POETRY

First and foremost choose a song that is bright,
Let your rhyme be scented like a brook in the spring,
When mountains glow, when courtyards sing,
When the strains of fountains sob at night.
Let your lines be of the wavering rose.
Let your each syllable sweetly disclose
A petal dew-kissed, of that morning flower,
Married with vines, on wall of stone.
Let your stanzas speak of that sacred hour
When you walk with your lover, in the scented shade,
Kissing with your eyes alone,
By glistening statues, on a marble promenade.

John Lars Zwerenz

Do you want members as in someone to co-host, or just people posting poems? I'm in regardless, as I've kind of taken a backseat to poetry to write a children's book. Narrative and telling tales sounds like two diff things though so which is it? Thanks so much (narrative to me, is nonfiction)

i am now standing
at the end of life's curb
sorry
as usual I shall overlook
if my eyes don't me crook
stan
I always stand
by you

Hello

I would like to be included, however since I am in Australia, which has a huge date/time difference, I'm not sure I will be able to attend group sessions.

As I write this it is Thursday 15th April 10:31 a.m.

Sharonlee Imageweaver

Stan,

sure...sign me up and I will give it my best shot!

*hugs, Cat

May I join?

stan, may I join? I love narrative poetry and was just listenning to Lucy Grey by William Wordsworth, recited by some gentleman I don't know. I loved this poem when I was a child, it's terribly sad, same as so many stories and poems in my day.
It can be heard on UTube.
Best wishes, Gracy

Can I join Stan?

so it starts today...what time of the clock? how is it going to work? do we all enter the chat room for this? i'll keep checking back to this posting for information. thanx, Cat

I have recently (during periods of lockdown) been exploring a list of 101 poetic forms... one of the simpler forms in the list was the Nonet -
- 9 line poems with a set format of 9 lines with first line having 9 syllables followed by second line 8 syllables, third line 7 syllables until you get to the final line which has one syllable.

Here is the Nonet I attempted for the exercise

Moon Maid

so graceful floats the ivory moon
delicate on velvet skyscape
silent watcher of our lives
she is stardust she is earth
older then times birth
her face shines bright
pure sweet light
throughout
night

Sharonlee Imageweaver

I agree, acrostic are not normally associated with the flow and story telling ability of narrative, however it can be achieved with "brain strain"

I have on occasions used a short quote or song title to great a protracted type of acrostic or "sentence acrostic" and this type has potential to be narrative, although requires a great deal of thought.

following along. but I can't think of much...how about a senru? it is Japanese, I think. but instead o being nature based, it is about a feeling.(as opposed a haiku)

*hugs, Cat

senru example:

sweet kisses linger
long after passions embrace
drifting on the night

(in the tradition of three lines of 5-7-5 syllables)

after the set-up, I think it needs a "body".

*aways, Cat

I think of the introduction as being the "appetizer" and the body as being the meat and potatoes of the story.

