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Tag Archives: free verse

Poetry Swap Pocket

Summer+Poetry+Swap-1My last Summer 2017 Poetry Swap parcel arrived this week and I was quite bowled over by it. Linda Baie sure knows how to pack a lot of goodies into a little bubble mailer!

She sent me—a pocket! How perfect for a habitual walker who is always grabbing for a tissue or a notebook or a camera out of her pocket!

This pocket was packed with: a personal note, a notebook, a Pilot pen (even the brand name seems perfect), mints, a (real cloth embroidered) hankie, a couple of pine cones along with a legend about them (perfect to entertain my grands!), a piece of petrified wood, a poem bookmark, and the most darling little black feather you ever saw!

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Pocket treasures from Linda B. – Summer 2017 Poetry Swap (Photo by V. Nesdoly)

And this poem… (Linda, you are amazing! – Thank you!!)

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Linda, you’ve tied it up perfectly with those last five lines: “doing art … gathering bouquets of images … a crystal vase of ideas.” I’m totally inspired!

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poetryfridayThis post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by poet and photographer Jone at Check It Out.

There, Jone challenges us to an Acrostic. Well, I just happen to have one in my Summer Shorts (poem-a-day photo-challenge project). It’s all about the PRODUCE (the August 3rd #CY365 prompt)

Produce

Photo for “Produce – #CY365 for August 3, 2017 (© 2017 by V. Nesdoly)

PRODUCE

Parsnip, turnip, bok choy
Rutabaga, beet
Orange carrots in a row
Daikon long and white
Under produce mirror-bin
Cabbage doubles round and green–those
Egos swell as veggies preen

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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Life between the rows

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Pink hyacinth–appreciated indoors (Photo © 2017 by V. Nesdoly)

Life between the rows

I look down at my garden
at tight pink hyacinths ready to pop
green spears of tulip
clumped in the randomness
of fall planting
but nothing stirs in me
except guilt.

I should be out there
softening the soil
letting in the air,
stirring it to a rich black backdrop
that will show off the colour to come.

But my healing hip
holds me in its prison
of ache and slow motion.
My body begs to sit and relax
stretch out, watch TV

like the May long ago
when newly received
perennial roots
grew dry and lifeless
as my body insisted
on time to grow strong again.

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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Prompt – Inspiration

This is another poem I wrote in the spring of 2014 when recovering from my broken hip. The “between the lines” idea came from the poem prompt “Reading between the Lines” posted at Adele Kenny’s site. The poem begins:

While you were sleeping in the chair, perhaps
dreaming of an ageless character
from the unfinished novel in your lap,
the sunlight through the window lit your hair
surrounding your face in a brilliant halo.

Read entire…

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VintagePADThis April I’m celebrating National Poetry Month by posting some not-as-yet published poems from my files, along with what inspired them. If the prompt inspires you to write a poem of your own, you’re welcome to share it in comments. Whether you write or not, thanks so much for dropping by!

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Posted by on April 11, 2017 in LIMP sequence, Personal

 

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Storing

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File box with index cards—it’s old-school, but it works! (Photo © 2017 by V. Nesdoly)

Storing

I am storing up Bible verses
on index cards

a collection of river stones
against the day
I’ll need to remember*

a shed full of life rafts
for when I am in deep water

a freezer of cooked dinners
for a time when life is too hectic
to cook a meal from scratch
out of the day’s chapter.

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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Prompt – Inspiration:
This poem came out of my own spiritual practice of memorizing Bible passages which I write on file cards and file by subject. I have done this for years. You could write about spiritual practice of yours…

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VintagePADThis April I’m celebrating National Poetry Month by posting some not-as-yet published poems from my files along with what inspired them. If the prompt inspires you to write a poem of your own, you’re welcome to share it in comments. Whether you write or not, thanks so much for dropping by!

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Posted by on April 2, 2017 in Objects, Personal, Religious

 

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work

And so the work of writing a poem a day begins…

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Image: Pixabay

work

it starts with pen on paper
it’s scribbles and cross-outs and trying again
it’s squeezing eyes shut to focus
it’s herding cat-thoughts
into an orderly, logical line
it’s silence
no music, the door closed
no one dropping into my office to chat

it’s following arrows and numbers
to read through the mess
of what I’ve written to this point
to “hear” what’s next
it’s ideas finally snapping into place
it’s the moment I switch
from writing desk to computer
prop messy sheets on the stand
it’s beginning to type

it’s feeling this thing I’m making
—a sculpture with words—
under my fingers
it’s making keyboard adjustments
as surely as if I used a file on wood
it’s reading to check tautness of ideas
flow of words, it’s tinkering
adding a word here, taking one out there
with an eye on word count

it’s saving, printing
putting it in a folder to cool
it’s going downstairs
flicking on some frivolous TV show
and resting my brain
that is now exhausted and mellow

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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Prompt or inspiration:

The poem above was inspired by this April 9, 2015 prompt at Poetic Asides:

For today’s prompt, write a work poem. For some folks, writing is work (great, huh?). For others, work is teaching, engineering, or delivering pizzas. Still others, dream of having work to help them pay the bills or go to all ages shows. Some don’t want work, don’t need work, and are glad to be free of the rat race. There are people who work out, work on problems, and well, I’ll let you work out how to handle your poem today.

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VintagePADThis April I’m celebrating National Poetry Month by posting some previously written but not-as-yet published poems out of storage. If the prompt inspires you to write a poem of your own, you’re welcome to type it into comments and share your take on the subject with us. Whether you write or not, thanks so much for dropping by!

