A few days ago, Colleen Chesebro announced the winners of the Word Craft Poetry Syllabic Poetry Contest held to honor the Summer Solstice. The theme was dreams, and poets were instructed to use the syllabic form “tanka prose.” This form combines short prose with a 5-line tanka poem (with a syllable count of 5/7/5/7/7).
I was delighted and honored that my poem “Am I Dreaming?” came out on top. I’m grateful to the judges for their selection and to Colleen for continually encouraging all of us to learn and write poetry. She’s a whirlwind of energy and creativity.
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Please take a moment to pop over to Word Craft Poetry to read the other top poems, written by Ken Gierke, Merril D. Smith, and Jude Itakali. Not only is their poetry beautiful, but it shows off the depth and versatility of the form and the enormous talent in our writing community.
And if you feel inspired, join in Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday challenges. They’re great fun. Happy Writing!
I’m back from two weeks exploring canyons in the American West. Now I need a vacation to rest up from my vacation! As I work my way back into the daily routine, I hope you enjoy a few photos and some canyon-inspired haiku.
parched earth, dry with dust
the white sun bakes a blue sky
a spring desert blooms
arid land fractured
by a river’s slow wander
through five billion years
golden canyons cleave
ancient swirls of earth revealed
smoothed by the winds’ breath
spring cold and waist deep
rivers lead around the bend
carved canyons beckon
uplift of the land
seas recede, plates in motion
beauty wrought by time
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I also read 11 amazing books and will share my reviews shortly.
Sunlight filters through tidal barriers of air and water where animals bloom from salty rocks with the permanence of plants, and gardens wear the guise of animals in this place where swimming is soaring from the edges of canyons, hiding in coral caverns of this wondrously alien world, secretive, and brimming with creatures, some tempered by timidness, others leaping and diving from blue to blue.
enter the sacred
domain of eels and turtles
world beneath our world
taught by schools of parrotfish
to touch a dolphin’s wild joy
***
Denise Finn chose the wonderful prompt for this Ekphrastic challenge (poetry based on a visual image). If you click on her name, you can read her entry. As a scuba diver, I’m entranced by the underwater world.
My poem is called a “tanka prose,” a bit of prose followed by a tanka with a syllable count of 5/7/5/7/7.
The weekly #TankaTuesday syllabic poetry challenge is the brainstorm of Colleen at Wordcraft Poetry. Think about joining in. It’s great fun.
The #TankaTuesday challenge this week explores Ekphrastic poetry inspired by visual art. The artwork was chosen by Colleen from WordCraft Poetry and poet and blogger Selma Martin. Their selection relies heavily on current events, however they wanted to be clear that their choice “is not a celebration of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine” and they both “support Ukraine in its efforts to maintain its sovereignty.”
This poem is a syllabic form called a chōka with syllable counts of 5-7-7-5-7-5-7-7-7.
I chose to write about women as the bearers of hope, the guardians of children, and the protectors of joy and love during the dark days of war. (I know countless men share these qualities too).
Brandon donned his latest acquisition—a genuine silk suit. The industrious little silkworms bordered on extinct, and he finally ranked among the international elite who could afford their cocoons. His was new money, thanks to polished attorneys and creative accountants, both armed with tarnished ethics.
He’d given himself two hours to make the one-hour trip from his penthouse to the corporate highrise across the gorge—one of a host of towers. And not the tallest. But he was only thirty-five, and the world was his chessboard, the match a move away from mate. In a few hours, a significant portion of the conglomerate’s assets would fall under his control.
He slipped into the leather recliner of his midnight-blue slider and tossed his briefcase on the seat beside him. “Headquarters. Skip the traffic and take the flyover.”
The slider’s cyber-system hummed to life. “Flyover not recommended.”
“Heavy traffic?”
“No traffic detected.”
Brandon mugged a face. “Then take the flyover.”
“Flyover not recommended.”
“Why not?”
“Flyover not recommended.”