thanx, Cat

PARADISE

We wandered in the sand by the sloping, frothy ocean,
Pondering on naught but freedom and devotion,
In the afternoon sun which resembled ancient Greece,
Exalted beyond all comparison.
Apollo has been amassed by The Holy Church,
And among the glistening, ivory colonnade,
The scented winds release
A serenading perfume upon the willows and the birch,
Where the dappled shadows fade,
Possessing ambers, china blues and jade.
We walked still further to behold Doric columns which stood
Among squares of terra cotta statues and the boundless wood,
And we kissed amid the daisies, fragrant with the spring.
We heard the triumphant voices of many angels sing,
As you capriciously took my masculine hand,
And led me to the fields which play beneath the cloudless sky.
A breeze scattered gold upon the lakes of the land,
As we kissed once more, and fell into a sigh.
Then the night ascended with its marigold reeds,
And we wandered further into the moonlight,
Barefoot upon the dew of the bright, eternal meads.
There radiant winds carried you're perfume,
As we roved among the colonnades of white,
In harmony with every bloom,
We beheld the spirit of Iris,
And tasted her rainbows beneath the boughs of a marvelous cypress.
Tan, infinity more glorious than the myths of Zeus,
Christ appeared as a soothing boon.
In that splendid, astonishing, Ossianic moon
He blessed our love, and leaving your tresses loose,
A summery zephyr parted your mane.
We wandered nude on the beach in the silver rain,
Beside the massive, swelling, azure blue brine.
We sipped each delicious, intoxicating wine
Which flowed mellifluously from the streams,
Through the glistening, starry, amber sands.
Then tall, ornate Corinthian towers,
Situated among the spacious bowers,
Redolently crafted by God's unspeakable hands,
And gilded with ineffable wreaths of art,
Led our minds to dreams
Of a troubadour's song.
How we loved in those gardens with all our heart!
Then we fell into a symphony, languorous and long,
Of ecstatic beatitude, of a pearl-bedecked beauty,
Which illuminated every orb fantastically,
Until diamonds rose from the rapturous ocean,
To scarlet skies where the blossoming dawn
Fed us every scarlet potion.
And as we lay upon the emerald lawn,
In the great, green garden, in that wondrous dawn
Which arrived yellowish and gold and ivory white,
With the sun behind it - to the sun's delight.
You're lips became as wine, delicious to behold,
As they inhaled the stars and the sunlight's gold,
Our passion rose like a furious fire,
In that good, majestic, mighty and bold
Sun of the morning's bright desire.
And you're sunlit, sable, liquid eyes
Gazed up at the blue, paradisal skies,
Overwhelmed with gratitude, ecstasy and bliss,
As a sanctified breeze swayed the sighing cypress.
We beheld The Blessed Trinity and fell into the Father's kiss.
And our spirits ascended above the wide palms,
Of the wavering, emerald tree,
To the golden realm of David's psalms,
To the wedding feast above the sea.
And we passed through veils,
Brighter than all suns, in a radiant, blue glory,
Where the Holy Virgin hails
Her Omnipotent Son, with regal praises of an alabaster sanctity.
And at the height of heaven The Father took our hands,
As His Son bound us in eternal bands,
And His Spirit roved around us gleefully,
Pouring me into you,
And you into me.
Now we behold our mansion by the gleaming yew.
O, my lover, come with me!
Let us drink from the carafe this Kingdom's wine,
In the ballroom, in the study,
In the courtyard strewn with the carmine rose,
In the cloister with its glittering vine.
And when your dusky eyes shall close,
In that tower which overlooks the shore,
In the sacred night
I shall kiss you evermore,
There where you lie
In our chamber where the light
Shall nevermore die.
Come, my love, my lover, my dearest friend -
Our happiness is our perpetual end,
The infinite our delight!

JOHN LARS ZWERENZ

I still have a Senryu to add;

Scent of magnolias
in a russet tiled patio
revives memory.

I made small changes in the first and last line, Gracy

... in the writing of narratives... singular objects such as rocking chair, Tree, Rose, Moon might make narrative seem merely descriptive rather than storytelling, although these could be components of a narrative.

Sharonlee

where is every one?

I found a poem and I'm just itchin' to get the go ahead to post it, lol.

*hugs, Cat

I've thought of several poems, especially children's. Can I post poetry that I liked as a kid?

Of one of my shorter poems which I believe falls into the narrative format. Although normally I write longer fantasy narrative- poems I thought this one more suitable at the moment.

"Above Tree’s in Silhouette"

Hope everyone is having a great week.

the title of a narrative poem: "A Day In The Life Of..."

always. Cat

Here goes another hint: "Drama of a Journey through..."

Rest well Scribbler

I can hardly wait to see what the first pair comes up with! good luck to you two, Mark and Gracy!

*always, Cat

is "Secret Humor". A narrative I wrote myself. Is that okay?

flying free and brave
such inspiration on the breeze
lifting up my soul to save

*always, Cat

It’s real interesting. My limited experience had me thinking that narrative poetry was necessarily long, and full of images and story. Like Chaucer. Like Poe. Like Whitman.

