moonbird
12-12-2010, 09:44 PM
Cinquain: "Chicadee"
Chickadee
Dainty, cheerful
Twittering, chirping, gliding
Sweet voices like flutes
Chickadee
Haiku: "Ripped"
the butterfly’s wing
ripped by ruthless spider-webs
no more can it fly
Limerick: "Springtime Limerick"
The sunbeams are strings on my fiddle.
I play you an intricate riddle
of sweet little tunes
on gay afternoons
and chord with the chickadee’s whistle.
Quatrain: "Bleeding Innocence"
The blood in her veins is black,
stained by hate and greed.
She carries her guilt on her back
and allows her wounds to bleed.
Lento: "Penalty Kick"
Thick with tension, the air is silent.
Sick to my stomach, what if I miss?
Quick, it’s my chance, I’ve got to try.
“Kick!” the crowd cries, then hushes in a hiss.
Go! I move, both teams hold their breaths.
Toe pointed, arms out, it’s down to the wire.
No mercy, make it good, put the ball in the net.
Aglow in summer sunshine, I take aim, and fire.
Etheree: "Claustrophobia"
The party is crammed with swaying bodies.
They dance, music blasts from the speakers.
Wall to wall, shoulder to shoulder.
The smell of booze and cologne.
Trapped—There’s no escape.
The whole room spins,
Bleeds color,
Fading
Out.
Septolet: "Colors"
Butterfly
radiantly colored
like flowers.
Moth
dull, gray
lacking outward beauty
but such grace.
Monorhyme: "Heartstring Guitar"
For all her life, she’d watched from afar.
Avoiding love, she nursed an old scar.
But once she slipped, left her heart ajar,
Releasing the music of her heartstring guitar,
And as it sang, in drifted a star,
Small and twinkling, it had drifted far,
Following blindly its guiding north star,
And the little star played on her heartstring guitar
A song both sweet and faintly bizarre
That put the notes where words usually are,
And the door to her heart stayed forever ajar,
Playing sweet music on her heartstring guitar.
Tyburn: "Nightmare"
Soundless
Senseless
Heartless
Mindless
Hidden in the Soundless, Senseless dream
I can hear a Heartless, Mindless scream.
Palindrome: "The Violinist"
music without words
melodies swift yet intricate
fingers dancing like ballerinas
falling gracefully
up and down
~riflettere~
down and up
gracefully falling
ballerinas like dancing fingers
intricate yet swift melodies
words without music
Tongue Twister: "Wishing Well"
Wishing wells
work wonderfully
for whimsical wishes,
wistful wants,
and wild wonders.
Whatever wishes
whoever wishes,
weak or withered,
weird or wacky,
witty or wise,
whatever wanton wretched wishes
whoever wishes,
wishing wells
withdraw wary woes
with wonderful wishing well
wisdom.
Concrete: "Footprints"
Follow
my trails
on sandy beaches, proof
of where I’ve been, what I’ve done; like
tattoos in the earth, eternal reminders of my past,
repeating in constant rhythm, step after step;
stable patterns, unfaltering, they stop
for no one, not even for
me.
Elegy: "The Last Individual"
She will be missed,
that steady flame of
independence
in a gray world
of repetition
and uniformity.
She was a trendsetter
among ventriloquist
dummies,
the first one at a party
to start dancing,
a spark
of vibrant color
lighting up the dark.
But she could not last,
for a single flame,
however bright,
cannot stay lit
amid a vast ocean.
They surrounded her,
smothered her
with silence,
and her light dimmed
flickered, and died
and
tedium resumed.
Ode: "An Ode to Nerds"
Today, we are
nerds
geeks
dorks
dweebs
techies
losers.
Today, we
hide
at the back table,
reading quietly
or clicking away on
calculators.
Today, they laugh
at our
glasses
braces
acne
everything
all our insecurities
taunting us
smothering us
until we can’t even
think.
Tomorrow, we will be
archeologists
writers
college professors
engineers
lawyers
doctors—
Yeah, just imagine
the kid you made fun of
in high school
performing
life-saving surgery
on you.
