Two Word Tales: #5

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Two words

‘At Rest’

They said

It all

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Two Word Tales: #4

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Two words

‘Good Bye’

Were all

It took

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Two Word Tales: #3

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Two words

‘With Love’

I lived

That gift

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Two Word Tales: #2

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Two words

‘I Do’

Brought love

To me

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Two Word Tales: #1

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Two words

‘Get lost’

They hurt

I cried

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Throughout this week, I shall publish each day one of a series of short verses which, together, by the end of the week, will have told a story. 

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Birth Of A Poem

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Pen & Wash  … WHB 2019

Birth Of A Poem

This poem
and its ill-connected words
do not
yet exist

These lines
part-formed and immature
struggle for release
from their birth pangs
strain to express themselves
in meaning
to say what they want to say

Seeking existence
from the seed of an idea
knowing what is needed
but fighting for form and feature
longing to tell its tale and sing
to live
to feel
to be vibrant
cool and yet tense

Always promising more than it can give
allowing its feelings to weep
its thoughts to shudder and provoke
to breathe a bitter breath
to both calm and to excite

Above all
striving to be worthy
in love with what it hears
bringing meaning to an idea
and from its birth
to bring into the world
an infant ode
wanting
hoping
demanding to grow into
a thing of understanding and beauty

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Weaving Words

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Weaving Words

. . . A Poet’s Calling

I wander my world 
weaving words into verse
plaiting my thoughts 
into silken skeins of sense
rendering images
from my mind’s eye
to this digital paper
perverse perception
lending life to poetry
lust to hope 
and love to mon amour
the written word.

 
Only in time
with wish fulfilment
perchance my dreams
will meet my expectations 
and produce that meisterwerk
whose impetus
drives me on.

 

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Cryptic Verses

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CRYPTIC  VERSES

 

We met via a cryptic crossword
Ensnared by a neat cryptic clue
I gave her a smile as a greeting
Followed up by a “How do you do?”

She was young, twenty-three-ish, and pretty,
Presentable, pert and petite.
She rang my Big Ben with a ding-dong
And my heart skipped a jubilant beat.

She was sitting there doing a crossword,
It looked like the one in ‘The Times’.
While I was just taking a breather,
Thinking up verses and rhymes.

Then ‘Wave cereal bowl’ she murmured,
As she looked, without seeing, at me.
Now this, I thought, I could work at.
I gave thanks to the powers that be.

An eight letter answer was needed,
So I set my old brain cells ticking
I knew if I thought hard I’d find it
The clue just needed unpicking.

For ‘cereal’ – think ‘grain’ or think ‘bran’,
And for ‘bowl’ then how about ‘dish’?
But to fit them together I thought,
Would be more than I ever could wish.

But it soon became clear to me
When looking again at the clue,
That what I was looking for now,
A word which meant ‘wave’, that would do.

A light then switched on in my mind
I knew I had twigged it at last
‘BRANDISH’ I yelled with great glee
Assuming she’d leap up and gasp.

But “Calm down!” she abruptly called out
“I ‘d just worked that out for myself.
I don’t need your help you spoilsport.
Go pickle your brains by yourself.”

Disgruntled, I stood up and left,
Yet another faux pas I had made.
One more chance for romance I had blown,
So it’s back to my verse I’m afraid.

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‘CRYPTIC CLUE:  Wave cereal bowl’;   ANSWER:  Bran-dish’

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Vicissitude

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A word arose from out of nowhere
‘Vicissitude’ it said to me;
Wrenched from somewhere deep inside, 
It felt as though it had to be. 

Long, not easy to pronounce, 
Its meaning vague, irrelevant. 
Just a word, devoid of meaning, 
Neither neat nor elegant.

But full of promise, of expectation, 
Why it appeared I could not say;
Rolled off the tongue with but a murmur;
Perhaps a poem was on its way.

When I researched and felt its import,
Then it was I realised
That words jump out and take a hold;
They do not live to be despised.

They have a life that’s all their own;
They have an ache to be pronounced, 
To demonstrate their unique depth
To live, to love, to be announced.

‘Vicissitude’ is but one word
That truly lives when it is said.
There is a joy in every word –
Heard, used, spoken, or just read.

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LANDAY … A Poet’s Legacy

The Landay is a traditional Afghan poetic form consisting of a single couplet. There are nine syllables in the first line, and thirteen syllables in the second. These short poems typically address themes of love, grief, contemplation, homeland, war, and separation.  Wikipedia

The couplet may rhyme, although this is not a requirement.

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And when, at last, I come to the end,

Will those who remain be enriched by the words I’ve penned?


 

WHB.  July 2019 … ©

 

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