Perhaps I missed it, however when is the group conviening as a group, or is it otheewise? Post as needed, on any given date?

Getting an education here, thanks to all.

Think mining, finding, and running water

I've just woken up on my side of the world... looks I have some interesting posts to read through with my morning coffee!

 "A Day In The Life Of..."

Dappled sun or thunderous rain a day is a day all the same
when one is an old park bench, or is it....
The widow sought a place of peace away from
suburban noise which never ceased
The jilted bride came to cry and old park bench wondered why;

*
I felt so inspired that I wanted to finish it!

Sharonlee Imageweaver

Hi all, I've just dropped in and find it all a bit confusing. Who's title do we work on? Not sure that I can rhyme it properly. Sorry. The trouble is that it's become such a long thread. Just me, hope I can participate later.
Will return, Gracy

Rubies in the Brook. See how I can add to it. Bye for now!

Scribbler, do you assign someone to do it? Does the group add, or only the assigned poet?

This is stimulating.

My narrative poetry is llooonnngggg. At some point, I would like to post a piece, however will wait until the proper time as designated by our Professor! Laughing...

Non narrative poems
Free Verse although there is an overlap now in whilst non metred some are telling a story.
Poems that take only part of a story which tends to lyric in nature such as Sonnet, Ode, Nature poems, Poems written for occasions such as inaugural poems, poems that concentrate on emotion.
Narrative poems are akin to the novel they
have an introduction a body and a summation, they have a climax.
I might be too late for a title but here is one in case

How Life Changes

maybe it is the covid shot I got (actually, the second one) yesterday, but once again I am confused. Geezer has already written a poem under the title; "The Path I Took"? (but don't write the final stanza) am I to write my piece under that? sorry to be such a problem child, but I want to get this right.

always, Cat

deleted

SECRET HUMOR

the set up:
I went to watch a stand up comedian
practicing his ancient art
(as far as talent he was just medium)
But I sat awaiting him to start

the body:
I watched in silence waiting for him to get ready,
I spied that from a bottle wrapped in a bag
he took a drink, his feet less steady.
I could smell his breath, from my seat
it smelled so vile like...
dirty feet!
someone in the first row shouted;
"hey man, why don't you take a bath"?
then the whole crowd arose together
they bellowed mirth, with gusto laughed.

Let not the colours bleed nor smear
Across the charcoaled path laid there
For tranquil peace I hold so dear
Between the leveled shades of care
What lays beneath the ruby hill
I dream, I know, I travel still.
Sam

Just follow the assignments, yes?

Seems to me that everyone is rhyming their assignments. Is this a part of the assignments?

That’s likely to be a problem for me..... maybe I should just it’ll be a challenge for me to rhyme...

title was "A Day In The Life Of" ? I'll start it tonight. ~ Gee.
.

Although it take me of sifting through comments to find it...

Just to verify- when I post main body do I include first in the post... and is main body ONE 4 to 6 line stanza long?

Thank you

Sharonlee

A Day In The Life Of...

A day in the life of my shadow
Six am and it's still kind of dark
Stiffness makes it harder to go
But I've got business down at the park

Shadow watches me drink my coffee
I get dressed with the oxygen on
My shade sits back laughing at me
Thinks putting my shoes on is fun

I get to the park just in time
My friends all gathering there
The dogs are all in a line
I've come to brush all their hair
~Geez.
.

The Path I Took

The path I took was scarcely there
I wandered wide and rambled
I thought I was lost, gave me a scare
I fought through briars and brambles

The day was shadowed by thickening cloud
Tree limbs reached like bony arms
I lost all visibility when a fog fell like a shroud
Suddenly the path I took had lost it's woodsy charm

The rutted path led on and on
My feet grew weary from the scramble
No turning back, the homeward track
Now enclosed with briars and brambles

I didn't find an instruction from you stating length of body, which is why I asked regarding length in my previous comment.
I guess I was too keen to get on with it and didn't wait for a reply regarding length.

