As already mentioned in my previous poetry posts, after many many years, I've once again turned my hand to trying to craft poetry. This in a large part has been motivated by the various themes on BlueSky that mix poetry with photography. For example, #ImageAndVerse or #PaintByWords. Both encourage you to write your own poems matched with one of your own images. With that in mind here is are some more of my most recent attempts.
When I originally started this poetry lark, I was using text above the images.
There are poems in my mind.
That I can’t get out
There are ideas hiding
I know they’re there
They scamper and hide
I can almost see them
Catching glimpses
Now and then
Can almost feel them
Before they fade away
Until they’re obscured
Trapped behind life’s chaos
With all its needs and demands
Searing white sun setting.
Sparkling diamond wavelets
Receding down the shore.
Dimming tidal brightness
Signals day’s end.
Invasive pervasive sand's
Gritty chafing irritation.
Rinse off and pack.
Join the slow flow
Of the long drive home.
An attempt at humour that probably fails miserably, but in essence using the common slang term for showing your bottom, mooning. Conflated to moon and referring the image of the bird's bum. There's also the reference to three ancient Greek or Roman moon goddesses.
Upon seeing the full moon,
Alex wondered why it was fuzzy…
Was it out of focus?
Had his eyes failed?
Again.
Why was this moon so yellow?
And patterned!
Why was it flecked?!
Traditionally, moons were not so.
Alex was sure of that.
Well, quite sure.
Still, he set up the offerings.
As high priest,
Artemis must be fed.
Diana must receive her due.
Selene must be sated.
Now where was that bird seed?
The straight track looked shortest
But was it the quickest
Was there a dead end beyond view
Did it become torturous or serpentine
He believed he had prepared well
And was equipped for all eventualities
Besides what was a journey into the future
Without some unexpected adventure
So he took that very first step
Banana Slug?
Banana Slug?!
A name so unbecoming for a creature of unusual beauty.
It may look cold, a bit slimy.
Something we were told to avoid from childhood.
Or is it an innate fear of the ick?
It may be squishy.
Something to be avoided because of the mess.
But as it makes its way slowly
Across the deadfall of the forest floor,
I can’t help but think that that name unbecoming,
Unfair, and derisory,
Is also fitting.
Motif Webs