Poetry Picnic Week 13: Childhood, Dreams, Books, Role Models

Welcome to Jingle Poetry at The Gooseberry Garden Poetry Picnic Week 13, we have loved your Puurfect and poetic participation last week.

This Week, we will handle cases on Childhood, Dreams, Books, and Role Models, which means that, you are going to dig deep,  study these terms, write about how they position, impact,  and add light to your life. 

Image Credit: projectgifted.com

Life in Verse and Morning welcome You to the 13th Poetry Picnic today! 

Next Week, we will have Kay Salady hosting poetry picnic week 14, GET E_X_I_C_I_T_E_D!

Please read some of the most talented, amazing poets from below and submit your own to share!  BIG SMILE!!! ;)

Through Rose Tinted 
By 
CC Champagne

A childhood memory through rose-tinted glasses,

is a dream I want to maintain.

The aroma of my grandmother's cinnamon buns,

I wish I was there again.

The softness of her loving embrace,

the ease of life at that age,

when the future is all unwritten,

and life is a blank, white page.

A childhood memory through rose-tinted glasses,

is a dream I want to maintain.

But in my mind, whatever my age,

I can revisit it all again.

Writers and Novelists

By

Umamaheswari Anandane

Birth :

Words flow through a hand

writings its own mind by a pen

A new page written every time

as a new day dawns.

I flow with every move

of that invisible fingers

Marriage:

Open the index that points to

the sweet twist in my chapter

Wherein I have asked you

to join me to unfold new pages

So that we can reproduce

a sequel in the coming days ahead.

Death:

Among the ups and downs ,

I had my best writings

to be reproduced into editions

for generations to come.

I still ...

I still live through them

So never repent

even if hear someone says that

My Chapters have been closed. 

Butterfly
by
Shashi

Look, there she is, there on the window pane

A new friend from the dreams last night

As she promised to teach me how to fly

In sunshine and in rain

She is bright and beautiful, pinker than my ma’s cheek

Her wings have so many colors

Like the rainbow I painted last summer, for Pa’s Birthday

Before he left for the war, to make money for us to eat

Tell me butterfly, how does one eat money?

How does one go to the war?

I don’t want Pa to go to the war; I don’t want any money to eat;

You know, whenever I hug him, I don’t feel hungry at all

Oh! Butterfly, why are you flying away - so far?

Out side, the day is still full of light; sure you can wait a little more?

Ma will be back soon, from her night shift, and will let you in

Don’t you see, I can not; I am in the bed, too sick to unlatch the window bar

Butterfly, my dear Butterfly, you have teach me how to fly

I promised Pa - a hug tonight, I know where he “wars” now;

Ma showed me the other night, when she cried

“There, Kalina, there he is, the Evening Star”

You know Butterfly; I love him so much,

Much more than I love Ma,

Really! You must teach me to fly, as I have to go now

You see, my Ma does not even smile much

________________

@Shashi Oct, 2010

 

To Each in Stardom is Born to be Forlorn
By 
A. B. Thomas

To be adorned in the robe of youth is to wear upon the sleeve,
One’s desires and wish of boundless achieve,
To strut upon the spot lit center of society’s stage,
Confident that though script-less the audience will engage,
A new star with an almost impish air of mischief,
Yet instead doesn't society pan and insist youth to humbly receive?
The unwritten tome of expectation placed in civilized cage,
To sit idly whilst it is whittled down to a pamphlet page by page,
Society provides the focus to be but a player of knowledgeable disbelieve,   
Whilst within deep for the improvise acted naught secretly grieve.

Clouds in The Attic

by

Shashi

As she walked ahead

In her enthusiastic little hop, skip and jump - steps

I fell behind, in my own thoughts; old and aging

Yet keeping pace with her fresh world

That turns in, with a burst of rainbow

On every turn, flying like a butterfly

Across her little universe of wonder

Now she stops; the deep forest

Climbing up the steep incline of the mountain

Has her attention; complete with one hand under her chin

And I know, she knows what to ask,

With a sweet little smile behind her knit wool gloved little hand

And stump me with her wide charmed eyes

“Why those clouds are leaving the mountain alone?

Do you think Grandpa, Peakoo* will be happy without them to play?

Do you think they are coming over to play with us?

Can you give your extra blanket to put them up, in the attic for the night?