Will edit shortly I have just woken up.

Sharonlee

I added another stanza, which I posted above... let me know if you'd prefer more...

Dropping in to say Hi. I have trouble following you all, besides, I hurt one of my fingers and have trouble typing...lol.
I can join in if the stanzas have 4 lines.
Best wishes to all

I am going bush today, and might not always have access to internet...I have a window of opportunity to spend the weekend with my grandchildren and couldn't say no.
Will try to check in using my phone.

Sharonlee

Get better, stan. And have a great day out in the bush, Sharonlee. My finger is a little better.

In the meantime, i wanted to comment on some “renound”” poets I had a chance to observe critiquing last night. I’m thinking that most of these folks are college-level professors, i referenced and researched a few of them, and indeed that was the case.

IMHO it was almost scary the level that the critiquers carried their comments to. Seems that some of them took apart poems that I actually thought were really good... the poems were posted up on the Zoom platform for everyone to read, whist the critiquer was doing the critique. The inspected poetry was many times free verse, several had spacing for emphasis, and the subjects varied a great deal. None of my work was reviewed, I entered the workshop to late to submit.

politely made suggestions were the rule, and respect was given to the reviewer.

There is much food for thought here for me. Not having earned a degree in Creative Writing, this process.was fascinating to watch.

I hope that all are feeling better today. feeling bad on a weekend isn't nice.

*hugs, Cat

Hi stan, glad you're better! You gave me a scare...lol. Don't I have to post a whole poem now, as you've just done?

Love's Secret
by: William Blake

Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind doth move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fear
Ah! She did depart!

Soon after she was gone from me,
A traveler came by,
Silently, invisibly:
He took her with a sigh.

*(is this a play on words? sigh/scythe?)
*
my contribution to the assignment
Cat

the importance of imagery: it helps paint a picture and adds texture to the story. as well as making the story interesting.
-

Hope everyone is well...

At this point in the workshop I don't know what is required of me... I wrote Body for "Path I Took" and added extra length as suggested and now don't know what I am supposed to do.

Sharonlee

Title "A Day In The Life Of..."

(First Stanza)

Dappled sun or thunderous rain a day is a day all the same
when one is an old park bench, or is it....
The widow sought a place of peace away from
suburban noise which never ceased
A young child often sat to cry and old park bench wondered why;

(Body)

A day is a day all the same, in sun, snow or stinging rain
and yet each day offered something, so the bench soon learned
as time flowed and the seasons turned...
A young fellow visited often, an awkward seeming lad
he always spoke the same words written on a pad
until he had them committed to both mind and heart;

Then one day the young fellow brought a friend
a fragile lass who giggled as they danced on the grass
he sat her down upon the bench and asked her to marry him
the young lass squealed with a joyousness that made the birds sing;
They visited often, the two of them, and then they brought a child
before too long, more children, all playing wild... but...

*
Personal Note - I don't feel that this is my best attempt, a family emergency this weekend has escalated to wrenching proportions, my head is scattered and my heart is shattering but I need to hold myself together for everyone's sake.

Sharonlee Imageweaver

(scribbler's:)

the set up:

I went to watch a stand up comedian
practicing his ancient art
(as far as talent he was just medium)
But I sat awaiting him to start

the body:
I watched in silence waiting for him to get ready,
I spied that from a bottle wrapped in a bag
he took a drink, his feet less steady.
I could smell his breath, from my seat
it smelled so vile like...
dirty feet!
someone in the first row shouted;
"hey man, why don't you take a bath"?
then the whole crowd arose together
they bellowed mirth, with gusto laughed.

the conclusion by Candlewitch:

two *handlers took the stage
each grasping under an arm
they lifted him off the platform
and we heard the ambulance's alarm.

medics loaded him into the van
and to the hospital, got him away,
faces in the crowed sobered, changed from glee
to sympathy and found humanity that very day!