 
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Posted by on April 1, 2017 in Personal, Writing

 

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Mustard

We had a snow day on Sunday. No church. No walk. (Superbowl for hubby, though – the TV wasn’t snowed in.)

I used the gift of those extra hours to tidy up my gmail and in the process came across a poetry prompt that I couldn’t resist. So I also wrote a poem.

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Mustard

Seeds the size of faith
ground and added to young wine
became the fiery condiment
must-ardens*

Sauce as ancient as Indus and Rome,
modern French’s, dyed paprika and turmeric,
drips from every summer hotdog
stains every childhood shirt.

Hulled or whole-grained, sophisticated mustard
mixes congenially with vinegar, wine, water
lemon juice, whiskey, beer; remains
a wholesome but tart foil to ham, chicken, cheese.

Bavarian or Dijon, sweet or hot
honeyed, spiced, fruited, or Poupon
yellow to brown this world citizen
is welcome at tables on every continent.

A jar of French’s still lives in my Canadian fridge—
faithful standby for sausages, wieners, mayonnaise
parson at the emulsification nuptials of oil and vinegar
and a spread for a 5-year-old’s favorite sandwich.

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

* How it came to be called “mustard”:

The first element is ultimately from Latin mustum, (“must,” young wine) – the condiment was originally prepared by making the ground seeds into a paste with must. The second element comes also from Latin ardens (hot, flaming).

Source: Wikipedia.

The post that contains the prompt: “Eating and Drinking Poems: Barbara Crooker’s ‘Ode to Olive Oil’“ quotes Barbara Crooker’s wonderful poem in full.

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Poetry Friday LogoThis post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Katy at her blog The Logonauts.

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Posted by on February 10, 2017 in Objects, Poetry Friday

 

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7

Happy eve of New Year’s Eve!

Everywhere I tune in these days I hear people talking about what a terrible year 2016 has been and good riddance to it.

I don’t feel that way at all. For me 2016 has been a wonderful year. Hubby and I are still living together in peace, we visited our distant kids three times, had a fabulous summer holiday, welcomed another beautiful granddaughter, and were spared major illnesses, accidents, falls, fires, earthquakes, storms, and floods.

Poetry-wise it hasn’t been bad either. The number of poems I wrote this year is 97 and the number of times I participated in Poetry Friday is 37.

What’s with all the 7s?

I know! Seven seems to be my little buddy (in addition to those two, there are a total of eight 7s in our address and two phone numbers). Thus when I read the prompt “Write a number poem” in Diane Lockward’s The Crafty Poet II (a wonderful book for poetry craft and prompts, by the way) I had to choose seven. The threshold of 2017 seems the right time to share it.

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Image: Pixabay

7

It’s not that it is a prime
number of perfection
the completion of an entire week
or that it’s the address of heavenly bliss.

And though its association
with itch and deadly sins fascinate
the reason I fall for 7
is how often it has fallen for me…

so often in address and phone number
I fear one day to find myself
at 6s and 7s to remember
where all those 7s belong.

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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What number would you choose for a number poem?

And now I’d like to wish all my Poetry Friday Friends a 2017 so 7-perfect it deserves a 10!
PF-2This post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by Donna (the BOLD) at Mainely Write.

 
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Posted by on December 30, 2016 in Objects, Personal, Poetry Friday

 

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Just an ordinary walk


In the last few weeks my walking partner, dear hubby, has been finding it more and more painful to walk. Then the doctor told him, no more long walks until you’re better. So for now I am walking on my own.

When I took solitary walks in the past I experienced a wonderful loosening of words and ideas. And it’s happening again, if I’m alert to it.

To help with that, I carry a little notebook and pen to write down words, turns of phrase, and images that I don’t want to forget. Or I hold them in my head. That’s what I did for the poem below. When I got home I free-wrote like crazy to capture everything in prose. Later I worked some of my ideas into …

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“I am a long skinny shadow now, walking down a golden street” (Photo © 2016 by V. Nesdoly)

Just an ordinary walk

On this cold morning I am soft wax
feeling intimidated by impatient cars
swishing, swooshing
swirling beside me.

One turns right in front
of my WALK light, almost clips my toes.
Even in moments of still, distant traffic hums
a far off siren screams.

City birds above me chirp, warble
sing their own bustle, swoop down (peck, peck),
flutter away. They are nonchalant, daring,
savvy to the rhythm of feet and tires (hop, hop).

My nose tests wind gusts, smells
gasoline, diesel, vanilla, a passerby’s peppery
perfume,  chocolate, cinnamon
(something good is baking at Safeway).

I am a long  skinny shadow now walking down a golden street
past a lady in a taupe coat with her silky dog in red
and a grey couple smoking on a bench.
They pull their Lhasa Apso close so I can pass.

I can’t find the book drop at the library.
The security guard points me to it’s green-light lips
“You scan it.” He shows me which bar-code
and the slot sucks the book from my hand.

As I turn toward home, the sun stares
into my eyes, brash. I shade them
with hands balled into gloves, fingers
squeezing warmth from palms.

A kid with a black-and-white backpack strides by
black arms bare under short black sleeves
black jeans, white shoes—so cool
but how can he not feel so cold?

I climb stairs, twist key in the lock—
happy to be home.
It was just an ordinary walk
but forever engraved in this poem.

© 2016 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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PF-2This post is linked to Poetry Friday, hosted today by the queen of poetic forms, Tricia at her blog Miss Rumphius Effect.

 
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Posted by on October 21, 2016 in Objects, People, Personal, Poetry Friday, Writing

 

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