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Category Archives: Form poems

Pose

Photo by Sam Taylor Wood.

Photo by Sam Taylor Wood (via The Picture)

Pose

Frozen in
precarious leap
balanced on
chair-leg tilt—
push that chair! Engineer a
Photoshop escape.

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Yesterday’s prompt at Poetic Asides was an ekphrastic poem, based on a photo. We were given four photo choices on the site, or invited to use our own.

The shadorma, above, is based on one of the suggested photos.

 
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Posted by on November 12, 2013 in Form poems, Shadorma

 

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The grandma poet

Children playing with microphone and xylophone

The toys love it when the grand-kids come to visit.

The last few weeks have felt unusually busy. When that happens, I find it hard to get in the poem-writing zone.

Last weekend was a case in point. It was Canadian Thanksgiving. We had the kids and grandkids here for a visit. It was such fun, but there was hardly a minute left over for reflection! Then, after they went home, I had to get ready to teach my weekly class (Wednesday a.m.).

This morning I told myself, This has to stop. And I wrote some senryu.

Sit down. Put feet up.
Relax. Breathe in your busy life.
Exhale a poem.

One of the things my 5-year-old grandson loves to do is watch spider videos. “I just love spiders. They’re my favorite insects!” We found a wonderful series called Monster Bug Wars.  I figure one of the reasons he likes these videos so much is that the conflict is a lot like superhero conflict.

spider videos
transfixed by eight-legged titans
insect supermen

The five- and four-year-old are beginning to play with real Lego. We have a box of it from when our kids were little so I brought it up. “Grandma, can you make a helicopter?” (This after seeing one pictured in the instruction book.) So this grandma spent an entire morning, searching through Lego for tiny wee pieces to build a picture-perfect flying machine.

wrist-deep in Lego
hands sore from sharp-edged comb-through
helicopter search

I think if our old toys could talk, I would discover they live for the all-too-short weekends when the grand-kids visit.

Duplo, Lego, bus
dollhouse, xylophone, happy
when kids come to play

Poetry Friday LogoThis post is submitted to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Cathy at Merely Day By Day.

 
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Posted by on October 17, 2013 in Form poems, Personal, Poetry Friday

 

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Complaint

Spider web in branches

“Is that a spider’s trapeze swaying from the ceiling?” (Photo by Violet Nesdoly)

COMPLAINT

Women’s work is never done…
The burner rings are caked with overflow.
Is there anything to eat?
Mom, there are no clean socks.

The burner rings are caked with overflow.
Is that a spider’s trapeze swaying from the ceiling?
Mom, there are no clean socks, and
We’re running out of milk.

Is that a spider’s trapeze swaying from the ceiling?
Please drive me to the mall, you said
We’re running out of milk.
I fell. It’s bleeding!

Please drive me to the mall. Oh no,
You forgot to load the dishwasher.
I fell. It’s bleeding!
Does this fridge smell?

Who forgot to run the dishwasher?
I think I paid that bill.
This fridge does smell.
I’d swear there’s something sticky on the floor.

I know I paid that bill.
Vacuum and dust, Company’s coming!
Mop up that something sticky on the floor.
These library books are due.

Vacuum and dust! Company’s coming –
Is there anything to eat?
These library books are overdue …
Women’s work is never done!

© Violet Nesdoly

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I see that today our Poetry Friday hostess is sharing a pantoum she wrote as part of a seven-pantoum challenge! What fun.

I love pantoums. That’s the form of the poem, above. The first one I ever read was “Julian at Ten” by Nelson Bentley. It was in the book Writing Personal Poetry (by Sheila Bender), and I was mesmerized. How did he do that—get that back-and-forth, swaying, sashaying sensation with words?

I tried my hand at writing one soon after. “Complaint” is probably the second one I wrote, written  some years ago now. I think I was already out of the thick of those mother-always-on-call years but they were still fresh in my mind.

Poetry Friday LogoThis post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Laura Purdie Salas at Writing the world for kids.

 
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Posted by on October 10, 2013 in Light, Pantoum, Poetry Friday

 

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Fruit Notes

Fruit Notes

She bathes in Bubblelicious Fuzzy Peach
towels off then spritzes Kiwi Melon Splash.
She chooses Mango Sunscreen for the beach
or Lemon Lime or Berries from her stash.

She balms her lips with Sour Cherry Twist
her body polish sparkles Groovy Grape.
She freshens up with Pomegranate Mist
(such well-fed skin will never turn to crepe).

Her hands are buttered Strawberries ‘n’ Cream
her hair is tousled with Pineapple Glaze
even her rooms smell like an Eden dream
Forbidden Fruit-soaked reeds stand in her vase.

Fresh, innocent, sweet, dangerous and more
Essence of Eve enchants her to the core.

© Violet Nesdoly

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Every month the website Poets Online features a new prompt. In January of 2010 the prompt was to write a poem about ‘fruit.’ While I was mulling over my fruit poem, I was also writing a monthly Poets Classroom column (that I wrote for about 18 months) on the topic of the sonnet. The two came together in this lighthearted sonnet, which was first published here in 2010, along with many other fruity poems.

