Wednesday, June 8, 2011

May words

A scorpion
in a glass jar
trying so hard to be
he must be free.

Under iron skies
we felt
the wind
ice daggers
as we walked from her fresh grave.

Pool of yellow light
through the forest ceiling breaks
violet butterfly.

I feel
on me
the weight
of the weight.

Lost in a grey crowd
his mask red, white, and blue
a clown holds back
from the void.

Swallowing fire
before the lights change to green
Soot boxes his world.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

A Communal Poem

This poem was written collectively in Twitter by @moltoassai, @AkiSchilz, @gustavojmata, @PoeticalPsyche, and @isabelmbush.

Each one of us wrote, according to the above sequence, one line for the first stanza. Then we wrote the second stanza in reverse order. The poem emerged, line after line, from each poet's interpretation of what had been written before.

The green leaves tremble feeling shy
Until shivering their blossom into flight.
On a magic mushroom the grasshopper chants
Lines of wisdom, lines of rhyme, lines over ten thousand times.
He continues his solemn chant until the moon rises over the misty river.

Hearing the call the giant white eagle wakes from his decade long slumber.
Wings expand –tufts breath –talons release from dreamtime's grasp.
Anaba sweeps the hogan floor –Manaba whispers “our time is come”.
The eagle knows; wings fan a moon into the eyes of the grasshopper at Manaba's feet.
Sweet sounded words the poets' glory; that was our little springtime's story.