Grandpa, it’s very cold now, you know, they will shiver

Before I could think an answer and say,

“Kalina, lets go now, it’s going to rain”

She has already moved on

Playing with the soft cold breeze, moving up from the valley

With her hands out stretched, running, almost flying

Like the autumn leaves, that joined in to play, in her wake

________________

@Shashi Oct, 2010

*Peakoo = She calls the mountain peak in her own world of friends.

November Birthday Celebrations:    

November 2, Tootsie: Tootsie 
November 3, Eric Alder: Eric 'Bubba' Alder 
  November 15th, Dakshima, Dakshi 
Square sunshine, November 23, Poetry24  

Methods of Submission to Our Poetry Picnic:

Share your work using InLinkz below, and leave a comment in case it is your first time! It would be great if you could link back to us on your blog.

Weekly poetry collection starts on Sunday, at 2pm (CDT), and will stay open till Wednesday, 8pm (CDT),  78 hours for you to share your poetry with us...

What About Next Week!!

For Week 14, we will have theme ”This is what I’m thankful in life!”, because it is the week to celebrate Thanksgiving Holiday, of course, Random poems are also welcome! What fun, that's next week!

Morning Appreciates Your Continued Support, Please Feel FREE to share, encourage, and get inspired! Random poems are welcome too!

 

H-A-P-P-Y P-O-E-T-R-Y P-I-C-N-I-C!

Image Credits: Google.com 

Poetry Picnic Week 12: Feathers, Fidelity, Figment, and Fables

Welcome to Jingle Poetry at The Gooseberry Garden Poetry Picnic Week 12, Last week, You have done outstanding job sharing, writing, and commenting, we loved your creative muses a great deal!

This Week, we will handle cases on Feathers, Fidelity, Figment, and Fables, which means that, you are going to study these terms, write about how they position and add light to your life.

This is Life in Verse and Morning welcoming You to the First Poetry Picnic in November Today.

Upon reading some FABULOUS poems from your peers below, please let your CREATIVE muses rise, write and share your poetry talent with us, remember, anything related to feathers, figment, fidelity, and fables are WELCOME here!

"Trust You"

By

Robin Elizabeth

Tisk, tisk.
What is the truth?
Shame on you.
I don't want your lies.
Tisk, tisk.
What have you done?
Shame on you.
Your half-meant tries.
If only you were a tad more honest.
If only you were true.
Then I could believe what you told me.
Then I could trust you.

Finding Feather On Your Path

By

My Poetry & Writing

She wore the symbolic feather,

Most said it was a figment of her imagination.

Yet it stood written in the book

of philosophy that she would

Wear the symbolic feather.

but she is the messenger.

She was chosen before birth,

She wears her faith proudly,

And purity never unwavering,

She stands tall in her truth.

They call her one of the many fables

As she was destined to lead,

And bring forth peace to all,

So how can anyone say?

It's in her imagination

When we all know that the

Symbolic of all faith starts

With finding a feather on your path

.

Elena

By

Life In Verse

Thank you for being there

when times were hard

thank you for being there

to make me laugh

thank you for being there

When you didn't know what was going on

following me blindly

comforting me well.

It's nice to know

that I'm still loved

especially after

my heart's been bro

ken

I guess I needed that

I needed to know

that I was loved

I wanted someone to show

that they cared

and I reached out to you

and you saved me

you helped me

even though you weren't quite sure why

I appreciate you.

Thank you for not leaving me alone.

How to Link in My Poetry?

Share your work using InLinkz below, and leave a comment in case it is your first time! It would be great if you could link back to us on your blog.

Weekly poetry collection starts on Sunday, at 2pm (CDT), and will stay open till Wednesday, 8pm (CDT), 78 hours for you to share your poetry with us...

Upcoming Next Week!! 

 

For Week 13, we will have theme” Childhood, Dreams, Books, and Role Models”. What fun, that's next week!

 

Since this is a virtual party,
every poet who blogs is invited and welcome here,

Please dress yourself with Poetic customs, feel FREE to join Us and

Share your poetry treats, old or new, theme related or unrelated, in any poetry forms!

Image Credit: Google.com

Poem Of The Week - Halloween Special

Welcome back to Gooseberry Garden!With fall now and winter around the corner, we got lots of celebrations and festivals and Halloween being one.Hope you had a eerie and fun Halloween.The poetry picnic had many amazing Halloween poems and the one below is another creepy one.A poem by Shail  Rahuvansi from Muse,Verse n you, she has written the poem as eerie as possible.I loved the way she ended the poem " Whose Halloween is it anyway?Mine or Theirs?" ..hehe..yes,sometimes we wonder how true these lines are at spooky nights :)

Whose Halloween Is It Anyway? -by Shail Raghuvansi

Many a night

when I try hard to sleep,

Howling dogs

prey on my hidden insecurities....

Hooting owls

send me eerie messages

of forthcoming misfortune....

Blind bats

rush past me

to feed on the blood of god forsaken creatures...

During the day

when I feel free as a lark

scary scarecrows in green fields

stare at me smugly....

Black cats

send shivers down my spine

as they circle around me and mew mockingly....

Day and Night -

I am caught in the tentacles of time.

Each trying to wickedly overtake the other,

playing a dangerous game

of fun and fear

drowning all my arrogant assumptions

of my supposedly dominating presence.

Making me wonder..

Whose Halloween is it anyway?

Mine or Theirs?

About Me:

I am Umamaheswari Anandane ,the owner of Inside My Poem Book and Perpetual Mind , feels honored to be a part of the Jingle poetry reading and selecting poems from amazing writers everywhere.

Cheers!

Lets encourage each other and grow together !

By Uma @ (http://umaspoembook.blogspot.com/) 

Poem of the week - Object (The thing form / Objectivism / Imagism etc)

Morning Poetic friends !

Hope you enjoyed the Poetry Picnic sharing , caring and more over developing into a friendly community together.We at Gooseberry Garden enjoyed each of your poetic talents and are amazed with the use of words in your poems .This day , one poem honors to be displayed here and here we go ....

Our choice of the winner for this week theme is Kodj Deynoo

Faces that Smile

I build castles, with lime stones..
And coliseum before one is known..
Clock ticking, my brain moves, as worker ants do..
Generating ideas feeling it with ambition..


Eyes see what I aspire..
Legs walk the distance, crossing the red sea..
Destiny does not give me affirmation..
Of the promise land..


A parallel world of choices..
Like the chess game I play..
Burnt marks and wrong moves..
The shepherd’s dog to guide me..


Truth be told, on virtuous lands..
 To not have set motions on pretence..
And in resolve, seen in clear day light..
What mountains needs climbing ..


With chest out, on brave stands..
 I summon phoenix..
Sweats, fuel my adrenaline rush..
To have my castle seating in my arm..

The above Poem written by Kodjo Deynoo 

About Me:

I am Umamaheswari Anandane ,the owner of Inside My Poem Book and Perpetual Mind , feels honored to be a part of the Jingle poetry reading and selecting poems from amazing writers everywhere.

Cheers!

Lets encourage each other and grow together !

Uma @ (http://umaspoembook.blogspot.com/) 

POETRY PICNIC WK 5 : Object (The thing form / Objectivism / Imagism etc)

My friends, I am Shashi and the host for the fifth week of creativity and enjoyment at The Gooseberry Garden for Poetry Picnic WK 5.

Last week's poetry picnic was a GREAT one where the Jingle Poetry Community anniversary has had a great response.. and we at the poetry picnic are happy about the response that You give us. Thank you very much.

This week is going to be very interesting too as we are going to touch upon an interesting form, ‘Object’ where you look deeply into the thing that you are going to write about and write what comes to your mind.

But before that let me tell you what we are going to do next week...

We are going to talk about Mythology next week and your interpretations. We have across our ages, culture, tribes and religions are full of mythology, interesting percepts and thoughts... and that is what we are going to touch upon next week. Dig into your resources, around you, within your family, your culture,  and you may find an array of resources and thoughts and stories that I am sure interest you to write about it. So go ahead take one of those threads and mint a new verse and take us to an amazing journey of your culture, thoughts and perspective.

Now coming back to our topic this week ....

POETRY PICNIC WK 5 : Object (The thing form / Objectivism / Imagism etc)

A focussed worker in one of the factory I visited in Europe recently

When Rilke, joined Rodin (the great sculptor) as his secretary, he taught him the value of objective observation, and under this influence Rilke dramatically transformed his poetic style from the subjective and sometimes incantatory language of his earlier work into something quite new in European literature. The result was the New Poems, famous for the "thing-poems" (or OBJECT POEMS) expressing Rilke's rejuvenated artistic vision. The poems of the New Poems and New Poems: The Other Part are highly wrought, using language and poetic form as a shaped and shaping material; to this extent the poems are often said to be "things" in themselves. So that is what we are going to do in this week. Write about what you see, what you perceive after seeing .. write thing poems.. relate with the object that you see.

As Buddha said in this discourse at one point of time...

“Bhikshu’s look deeply at this bowl and you can see the entire universe. This bowl contains the entire universe. This is only one thing this bowl is empty of and that is separate individual self” – Buddha

The basic tenets of Objectivist poetics as defined by Louis Zukofsky were to treat the poem as an object, and to emphasise sincerity, intelligence, and the poet's ability to look clearly at the world.

So friends, I want you to look deeply into what you are seeing and writing about and let us know that the flower exists not because of its own self, but because there are seers, who see the beauty of the existence.

Here are some examples starting with Rilke’s most famous poetry on the OBJECT form

The story about this poetry is that on Rodin’s advise, he went to observe the caged panther for straight 9 hours and he wrote this poem that is now the paradigm of poetic Object Form.

THE PANTHER
____________

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a center
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
lifts, quietly--. An image enters in,
rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone

_____________

Rainer Maria Rilke

4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926
Curtsy Wikipedia: Read more here

The below is extract the first part of a six-page section from what was to become an 800-page poem, which takes as its subject a set of road works in the street outside Zukofsky’s New York home:

"A"-7 by Louis Zukofsky
_______________________________

Horses: who will do it? out of manes? Words

Will do it, out of manes, out of airs, but

They have no manes, so there are no airs, birds

Of words, from me to them no singing gut.

For they have no eyes, for their legs are wood,

For their stomachs are logs with print on them;

Blood red, red lamps hang from necks or where could

Be necks, two legs stand A, four together M.

"Street Closed" is what print says on their stomachs;

That cuts out everybody but the diggers;

You're cut out, and she's cut out, and the jiggers

Are cut out. No! we can't have such nor bucks

As won't, tho they're not here, pass thru a hoop

Strayed on a manhole — me? Am on a stoop.
_________________
Louis Zukofsky

(23 January 1904 – 12 May 1978)

He was an American poet. He was one of the founders and the primary theorist of the Objectivist group of poets and thus an important influence on subsequent generations of poets in America and abroad.

To read and know more about Object Form please click here...

Thanks for supporting poetry, poetry promotion, and poetry sharing here at The Gooseberry Garden Poetry Picnic!!!

How To submit your poetry?

Add your entry via InLinkz below by clicking on the blue button, and leave a comment in case it is your first time! It would be great if you could link back to us on your blog.

Weekly poetry collection starts on Sunday, 8pm (CDT), and will stay open till Thursday, 8pm (CDT), 96 hours for you to share your poetry with us...

Please share your poetry, comment below and read some very talented artists and have fun!

______

Shashi            
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya

Poetic Reflection Week 4-A. B. Thomas

Welcome to poetic reflection week 4...let's meet a fabulous blogger/poet/writer/cartoonist A. B. Thomas...He  has been an authentic fan to Jingle Poetry Community, and his poetry touches a wide range of topics, his cartoon creations are always funny and witty, he also writes short stories, his reflections on writing and blogging are very inspiring, honest, and beautiful.

Tell us about yourself.

If you were to ask my boys’ former principal and school board, my mother, and my mother-in-law I am the ultimate embodiment of all that’s evil in the world. Ask the company’s general manager, salesman, and most of the crew, I am the most arrogant know it all who happens to fluke out and be right 99% of the time. Ask most of the women I’ve dated they’d say that I must be the biggest camping enthusiast in the world because I am always trying to pitch a tent.  My friends would say that I’m a guy who really should be wearing pants more often.  Me,  I’d describe myself as just an ordinary cat cruising along life who just happens to like writing and doodling. 

Tell me about your blog, the name, what does it mean to you?

Mutter Fluka, other than sounding much like an iconic slur used in describing me in many situations (though if one were to factor in my age and the latest teen pregnancy figures I could away with putting “grand” in front as well) does have some meaning. FLUKA (Fluktuierende KAskade) is a software simulation meant to calculate mathematical probability and theoretical derivations of particles with an indeterminist algorithm, or in other words, a mathematical“yeah but if” based on a scientific formula to factor in chaos. Mutter is speaking in such a way that those around you cannot with 100% certainty identify the content, tone or context of those words. Put the two together and you have the concept that anything can make sense as long as you mutter it low enough that people, not being able to make out most of the syllables, will fill in the blanks based on their assumptions to reach the conclusion that I have to be making sense when the reality is that I’m the guy pantless on the corner arguing with a street light over who’s going to get out of the way.

When have you started blogging?

I started blogging back at the end of 2005 when I was working on the road a lot more than I do now, more as a cheaper method of rambling to a couple of friends rather than phone calls. Initially I did not consider it as a forum of creativity that folks who didn’t know me would have any interest in but I guess the idea of looking at the carnage of an accident has a broad appeal.

Your first poem? Remember?

My first poem – yikes, a nightmarish scenario. My first official poem would have been written when I was eleven, after the winter had ceded the ice rink to our swimming hole. A group of us had gone down to take a swim. There’s something magical about cold water and what it does to a person’s body, though negative on the male anatomy, a bonus for the female anatomy. The summer before she was naught but a flat prairie, but somehow the parka Debbie had worn over those cold months had fertilized her chest to blossom like the stink weed we walked through to get to the swimming hole. Debbie was far more sophisticated than the other girls, after all, her dad was a lawyer so I knew that the only way I was going to be doing any harvesting in her fields, I’d have to get quite classy, so to woo her, I wrote her a poem about how she made me feel. Unfortunately I had listened to my cousin, at the elderly age of sixteen was wise to the world, who told me that what women wanted from a man is to be flat out honest. So honest and descriptive I was. Debbie’s mom, who intercepted my luv prose, was not impressed, nor was her father, who rather than handling the situation in a sophisticated manner, impressed upon me that if anything that I written were to come to light, a certain part of my body would be tacked on the barn door for the cats to bat around.

What are your writing inspirations?

It would be much easier to name some things that don’t inspire me.  Awake or asleep, there’s something always unique in the experience that urges me to write out something. Heck, once when I was building a door I wrote the steps out in prose.

When did you start writing poetry? Do you write fiction as well?

I write all sorts of things, depending on my whim.  I have written articles for Subversify Magazine on the practice of bride burning in India, the lack of ethics within the local school board, the issue of horse meat, homelessness, but then have written short stories and knocked out a few “Dr. Phal” cartoons to boot.

Do you have a favorite author or poet?

Hands down, Lord Byron.

Favorite quote?

One night Bessie Braddock said to Sir Winston Churchill, “Sir, you are drunk.” Churchill replied, “Madam, you are ugly. In the morning, I shall be sober.”

It may sound like a cruel sort of quote to be comforted by but in a round-about way it shows the depth of Churchill or that I have had far too much time to over analyze a quip.  All my life I have never been content with anyone saying, “because that’s just the way it is” so “you just have to suck it up and go with it” – I will not let myself believe that there is anything in the world that is not dynamic in nature; change is necessary to grow. I take Mrs. Braddock as the “WE” or “THEY” of society and Churchill as the what could be.

Any advice to poets who wish to blog or write poetry?

Look at your blog like sex – if you’re doing it all for someone else then you are denying yourself the pleasure that it should bring. Don’t be afraid to experiment, find out what you like and if there are others who enjoy it, all the better, The space you use is your stage, the spot light is on you, bring out your best.

what's your plan for your future writing?

It’s hard to say at the moment, there are so many ideas floating around in my head that it’s hard to pick just one. Ideally I would love a publisher to say “here, we love your stuff so we’re going to throw this wad of cash at you”, but with a virtual mountain of rejection letters over the past couple of years, I know that is not going to happen.  It would be interesting to go the self publishing route but if I were to spend that kind of money, I would rather do it with my three boys doing something that we’d all enjoy – until the sugar rush they’d all be on for x amount of days finally crashed and for a week they’d go through withdrawals and I’d end up with some sort of hallucinogenic addiction to escape. The only reasonable course of action is to write when I can on what I want and be satisfied with that. 

Please feel free to read A. B. Thomas here: http://abthomas.wordpress.com/