Poetry Friday LogoI’m re-posting it today to share with the Poetry Friday crowd. Poetry Friday is hosted today by Tabatha Yeatts at her always intriguing blog The Opposite of Indifference.

 
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Posted by on September 20, 2013 in Form poems, Light, Poetry Friday, Sonnet

 

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Bullied Abecedarium

Two girls tell secrets behind a third girl's back

Photo from Microsoft Clipart

Bullied Abecedarium

Alone now I am
bullied, bruised, battered
crushed, crying, closed for love.
Don’t look at me.
Even my
Facebook friends are fiends.
Go away so I can
hurt myself. I hate myself—
I am an idiot, there is no
justice for me just
kicks, no
love just
more menacing messages.
Never thought
one, only one
picture would
quake my life
ruin everything
shove me into this shower of shame
threats, teasing, telling me I’m
ugly, useless. I’ve never been
violent, but
what, when, how can I, they call whore
xpose and xterminate this hell I’m in? And
you said, “Why are you still here, you
zit on the face of the earth?”

© 2013 V. Nesdoly

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I wrote this poem as a reflection on the too many bullying stories that have come out lately. The special appearance of Carol ToddAmanda Todd’s mom, at the book launch of one of our poetry society members was the immediate occasion. I was planning to read the poem during the open mic portion of that program but then decided against it. This is, after all, second-hand. I’ve never been bullied like that so don’t really know how it feels and can only imagine.

What breaks my heart most about many of these stories is finding out that after these kids have called out for help (told teachers or parents about the bullying, attempted suicide, shown destructive behaviour) the bullying escalates in an almost animal-inspired way. It reminds me of when I was a kid and we got baby chicks. As those chicks grew, they tended to pick on the weaker, smaller ones, physically pecking at them till they drew blood. Daddy would put a special light bulb in the chick barn so that the red wouldn’t be visible and perhaps they would stop.

Poetry Friday LogoThis poem is part of Poetry Friday hosted today by Sherry at Semicolon and Matt at Radio, Rhythm and Rhyme.

 

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Summer Plans

Balloons floating in air

Summer Plans

My mom has signed me up for summer camp.
That’s twenty-one meals in the dining hall.
It’s shivering in a towel that’s always damp
and taking dares to scale the climbing wall.
It’s harnessing to be the zip line champ
contests of shooting with the basketball.
Can’t wait for campfire and those yummy s’mores
—of course we earn them all with cabin chores.

This summer I’m supposed to learn to swim
I’m scared of getting water up my nose.
Styrofoam kick-board helps me float and skim
remember, breathe and stroke and kick your toes.
The water in my eyes is nothing grim
it’s just two weeks of crawl and backstroke woes.
I’m dreading Friday when I take my test
(I’ll simply die if I don’t earn my crest!)

This holiday we’re traveling by car
we’ll even spend a night in a motel.
By daddy’s map it doesn’t look too far,
but hours of driving make me want to yell.
My sister and I get into a war
I tease her and she answers that I smell.
We eat some burgers and it’s on and on…
Such a long drive isn’t a lot of fun!

This summer I’m not going anywhere
I’ll jump the trampoline and read a book.
My dad said he might take me to the fair,
Mom said she’d prob’ly teach me how to cook.
I’ll treehouse sleep at night high in the air
at noon fish in the creek with worms and hook
on hot days water-park in my own yard
I’ll fill my days with fun – it won’t be hard!

© 2010 by Violet Nesdoly

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Though school has been over for about a month in the US, here in Canada, students are only done in the next week or so. I haven’t been in school as a student or teacher for many a year but still some internal clock of mine keeps track of school and no-more-school.

“Summer Plans” was inspired by a 2010 ottava rima prompt and challenge on Miss Rumphius Effect’s blog.  I  posted it in her comments there and am bringing it out again today to celebrate the end of school for Canadian kids, and the beginning of summer for everyone!

poetry+friday+button+-+fulllThis poem is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Carol at Carol’s Cornerwhere you’ll find links to lots more poetry and poetry-related goodies.

 
14 Comments

Posted by on June 20, 2013 in Ottava rima, Personal

 

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Cerebrovascular Accident

Secretive, sneaky, unexpected and silent

Taking  things to which you never gave a thought
things you never thought you’d lose …

Reach, hug, walk
read, write, talk

Only blurry memories now
your mute self

Kept captive, confused within your betrayal of a body
awaiting prognosis of the next

Electrocardiogram, CT, MRI
lab report, doctor, therapist

© 2013 by Violet Nesdoly

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Thanks to the encouragement of Catherine and Joy in my Poetry Friday comments, I’ve decided to post some of my Poem-A-Day efforts. This is my April 6th one.

Though I often use prompts to write these daily poems, I like it best when poems arise out of my day to day living. I got the idea for this acrostic poem while thinking about my husband’s uncle and aunt, who have had cerebrovascular accidents (strokes) in the last while.

 
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Posted by on April 9, 2013 in Acrostic, People, Personal

 

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