-

Imagery is about using the senses to bring a poem alive, its also there to include the reader within the poems structure, it helps the reader experience what the narrator is feeling, hearing, seeing. etc

Rubies in the Brook

Let not the colours bleed nor smear
Across the charcoaled path laid there
For tranquil peace I hold so dear
Between the leveled shades of care
What lays beneath the ruby hill
I dream, I know, I travel still.

Your shadow brushes over me
Full-stretch, you’re taller than the tree,
You fold your neck in a question mark,
Old man, hunched against the bark,
What lays beneath the ruby hill
I dream, I follow, I travel, still.

You point the way and then you fly,
My sign to leave. Pterodactyl in the sky,
I move to track the charcoaled path
The autumn sun a ruby lathe
What lays beneath the ruby hill
I dream, I follow, I travel, still.

Hi Scrib! Chiming in very late here, sorry! Trying to catch up with the workshop posts to stay abreast of where we are at.

Best

a beautiful poem to enhance the title! lovely layout and imagery. this really involves the reader. excellent wording and execution!

*smiles, Cat
-

Well, either I screwed the pooch on this one, or Candlewitch went ahead and did the whole thing. I’m confused, I guess.

I like Candlewitch’s version a lot, just read it after posting this my very own version. In re-reading the instructions , I see that I was only supposed to provide the body, not the conclusion.

Well, anyway, there’s a different version below, and we can use both versions to discuss narritave? Mine has a turn in the ending... hmm... no big deal.

Help, Scribbler...

SECRET HUMOR
the set up:
I went to watch a stand up comedian
practicing his ancient art
(as far as talent he was just medium)
But I sat awaiting him to start

the body:
I watched in silence waiting for him to get ready,
I spied that from a bottle wrapped in a bag
he took a drink, his feet less steady.
I could smell his breath, from my seat
it smelled so vile like...
dirty feet!

someone in the first row shouted;
"hey man, why don't you take a bath"?
then the whole crowd arose together
they bellowed mirth, with gusto laughed.

The ending
The comedian sat down in the provided stage chair
Took another swig from that bottle
Selecting a first row heckler, began to stare
And said: “You sir, I will not coddle.”

Departing the stage, he walked up to the guy
And pointing to the guy’s chest
When the heckler looked down with a sigh
The comedian brought his finger up hitting his nose’s crest.

The whole room had watched,
and began to loudly laugh at the ruse
“At least I didn’t point to your crotch,
You’d really be singing the blues.”

Hi samary and Ray, those are really good poems. I don't think I can match your excellence.
Just dropped in to see whether there's some new assignment.

Still I Rise
Maya Angelou, 1928

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise

.
.

Rubies in the Brook

Let not the colours bleed nor smear
Across the charcoaled path laid there
For tranquil peace I hold so dear
Between the leveled shades of care
What lays beneath the ruby hill
I dream, I know, I travel still.

Your shadow brushes over me
Full-stretch, you’re taller than the tree,
You fold your neck in a question mark,
Old man, hunched against the bark,
What lays beneath the ruby hill
I dream, I follow, I travel, still.

You point the way and then you fly,
My sign to leave. Pterodactyl in the sky,
I move to track the charcoaled path
The autumn sun a ruby lathe
What lays beneath the ruby hill
I dream, I follow, I travel, still.

In dreaming, there is no pain
In following, that comes from judgement’s day
In traveling, searching for what, sometimes in vain
It’s that in doing of those, going to to safe harbor’s bay
Finally, hearing the brook running amongst all the noise
At the bottom of the brook lies a great big ruby, amongst all the noise.

The Death of the Hat

Once every man wore a hat.
In the ashen newsreels,
the avenues of cities
are broad rivers flowing with hats.
The ballparks swelled
with thousands of strawhats,
brims and bands,
rows of men smoking
and cheering in shirtsleeves.
Hats were the law.
They went without saying.
You noticed a man without a hat in a crowd.
You bought them from Adams or Dobbs
who branded your initials in gold
on the inside band.

