if you’re not going to make sense. And even those few words by Mervyn Peake contain more wisdom than yours. Oh Anzhelina, you get closest to the truth when speaking of a diary for you read like a record of events on separate days, none connected by anything even resembling causation, a jumble of momentary experiences. Yet it’s true that each line has interest, if only to spark curiosity. Line count: 8 Free verse For Express It In Eight, 11.02.24 Prompt: “A Few Words About Van Gogh” by Anzhelina Polonskaya - use a few words from the poem. |
| Cinnamon The thing about cinnamon, it comes from the bark of a tree - it feeds my inner mom, and makes me happy to be. The thing that is even stranger, though probably not to blame, a dog’s bark will warn of danger, and is certainly not the same. Line count: 8 Rhymed abab For Express It In Eight, 11.01.24 Prompt: Write a poem about cinnamon or other spice(s) generally used in fall cooking. |
| Pumpkin Complaint It’s not that I object about being disturbed in my slumber, but heartlessly you tear from me my children without number, carve others’ horrid faces on my ravaged, trepanned head, and leave me on your cursèd porch, empty, soulless, dead. Line count: 8 Rhymed abcb For Express It In Eight, 10.31.24 Prompt: Write a poem about a pumpkin with attitude. |
| Jovial Jovial Sir John Falstaff, rotund and jolly fellow, made many a ribald gaffe in reverberating bellow. Good friend of bold Prince Hal, he entertained with jokes. Though sometimes he was mal, yet John remained a bloke. Line count: 8 Rhymed abab For Express It In Eight, 10.30.24 Prompt: Write a jovial poem. Notes: Say “jovial” to me and I think immediately of Falstaff. The word “mal” is South African slang for a crazy man and is the only rhyme for Hal, I think. Henry V was known in his younger days as Prince Hal. |
| Foggy Day The fog hangs motionless the world softened by its touch and grey the only palette as secret we swim in the swirls. A wan sun glows in the gloom and speaks to the pallid air of mystery and peace strange mixture of comfort. Line count: 8 Free verse For Express It In Eight, 10.29.24 Prompt: Write a pale poem. |
| Wheels High in the clear blue atmosphere, beyond the cares of earth, the falcon rides the wind. Up where the air is thin, he wheels and turns in wait for fate to choose his time. He stoops to conquer, his prey decided. Line count: 8 Free verse For Express It In Eight, 10.28.24 Prompt: Wheels. |
| Doppelganger The opposite of me so carefree would be, talented and arty, the life of the party, a great public speaker, publicity seeker; but, in reality, I’d rather be me. Line count: 8 Rhymed aabb For Express It In Eight, 10.27.24 Prompt: Write a poem about opposites. |
| Mattress This cheap old mattress has to go, its tired faults too well I know; its lumpy landscape hurts my back, as though it wants to be a rack. At night it makes me toss and turn, for softer places I do yearn; it leaves me raggèd and dark eyed, the chilly morn sleepless to bide. Line count: 8 Rhymed aabb For Express It In Eight, 10.26.24 Prompt: Write a lumpy poem. |
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