Tomorrow, we’ll be
leaders
trend-setters
discoverers
and maybe
even
your boss.
Tomorrow
comes sooner
than you might
think.
Ballad: "The Astronomer Is Born"
It was after midnight, and the raven-wing sky
Was cloudless and moonless, like pure black dye
And the countless pinpricks of twinkling stars
Stood out like myriad sparks in the dark.
The night beckoned me from my tangled sheets,
And I walked outside to the desolate streets.
The stars burned brighter than a billion tiny candles
Like glittering dust from wings of angels
It was at that moment, frozen in time,
When the bells in my heart began to chime
And I realized then that I could gaze
Up at the stars for the rest of my days.
I Am From: "I Am From Watering Cans"
I am from watering cans,
from dog beds and molasses.
I am from the old, blue-gray farmhouse
that felt so cozy on bitter winter days.
I am from the morning glories
the dawn redwood
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I’m from music and photographs,
from parents, grandparents, and a jumble of cousins.
I’m from picking blackberries, from fragrant black mulch
and cushaw pie.
I’m from Pooh Bear and Veggie Tales
and All the Pretty Little Horses.
I’m from birthday cakes.
I’m from Riverside Hospital and Slavic Europe,
pierogi and kielbasa,
from the “one-legged horse” my dad rode to school,
the boat my grandfather rode to America.
Stored carefully in my mind and in my heart
are pictures, memories of the past,
never forgotten, cherished for a lifetime,
and then passed on.
Sonnet: "Soprano Sorrow"
She cries at night beneath a haunted moon.
Her tears spill down her face in rivers two.
A nightingale cries out a haunting tune.
Soprano Sorrow paints the stars with blue.
Her long, light hair moves softly in the breeze,
A breeze that carries sad songs angels sing.
A rustling whispers faintly from the trees.
The nightingale who cries outside takes wing.
She watches as her sweet bird flies away.
It fades into the yellow morning light.
She’s all alone but she smiles anyway,
For soon daylight becomes the dark of night,
And when the moonbeams shine out bright and strong,
She’ll once more hear Soprano Sorrow’s song.
Chickadee
Dainty, cheerful
Twittering, chirping, gliding
Sweet voices like flutes
Chickadee
Haiku: "Ripped"
the butterfly’s wing
ripped by ruthless spider-webs
no more can it fly
Limerick: "Springtime Limerick"
The sunbeams are strings on my fiddle.
I play you an intricate riddle
of sweet little tunes
on gay afternoons
and chord with the chickadee’s whistle.
Quatrain: "Bleeding Innocence"
The blood in her veins is black,
stained by hate and greed.
She carries her guilt on her back
and allows her wounds to bleed.
Lento: "Penalty Kick"
Thick with tension, the air is silent.
Sick to my stomach, what if I miss?
Quick, it’s my chance, I’ve got to try.
“Kick!” the crowd cries, then hushes in a hiss.
Go! I move, both teams hold their breaths.
Toe pointed, arms out, it’s down to the wire.
No mercy, make it good, put the ball in the net.
Aglow in summer sunshine, I take aim, and fire.
Etheree: "Claustrophobia"
The party is crammed with swaying bodies.
They dance, music blasts from the speakers.
Wall to wall, shoulder to shoulder.
The smell of booze and cologne.
Trapped—There’s no escape.
The whole room spins,
Bleeds color,
Fading
Out.
Septolet: "Colors"
Butterfly
radiantly colored
like flowers.
Moth
dull, gray
lacking outward beauty
but such grace.
Monorhyme: "Heartstring Guitar"
For all her life, she’d watched from afar.
Avoiding love, she nursed an old scar.
But once she slipped, left her heart ajar,
Releasing the music of her heartstring guitar,
And as it sang, in drifted a star,
Small and twinkling, it had drifted far,
Following blindly its guiding north star,
And the little star played on her heartstring guitar
A song both sweet and faintly bizarre
That put the notes where words usually are,
And the door to her heart stayed forever ajar,
Playing sweet music on her heartstring guitar.
Tyburn: "Nightmare"
Soundless
Senseless
Heartless
Mindless
Hidden in the Soundless, Senseless dream
I can hear a Heartless, Mindless scream.
Palindrome: "The Violinist"
music without words
melodies swift yet intricate
fingers dancing like ballerinas
falling gracefully
up and down
~riflettere~
down and up
gracefully falling
ballerinas like dancing fingers
intricate yet swift melodies
words without music
Tongue Twister: "Wishing Well"
Wishing wells
work wonderfully
for whimsical wishes,
wistful wants,
and wild wonders.
Whatever wishes
whoever wishes,
weak or withered,
weird or wacky,
witty or wise,
whatever wanton wretched wishes
whoever wishes,
wishing wells
withdraw wary woes
with wonderful wishing well
wisdom.
Concrete: "Footprints"
Follow
my trails
on sandy beaches, proof
of where I’ve been, what I’ve done; like
tattoos in the earth, eternal reminders of my past,
repeating in constant rhythm, step after step;
stable patterns, unfaltering, they stop
for no one, not even for
me.
Elegy: "The Last Individual"
She will be missed,
that steady flame of
independence
in a gray world
of repetition
and uniformity.
She was a trendsetter
among ventriloquist
dummies,
the first one at a party
to start dancing,
a spark
of vibrant color
lighting up the dark.
But she could not last,
for a single flame,
however bright,
cannot stay lit
amid a vast ocean.
They surrounded her,
smothered her
with silence,
and her light dimmed
flickered, and died
and
tedium resumed.
Ode: "An Ode to Nerds"
Today, we are
nerds
geeks
dorks
dweebs
techies
losers.
Today, we
hide
at the back table,
reading quietly
or clicking away on
calculators.
Today, they laugh
at our
glasses
braces
acne
everything
all our insecurities
taunting us
smothering us
until we can’t even
think.
Tomorrow, we will be
archeologists
writers
college professors
engineers
lawyers
doctors—
Yeah, just imagine
the kid you made fun of
in high school
performing
life-saving surgery
on you.
Tomorrow, we’ll be
leaders
trend-setters
discoverers
and maybe
even
your boss.
Tomorrow
comes sooner
than you might
think.
Ballad: "The Astronomer Is Born"
It was after midnight, and the raven-wing sky
Was cloudless and moonless, like pure black dye
And the countless pinpricks of twinkling stars
Stood out like myriad sparks in the dark.
The night beckoned me from my tangled sheets,
And I walked outside to the desolate streets.
The stars burned brighter than a billion tiny candles
Like glittering dust from wings of angels
It was at that moment, frozen in time,
When the bells in my heart began to chime
And I realized then that I could gaze
Up at the stars for the rest of my days.
I Am From: "I Am From Watering Cans"
I am from watering cans,
from dog beds and molasses.
I am from the old, blue-gray farmhouse
that felt so cozy on bitter winter days.
I am from the morning glories
the dawn redwood
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I’m from music and photographs,
from parents, grandparents, and a jumble of cousins.
I’m from picking blackberries, from fragrant black mulch
and cushaw pie.
I’m from Pooh Bear and Veggie Tales
and All the Pretty Little Horses.
I’m from birthday cakes.
I’m from Riverside Hospital and Slavic Europe,
pierogi and kielbasa,
from the “one-legged horse” my dad rode to school,
the boat my grandfather rode to America.
Stored carefully in my mind and in my heart
are pictures, memories of the past,
never forgotten, cherished for a lifetime,
and then passed on.
Sonnet: "Soprano Sorrow"
She cries at night beneath a haunted moon.
Her tears spill down her face in rivers two.
A nightingale cries out a haunting tune.
Soprano Sorrow paints the stars with blue.
Her long, light hair moves softly in the breeze,
A breeze that carries sad songs angels sing.
A rustling whispers faintly from the trees.
The nightingale who cries outside takes wing.
She watches as her sweet bird flies away.
It fades into the yellow morning light.
She’s all alone but she smiles anyway,
For soon daylight becomes the dark of night,
And when the moonbeams shine out bright and strong,
She’ll once more hear Soprano Sorrow’s song.