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Archive for July, 2011

Drown a Flask

  
 
Confusion purl inside my head,
sad thoughts besiege this weary soul.
Words spoken – carelessly said,
alone, I plummet down a hole.
 
Can eyes see pain behind my mask,
concealing anguish buried deep?
Escape your own pain, drown a flask,
Your pseudo façade makes you weep.
 
Expressions glaring dissension,
this anger boils your mad face red.
The wine color brings forth tension,
unsaid words scratch till hearts are shred. 
 
Appears to be a no-win lot,
old patterns never seem to lie.
Let distance heal this love torn knot,
before time takes toll and we die.
 
 
-TheMsLvh © 2011
image source: Google image
 
 

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California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

Can You Relate? (rant)

 
I am so out of rhythm
         And so out of rhyme
I don’t even know the time!
 
I just draw a blank
         My words are at a loss
How do I get my thoughts across?
 
My muse has run away
         I hope not for long
What has gone wrong?
 
Was it the lack of sleep
         Or the daily stress of life?
Whatever it is, I’ll cut with a knife
 
Writing is my drug of choice
          I am in the throes of withdrawal
Words are trapped and want out…
 
         That’s all.

 

-TheMsLvh 7-29-11

Spare the Rod… Please?

This poem was a difficult write. Not only with the words chosen but my dark muse appeared. This is a dark poem of child abuse, but a subject that always needs attention.  I hope I did it justice on a few levels.
Submitted to The Sunday Whirl,
 
 
Torn curtains can hold twisted memories
of acts remembered, pain forgotten not.
The reprehensible atrocities
behind closed doors, leave rendered spots.
 
Sore red lines cast external bruising gild
on flesh so pure, its’ contrast scattered deep.
One blink can whirl wet eyes from sad tears filled,
before the young will climb on clouds to sleep.
 
Domestic stains remain as clocks tick time;
contort the scan of life’s new marvel age.
Bad memories will haunt this blind crime
thus, leaves a spirit blistering enraged.
 

 TheMsLvh © 2011

image source: Staale N

Creative Commons License
California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

To the Wood – a Sonnet

It’s time to travel so I must go
to the place where Redwoods grow.
 
 
 
 
 
This heart is yearning for my earth bound friend,
to mend the wreckage done and calm the seethe.
Dense woods I scurry, searching to transcend
and melt into your breath, so I can breathe.
 
My spirit yielded freely to the wood,
when I was young and grew beneath cool shade.
The tender young fern danced under the hood
and played with sunbeam pearls in soft cascade.
 
Just hold me tightly with your Redwood arm,
to gently cradle empty souless sleep.
My heart is bleeding, keep me safe from harm,
I come to heal these spirit wounds that weep.
 
Alone I walk beneath my forest friend,
internal peace I seek, my soul to mend.
 
 
-TheMsLvh  © 2011
* Special Thank you to Luke Prater and dVerse

Haiku #1

Truly life is hard

but it can be lived easy

Fly,  but don’t hit trees

-TheMsLvh

dVerse
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California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

In Tibet – Ghazal style

For those who do not know Ghazal poetry…..(I hope I did it justice although, I tweaked the rhythm a bit).
 
History:
This style of poetry is known as Ghazal. The Ghazal was developed in Persia in the 10th century AD from the Arabic verse form qasida. A number of American poets, including Adrienne Rich and W.S. Merwin, have written Ghazals, usually without the strict pattern of the traditional form.
 
Form:
A traditional Ghazal consists of five to fifteen couplets, typically seven. A refrain (a repeated word or phrase) appears at the end of both lines of the first couplet and at the end of the second line in each succeeding couplet. In addition, one or more words before the refrain are rhymes or partial rhymes. The lines should be of approximately the same length and meter. Absolutely no enjambment allowed! The poet may use the final couplet as a signature couplet, using his or her name in first, second or third person, and giving a more direct declaration of thought or feeling to the reader.
Style:
Each couplet should be a poem in itself, like a pearl in a necklace. There should not be continuous development of a subject from one couplet to the next through the poem
( I might of). The refrain provides a link among the couplets, but they should be detachable, quotable, grammatical units. There should be an epigrammatic terseness, yet each couplet should be lyric and evocative.
 

 

 
In Tibet
 
Young girl on dirty street cries – in Tibet.
Old man praying, sad life, dies – in Tibet.
  
Crisp water cascading down rocky creeks
Warm beer soothes annoying flies – in Tibet.
 
Tall mountains kiss new heights, snow eagles soar.
Free notes of music will rise – in Tibet
 
Hot food is always spiced with heavy scent.
The flavors burn your wet eyes – in Tibet.
 
Thin flags of color decorate blue sky.
Young monks will protest the lies – in Tibet
  
No boarders left, war raged for China’s greed.
The Dali Lama’s Zen sighs – in Tibet.
 
I heard the voice of freedom shout Lisa! 
Free souls rise, your voice defies – in Tibet..
 
-TheMsLvh  © 2011
 

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California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

Old Bones Give Way – a Villanelle

One traditional form of poetry that can be fun to write, is technically easy compared to the most challenging forms, and often surprises the poet with its twists and discoveries, is the villanelle.

Villanelles have been around for at least three hundred years. .

My poem has three beats to a line (ta-DUM, ta-DUM, ta-DUM), not so traditional five(ta-DUM, ta-DUM, ta-DUM, ta-DUM, ta-DUM). But it is all good because this is a flexible poetic form and my first Villanelle poem.

 
 
 
When my old bones give way
Divine spirit flies high;
Sweet rhythm gone today.
 
On emerald grass I lay
My children then will cry;
When my old bones give way.
 
Illusion, eyes astray
Into the void, good-bye:
Sweet rhythm gone today.
 
So ominous they say;
Celestial am I?
When my old bones give way.
 
A pantomime’s ballet
Off balcony to fly;
Sweet rhythm gone today.
 
It jostles your mind – stay
Observe my ghost awhile;
When my old bones give way
Sweet rhythm gone today.
 
 
-TheMsLvh  © 2011
 
 
 

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