Trolleys crisscrossed the city.
Steamships sailed in and out of the harbor.
Men with hats gathered on the docks.
There was a person to block your hat
and a hatcheck girl to mind it
while you had a drink
or ate a steak with peas and a baked potato.

In your office stood a hat rack.
The day war was declared
everyone in the street was wearing a hat.
And they were wearing hats
when a ship loaded with men sank in the icy sea.
My father wore one to work every day
and returned home
carrying the evening paper,
the winter chill radiating from his overcoat.
But today we go bareheaded
into the winter streets,
stand hatless on frozen platforms.

Today the mailboxes on the roadside
and the spruce trees behind the house
wear cold white hats of snow.
Mice scurry from the stone walls at night
in their thin fur hats
to eat the birdseed that has spilled.
And now my father, after a life of work,
wears a hat of earth,
and on top of that,
a lighter one of cloud and sky
--a hat of wind.
Billy Collins

Title "A Day In The Life Of..."

(First Stanza)

Dappled sun or thunderous rain a day is a day all the same
when one is an old park bench, or is it....
The widow sought a place of peace away from
suburban noise which never ceased
A young child often sat to cry and old park bench wondered why;

(Body)

A day is a day all the same, in sun, snow or stinging rain
and yet each day offered something, so the bench soon learned
as time flowed and the seasons turned...
A young fellow visited often, an awkward seeming lad
he always spoke the same words written on a pad
until he had them committed to both mind and heart;

Then one day the young fellow brought a friend
a fragile lass who giggled as they danced on the grass
he sat her down upon the bench and asked her to marry him
the young lass squealed with a joyousness that made the birds sing;
They visited often, the two of them, and then they brought a child
before too long, more children, all playing wild... but...

conclusion: by Candlewitch

Time moves all too quickly, as the seasons blur before our eyes.
Many a Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter swirl beneath our feet...
Children grow up and leave the homey nest, for far off places to go.
Leaving parents behind, alone with memories sweet, and hearts aglow.
They watch their off-spring pair off in marriage, and celebrate with zest.
Knowing that in formative years, they gave it all their best. And so the book closes,
with grandchildren on the way. And the sun sets on this joyous day!

-

I went to watch a stand up comedian
Practice his ancient art
[as far as talent went, he was medium]
But I sat waiting for him to start

I watched him getting ready
And from a bottle wrapped in bag
He took a swig and his feet less steady
Wiped his brow with a dirty rag

Someone in the first row shouted
"Hey man, you need a bath"
The whole crowd grinned together
And the one who spoke, he got a laugh

The comic sat, in the stage provided chair
Took another swig from the bottle
At a first row heckler, he began to stare
And said: "You sir, I will not coddle"

He left the stage, went to the guy
And finger-pointed to his chest
The man looked down, and gave a sigh
The comic flicked his nose's crest

The whole room had watched
They laughed loudly at the ruse
"At least I didn't point to your crotch
Or you'd be singing blues"

The room just fairly erupted
They laughed loud and long
The comic was a hit
And he sang a dirty song

"Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down and broke his wick
And Jill didn't get what she oughter"
.
.

Hi everybody, I notice that all the best poets are participating here. I admire all the poems very much. Still, these hardly need work shopping. Strange how others have not come.
I need to learn, but my own narrative poetry is not with rhymes. Anyway, I've been working on a book that I hope will get published. I've only had two chapbooks published so far, not much...lol.
Uploaded this one at https://olympiapublishers.com/ Together with a brief autobiography. Whew...it's so tiring getting it all right with a computer full of glitches and my Fibromyalgia. But it's done.
I hope some of the other poets come. Stan, can I post some of my poems even though they don't rhyme?

(I don't know about this one Teach! Mining some memories from my teens, pimples and all)

I can’t see their destination
the paths I could have chosen
I only imagine they may have been easier
than the ones I walked

Once there seemed so many,
my shoes worn from the gravel
scattered about the unfinished journeys
Or maybe they were finished;
I’ve always been a little slow on the draw

You and me, she and I, me and you
Their faces blurred now, like mine to them,
no doubt. We were our worlds once
Even so, we somehow moved on
with a “fuck off” or a “I’m seeing someone now”

I’m sorry we couldn’t find
just a little more stillness
in those days of punk rock,
Sex Pistols, and leather

My title and poem...

