Category: Poetry by Sarah

Poetry by Sarah, Haiku

The Lot

weejars

Image credit TJ Paris

my love loves flowers.
nothing brings her so much joy
as their sweet perfume.

a lippy tulip,
roses of red, pink, yellow,
purple hued violets,

sunny gerberas,
delicate gypsophila,
perfect proteas,

cheeky daffodils,
full rainbows of carnations,
sassy snapdragons,

queenly hydrangas,
a daisy just makes her day.
to market I went

to buy her bouquet.
I just couldn’t decide so
I bought the whole lot!

Prompt: TJ’s Household Haiku, Words: perfume, joy

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Stop A While

weejars


Image credit Eden Hills

My wings stretched out
I soar the open skies
The wind beneath my feathers
And carrying my cries

I squawk to my friend
Signalling stop for a while
I land upon a fence line
And listen with a smile

I hear the breeze rustling
The long grass at my side
The crickets they are chirruping
I hear them far and wide

The metal on the fence post
Makes a lightly scratching sound
Faintly echoes the howl
Of some far off mournful hound

Beside me runs a river
Though slow, the water flows
There’s the sensual slosh of liquid
As over the rocks it goes

Out of the corner of my eye
I see a snake slither and hiss
Time to go, lest he makes me his meal
I take off; blow a farewell kiss

Beep beep beep beep
I awake in confusion
It’s just my alarm clock
Shattering the illusion

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Saturday’s Mix – 24 June 2017 and Daily Post Daily Prompt, Word: illusion 


Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah

Mausoleum 

weejars

My parents are not generous, with money or affection. 

Telling me I have to find my way; my own direction.

But insisting nonetheless, on absolute perfection.

For me, this was akin to the ultimate rejection.

 So instead I found love, in a needle and injection.

Addiction fuelled, my body now coursed with infection.

Eventually finding myself in a state of abjection.

An overdose; the verdict of my meagre dissection.

Finally, my parents now seeking a connection.

Have honoured me in death with an ostentatious erection.

That is found taking up most of the cemetery’s east section.

It would seem upon more scrutinous inspection 

My parents are not generous, with money or affection. 

Until it is 

Too.

Late.

By Sarah ©2017


Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, First Line Friday – June 23rd 2017

Haibun

Summer Solstice 

weejars


fertile religion
honouring the pagan gods
in lengths of sunshine

Cast a circle; consecrate your space; call the quarters. Prepare your wooden pyre and watch it burn. Honour the earth as the Ancients did – surrounded by trees, connecting feet with dirt and raising hands to the wind, as one. It is time for celebrating, for today is Litha; Alban Heruin; Midsummer; known by all your names. Tomorrow, the light will fade into the dark, rich soil, in which life began and will return, when your fire burns out.

the wheel of the year
has turned once more
turning ever on

By Sarah ©2017


Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefueille
Summer Solstice Haibun, 100 words

Author’s Note: Acknowledgements to ThoughtCo for their information on How To Hold a Midsummer Night’s Fire Ritual.

Haiku, Scribblings by Sarah

In My Dreams

weejars

Sometimes when I write, I’m not sure where it comes from. I see a photo / read a word / analyse a prompt and suddenly; there it is. The idea arrives like a beam of light into my brain, sent from goodness-knows-where, and the writing just flows…usually! 

When I first started blogging, I used to overthink things. I tried too hard to anticipate my reader’s response and worried about making. Every. Piece. Amazing. It was exhausting. 

Now I’ve let it go, I find writing easier and the quality of my work has improved – I hope you agree! I am also more motivated to write, which has in turn, increased my quantity too! 

In fact, I’ve become so obsessed with writing, I cannot wait to arrive home from work, catch up on my favourite blogs via my WordPress Reader and start attacking whatever challenge in the universe has taken my fancy/ies today! I am even dreaming in Haiku and just to prove it, here’s one I wrote in my dreams last night…


nothing’s more divine

than hanging with friends of mine

and making char wine


Now, I have no idea what ‘char wine’ is – I looked it up on Google and apparently barrel char levels are a thing (how much barrels are charred on the inside before fermenting bourbon whisky)…so I guess my friends and I were making homemade whisky (never mind that in my dream we were also dressed as pirates and this Haiku was written on a flag)

At the very least, I’m impressed:

  1. that the Haiku makes sense
  2. it follows the correct 5/7/5 structure
  3. I managed to make it rhyme

Imagine what I could do when I’m conscious…

😜😝😜


This week’s photo is by Axcy @ Deviantart.
You can find details of Nekneeraj’s weekly challenge here: https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/19271780/posts/1500603771

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Photo Challenge #170

Haibun, Haiku, Poetry by Sarah

Truth Fairy

weejars

on wings of whimsy
and magic, the fairy turns
ancient bone to gold

I lay in bed, barely able to contain my excitement. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to sleep so that she may come! I pictured in my mind, a delicate pixie; fine-boned with pointed face. Her eyes would glitter with mischief and delight as she paid her clandestine visit. She wore cloth spun with gold thread and grew tiny gypsophila flowers in her hair.  I wondered if she brought with her a tiny pouch lined with velvet to carry away the old and leave her gift of gold.  I dreamed of all the ways I would spend my treasure. I heard the door open and pretended to be asleep. I squinted one eye to reveal a sliver; a glimpse of her true being. But what I saw instead was a monster. It was my mother’s hand reaching for the tooth and slipping a coin in its place.

magic has dissolved
as fairy wings turned to dust
the truth now exposed

By Sarah ©2017


Prompt: Colleen’s Weekly Poetry Challenge, #35 fairy & magic

Other, Poetry by Sarah

Warbling

weejars

I
hear
warbling
from your perch
high above the ground
using slang I don’t understand

By Sarah ©2017


Prompt by Urban Poetry: Challenge Prompt #1 – To Fib or Not To Fib, Word: slang

The Fibonacci sequence works like this. “The number of syllables in each line of the poem is the sum of the previous two lines: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8. “The constrained form makes you very conscious of word choice.” – PoetryFoundation.Org

 

Free Verse, Poetry by Sarah, Scribblings by Sarah

The Muse

weejars


One bite of your neck, was more than I deserved; my muse.

You were so open, with words so smooth; my muse.

You eased the tension from my body, like it were a playhouse; my muse.

Even Neptune himself, could not have been treated any more a king; my muse.

Your semaphorism* a constant tease, a hook, a drug; my muse.

A paradoxical stalemate of wanting, but never having you; my muse.

But in reality, you are a thief; my muse.

I have been stolen, and am lost in you.

By Sarah ©2017

Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Wordle #159
Words: 

1. Bite
2. Smooth
3. Open
4. Deserve
5. Paradox
6. Semaphorism (n.)) a conversational hint that you have something personal to say on the subject but don’t go any further—an emphatic nod, a half-told anecdote, an enigmatic ‘I know the feeling’—which you place into conversations like those little flags that warn diggers of something buried underground: maybe a cable that secretly powers your house, maybe a fiberoptic link to some foreign country.)
7. Tension
8. Playhouse
9. Neptune
10. Stalemate
11. Muse
12. Thieves
Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem