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Awake in Nightmares – Sonnet

 
There’s no one in the control room;
directing any flame of light.
Dark shadows ready to consume;
the mindless empty of the flight.
Unable to escape the doom –
foreboding thoughts tied up in fright.
Old premonitions come alive –
alerting mind’s eye to survive.
 
Exotic faces lay in wait,
beyond the sound of voiceless screams –
releasing shivers down the spine.
Deep crevices in eyes dilate;
erasing lines from truth or dreams –
caught in the spiral of decline.
 
These are vibrations cursed in hate,
that rupture ears allowing streams
of bloody red to desecrate;
and split what is real at the seams.
Awake within the nightmare’s gate
unleashing fears of wild extremes.

 

Never Forget!

 
☮TheMsLvh © 2011
Image: Courtesy of 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

Hats – Terza Rima

   In my discovery of the different forms of poetry,  I came across the Terza Rima.  This is my first attempt using this form.  Hope it reads well.  I have included its description of the form below. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. A  bit singy-songy I fear.
 
 
I have worn several hats throughout the years;
reflecting different roles I played each day.
Subjective meanings – kept as souvenirs.
 
A feathered birthday hat inviting play;
adorned year after year with no delay –
another wish on candles if I may?
 
A mournful hat weeps sadness of betray –
A smoke-stained cap that kissed a Reggae song –
A lover’s chapeau which will never stray.
 
There was a hat I dared not keep for long;
’cause it belonged to the quick stepping cop –
who chased me for the mischief I did wrong.
 
My favorite hat sold never in a shop,
uniting words on paper to be sung:
A Poet’s hat worn ’till the last ink drop.
 
Such memories in hats when I was young,
show steps of life upon each ladder’s rung.

 

☮TheMsLvh © 2011
 
Image: Hats on Ladder image by DecoDanny courtesy Google Images

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

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Form

Terza rima is a three-line stanza using chain rhyme in the pattern A-B-A, B-C-B, C-D-C, D-E-D. There is no limit to the number of lines, but poems or sections of poems written in terza rima end with either a single line or couplet repeating the rhyme of the middle line of the final tercet. The two possible endings for the example above are d-e-d, e or d-e-d, e-e. There is no set rhythm for terza rima, but in English, iambic pentameter is generally preferred.

History

The first known use of terza rima is in Dante’s Divina Commedia. In creating the form, Dante may have been influenced by the lyric form used by the Provençal troubadours. The three-line pattern may have been intended to suggest the Holy Trinity. Inspired by Dante, other Italian poets, including Petrarch and Boccaccio, began using the form.

The first English poet to write in terza rima was Geoffrey Chaucer, who used it for his Complaint to His Lady. Although a difficult form to use in English because of the relative paucity of rhyme words available in a language which has, in comparison with Italian, a more complex phonology, terza rima has been used by Milton, Byron (in his Prophecy of Dante) and Shelley (in his Ode to the West Wind and The Triumph of Life). Thomas Hardy also used the form of meter in ‘Friends Beyond’ to interlink the characters and continue the flow of the poem. A number of 20th-century poets also employed the form. These include Archibald MacLeish, W. H. Auden, Andrew Cannon, William Carlos Williams, T. S. Eliot, Derek Walcott, Clark Ashton Smith, James Merrill, Robert Frost and Richard Wilbur. [Information source :Wikipedia]

Interview: Life of a Poet ~ California Ink In Motion

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Poets United Interview:

Life of a Poet ~ California Ink In Motion

 


“When creating  poetry, it can look one way and then let a day pass and it will have a different look and feel because the words from the heart can be seen by the mind.” -TheMsLvh

   This is part of the text of a very fun interview with Sherry Blue Sky   over at Poets United as part of their series of interviews with different poets.  Click Here for the entire interview. I hope you enjoy reading this interview as I had giving it.  Sherry is a wonderful lady and host!


 by Sherry Blue Sky

   Kids, a while back a new blogger joined Poets United, blazed across our radar and made us sit up and take notice. We’re about to sit down with The Ms. LVH (as she wishes to be known) of California Ink in Motion. As she lives very close to the beach, I’m thinking either a glass of chilled white wine, or an after-dinner cup of tea, as we watch the sunset and chat about life along the California Coast.

 Ms. LVH:   First, I want to thank you for your interest in my poetry and life. I was born and raised in a very affluent area in West Los Angeles.  After completing my formal education, I moved. I realized my bond with nature was imperative to my sanity.  Los Angeles is a wild place, as you can imagine.  I have lived in several places in California, soaking up the different mind-sets that thrive here. 

   After zig-zagging around the state from the deserts to the mountains to the sea,  I moved to the Sierra’s and had a job to ski around to make sure everyone was having a good time, mostly a Public Relations job.  During the summers, I would bartend and water ski.  Life was fun.  I used my little cabin as a launching pad to travel throughout the world.  As the winters became more of a burden than a fantasy land (shoveling snow), I moved to the Coast of California in a small town, started a career and have lived here for two decades.  I can hear the waves and smell the salt-laden air everyday.

Poets United: Your jobs sound like so much fun. Have you ever lived a great adventure? I suspect it may have been your move to the small coastal town?? C’mon, spill it.

 Ms. LVH:  Yes, winding up on the coast was a journey of itself, but many years ago I bought a one way ticket to Europe and hitched-hiked and rode the trains for months. England, France, Germany, Italy, Austria, Amsterdam, Belgium, practically every place west of the Iron Curtain in 1976, (yes, I was very young). The Berlin Wall was still standing…(cont.).
 
Poets United: As are we all. What are your personal criteria for good poetry? Your own and others?
 
Ms. LVH:A poem that evokes a feeling, I would consider a good poem.  I like poems that are fluid and smooth and thought-provoking.  If a poem has me hooked by the first stanza, it probably is a fabulous poem, yet I have found some incredible surprises at the end of a poem as well…(cont.). 

 

*Continue reading with photos: An Interview with Poets United

Eyes – CINQUAIN POEM

Vision

Watching, seeing,

Smiling, blinking, crying

Eyes say what the mind is thinking

Windows

*American poet Adelaide Crapsey created the cinquain based on the Japanese haiku* 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-TheMsLvh   © 2011
image – 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

Mr. T & Ms. Tilly

 
 
 
 
Every night around the hour of ten
the dogs awake and the havoc begins.
At the door with a bark and howl
with an occasional deep guttural growl.
 
What lurks in the darkness do they see
that turns them into panicked banshees?
Excitement rises when I finally open the door
out they go running, sprinting on all four.
 
I peer though the window hoping to find
a striped  giraffe or something of the kind.
Perhaps a spotted zebra covered in gold
or even a dragon told in stories of old.
 
Hues of grey between white and black
it must be shadows, color vision they lack.
Could it be something even more sinister
like a ghost or goblin, should I call a minister?
 
They circle the yard and stop in their place
hoping to find anything to pounce or chase.
Noses in the air and tails waggle with delight
Hunters they have become in the dead of night.
 
Still at the window, I watch and giggle
as the little one has a funny wiggle.
Body like a torpedo on short little legs
hound dog eyes that love to beg.
 
The larger of the two is a fright to see
if you are somewhere you should not be.
He is smart and proud – very protective
would certainly make for a good detective.
 
After scoping the yard and did not find
anything that was vicious or even unkind.
They alertly sit in the center of the yard
loving the feeling of being on guard.
 
The amazing attribute these dogs share
is the love for me their hearts willingly bare.
That they would rush to risk their life or limb
on a hunch or some unexplained canine whim.
 
They keep me safe from dangers they sense
from all the little critters behind the fence.
I sleep soundly knowing I have defenders
to scare off zebras, giraffes, and tiny offenders.
 
-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.

I Found a Page on Facebook

Today, I found a page on Facebook
Westside (Los Angeles) Kids of the 70’s
Lost in time – taking a look
Reminiscing days – could write a book!

People from all over posting memories
some forgotten and many remain
Oh! the fun we had growing up
all linked by the same chain.

What have I been doing all these years?
slowly losing my childhood dreams
Being swallowed up with adult fears
bound by expected regimes.

Today, I found a page on Facebook
in an hour my world changed
By recalling the past – brightened the future
healing my heart with a simple suture.

Now, looking at life through eyes I lost.
Hurray! I’m Back! My past I crossed.

 
-TheMsLvh ©2011 5-14-11

Photo source unknown (Century City, Ca.)

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

Grief Often gets in the Way

Grief often gets in the way,
like a granite stone in a river.
Impeding the gentle sway
of the moonlight’s reflected silver.
 
Mourning with uncontrolled sorrow;
which steals the breath away.
Wounded hearts forget tomorrow –
will bring sunshine’s warm bouquet.
 
Sadness, hidden deeply behind –
longing eyes, searching to find;
the joy, that once playfully lived
in a beating heart that thrived.
 
Sometimes there is music –
only grieving ears can hear.
Soothing melodies floating , the intrinsic
strum of a harp, angels hidden near.
 
Lonely hearts long to fly away,
held captive by a thief.
Familiar creature appears each day –
ominous and dark known as grief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-TheMsLvh ©2011 *edited suggestions by Michael York*

Inspired by “Thy son liveth: Messages from a Soldier to his Mother” by
Grace Duffie Boylad

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

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