"Above Tree’s in Silhouette"

The full moon rose over suburban streets
faint traces of daylight slowly draining
from a shadowed sky…
… bats swooped above tree silhouettes
darker shades against the night…
A perfect time to walk in fading light;
Branches echoed with a babbled chorus
as parrots squabbled for tree-space
and one by one lights shone
from regimented rows of houses…

There was a measure of stillness
as night took over from day
autumn kissed my aging cheeks
chill lips against my skin
as a muted sense of calmness
permeated the quiet streets
somewhere a dog barked
and the last echoes of children playing
fell to silence…

As I ambled through the twi-lit streets
my youngest son, at 30, slowed his pace to match his mum’s...
… yes, the same mum who had hurried his little feet to school-
- stopped to tie his scuffed shoes… held his small hand in hers
and smiled… come on son, we’ll be late…
… as if sensing my poignant thoughts my man-child
smiled at me, nice night, was all he said.

How things change, as the years change
pace slows and thoughts take on reflective layers
each passing month… each year that slips by
offers insights new and rewarding
as a full moon rose over suburban streets
faint traces of daylight slowly drained
from a shadowed sky and I realized
perhaps the truest test of time
is to find such peace
where ever one resides.

Sharonlee Imageweaver

Pressing estate issues have me otherwise occupied.

This pheasant
lives in a cage of words,
black sticks bent just so, floating
in imagination’s thicket.

When he calls - chack chack,
a woodland copse, tree trunks
packed close, appear in my room,
the darkly silvered stems like shadows.

As I watch new buds and blossom
unfurl, on boughs reaching to the sun,
above the dark chaos beneath,
I smell petrichor, I smell musk.

I know that the night will be cold,
that frost will grab the delicate buds
and wither shoots and petals,
I feel the cold blanket of the earth.

Chack, Chack, Chaccck, he screams
as the gun rebounds and the bullet
hits his chest, bright plumage broken,
male pride exploded into dust.

I shiver as I pour my feelings
onto the silence of white space
I write to preserve his bright plumage,
immortalise him in my memory.

His resting place a copse in spring
in a land where pheasants strut.

Samantha Beardon.

Seems I can't just yet... due to the One post per day policy.

I hope can find all workshop participants on Stream.

Sharonlee Imageweaver

I'll post asap.

am I lait here or just right on time? I should have been much earlier but was trying to tackle a little issue at hand hopefully it went well thanks to God.

RUBIES IN THE BROOK, a “What If” Poem
- Life is full of possibilities that may not be realities. —Hank Bruce

A tech decided he was
against his bosses
too much Commie...
and not enough ism.
Turned off the freezer in the P4 lab
spoiled the vials
virus’s woke up from a deep, cold slumber
in the Chinese Institute of Virology.

Disposing of the microbes
was supposed to be
done in the hell-fires of protocols...
one SARS-CoV2 vial went home in his pocket.
Leaning over the Crucian Carp
a good luck lunar new year’s fish
in the fish kiosk his boss’s Cousin ran...
Boss was sure to choose from in Wuhan’s wet market.

He dumped the entire vial
added a unknown flavor to the carp
now there’s a smell in the kiosk
then a stink in fish cart.
That tech went home
grinning at what he’d done
yet sickened
and collapsed at work.

One of the Docs saw the light
diagnosed him with virus disease.
The running brook of cases
turned into a swollen creek,
then a raging river of disease.
Cousin fish seller fell behind his cart
only found dead the next day
in the wet mart.

By then so many others were sick
the Central Commitee didn’t know what to do.
Li Wenliang was the doctor
that helped the fallen tech
and lit the signal fires like in the days of old
to his staff at the institute.
The Central Committee censored him
arrested him for making false statements.

Just then he got it, too
the SARS-CoV2, he died like all the rest.
Not like all, Dr Li died twice
his death reported, then retracted
then reported again on a different day.
The public outcry over the lies told
When the Central Committee couldn’t get
the story straight, that concocted dupe.
The question asked by many, what was
the lab doing with that virus anyway?

What had been a small running brook
morphed into a tsunami
washing humanity’s shorelines with waves of crashing illness’s,
no-one listened to Dr Li until too late.
People got on airplanes
flying both hither and yon like they usually do
spreading unwittingly
a seething infirmity.

Wether intentionally or not
the Chinese unleashed
calamity, peril, death
by biological warfare.
On The World
On Humanity
So many people now wearing
their overcoats of earth.

There are no rubies in this brook
no sapphires in this creekbed to be discovered
in flood stage is the now raging river, going to the sea
boats can’t float in a tsunami wave.

There are no rubies in that brook
no garnets or emeralds there either
diamonds lie buried in the river’s onslaught
amethyst covered by tsunami mud.

You can imagine
what happens next
just by turning on
our news of today.

You can only imagine
the what, and how, and who should
be held accountable
by those of us that survive.

I wasn’t sure so did it in the workshop post, and in The Stream.

Thanks for being our coach on this workshop. I’m sure it was some work for ya!

Hi Stan... I enjoyed the workshop and your instructions as well as interacting with everyone who participated...
I found I did have trouble following the thread of input here, however that could be because of my current emotional state. The family member I mentioned briefly, earlier, passed away on the first of May... his week long illness and sudden death has been a huge shock to my family.
I would like to participate in future workshops, depending on the topic.

Thank you for your patient instructions and responses.

Sharonlee Imageweaver

I think that you showed infinite patience with all of us members. when we became confused, you helped straighten us out. you tried your best to make instructions clear. I felt like you were the Shepard and we were the unruly critters who didn't always take direction well. Now...if you could only get the members to critique their fellow members assignments.

p.s
I too am losing a family member. so, I sympathize with Image Weaver.

thanks for all your hard work! Cat
-

Found it interesting and sad to hear that two others here in the workshop are working with their feelings of significant loss, besides me.

My sympathies to you folks. Can’t say that I know exactly how you are feeling, however i believe I can feel you pretty close. I lost my wife six weeks ago, and am walking thru the Valley of Sad.

As far a feedback goes, Scribbler, i thought you fid a fine job all around. Assignments were clear, requested interactions were inclusive, and critique was (IMHO) interesting/appropriate.

Having written that, I will say that there wasn’t much comment/critique on my final assignment.

I also wonder if there is a way to divide the posts into a daily set, rather than it being one super-long string? Just an idea.

Thanks again for your patience with all of us.

I, too, am very sorry for your loss. hang in there.

*hugs, Cat

I appreciate your words

Sorry I have been absent... I was supposed to have cataract surgery yesterday however it was cancelled because I have a bladder infection and temperature. I have been waiting for nearly 18 months for this surgery and now not only am I disappointed but ill as well.

Hope everyone going well, if I missed something please let know and I will try to get to it.
Sharonlee Imageweaver

I trust your upcoming cataract procedure will have the outcome you are waiting for!

of the workshop. It was a pleasure to be in this one. I think that your instructions were pretty clear and even though some got a bit lost or sidetracked, it was not really due to the instructions, but rather a mix of people coming together in a number of time zones from all over the world. I think it went remarkably well under the circumstances. When we get the technics figured out and the members of the workshop don't have to scroll through a loooonnnng bunch of entries, I think it will be much better. ~ Geez.
.

I realized that when I receive notifications of new comments (in the box on the top right) that the new comment notification is highlighted... I clicked directly on the highlighted word which took me the newest comment in the workshop... this has helped me with that endless scrolling part.
I didn't know you could do it.

I hope everyone is well... I have been a little quiet, not feeling the best at the moment.

Sharonlee Imageweaver