“Override.” Brandon detached the console and typed his passcode, pleased to finally use the feature. He liked the idea of control, driving the slider instead of the slider driving him. The upgrade had cost him a small fortune. It would pay for itself that morning.
As the vehicle glided forward, Brandon closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders. The slider veered from the congested rails onto the flyover, cruising into the pre-dawn darkness.
At the peak over the gorge, the slider decelerated and stopped. Brandon glanced out the window at the black depths below. Sunrise would soon carve sharp shadows across the cliffs and turn the river into molten gold. “Proceed.”
“Not recommended.”
“Overide.” He typed in the code.
“Not recommended.”
“God damn it. Override.” He stabbed the console and received the same reply. After a quick check of his watch, he peered into the darkness ahead. “Is there a traffic problem?”
“No traffic detected.”
“What the hell? How long to back up and take the other route?”
“Estimated time three hours.”
Brandon barked a curse. He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, changing tactics. “Override slider functions.”
“Not recommended.”
“Override braking system.”
“Not recommended.”
“Okay, how about override acceleration?”
“Not recommended.”
Brandon’s fist slammed onto the console, and the glass screen cracked. He tossed the damaged hardware onto the passenger seat. There was no point. His fate was sealed. He’d lost out on the biggest deal of his life.
“Cyber system impaired, reverting to manual overrides.”
“Ha!” Brandon checked the time. He’d make it if he flew. With the brake released, he pressed forward on the throttle. The slider responded, accelerated. With a laugh, he opened her up, and the bitch roared like a beast with a taste for speed.
The machine screamed down the other side of the flyover, lurched sideways on a damaged span of rail, and leaped into the sky. The sunrise blinded him as the slider plummeted, its throttle clutched in his white-knuckled hands. The golden river smashed the windshield into his face, his life, in the end, beyond his control.
***
destiny
disavowed
underlings deal and grasp
gold with white-knuckled fists
rapt in night’s deceptive dreams they fly
eyes blinded by a distant sunrise
snared by reckless desire
seconds gained and years lost
illusions
of control
***
It’s been a long time since I shared a flash story. I hope you enjoyed it.
I combined it with a syllabic poem in response to Colleen Chesebro’s weekly #TankaTuesday Wordcraft Challenge. Her challenge was to make up our own syllabic form! Well, that was fun. The one above has syllables 3/3/6/6/9/9/6/6/3/3. I named it a Distillate because it’s a distillation of a larger story. My guess is that every story’s theme can be captured in a poem, no matter how large the book. What do you think?
(A short break in the TBR Challenge reblogs for a little poetry)
A Learned Girl
She is fortunate to read at all. Her slender fingers stray from the pages, unblemished but for a random papercut. Beyond her window, other women toil until their skin toughens into leather, and raw knuckles wear down to bones. Their spines crack beneath the weight of necessity, poor lots destined from the day they were born. She is privileged. This she knows. Granted by happenstance her wish to learn the arts of anatomy and history and politics. To peruse through pages of poetry and philosophy, to dip her quill and tally accounts. She will excel in the learned world of power. But she is still a girl.
studies surrender
lost in red velvet daydreams
murmurs of passion
love’s silk breath blushes her cheeks
wishes in a crystal ball
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Thank you to Colleen over at Wordcraft Poetry for the lovely image to use as an prompt for this week’s Ekphrastic poetry. Ekphrastic poems respond to a piece of art. I went with a tanka prose poem. It has one paragraph and one tanka with 5/7/5/7/7 syllables.
I don’t know anyone who owns a Kindle (or other ebook reader) and isn’t buried in books. We groan as we add more to the stack… then laugh about it and buy more! That’s my situation anyway.
I thought it would be fun to start 2022 with a writing challenge:
Write a story or poem about your TBR pile.
If you want to play, here’s how it works:
Deadline is January 23rd
Post the story or poem on your blog
Link back to this post or leave your link in the comments below
Keep it family friendly
I will reblog as many of the entries as I can through the end of the January
I’ll close comments here, so readers will head your way to comment.
In early February, I’ll post a round-up with links.
You may use the (attribution free) pixabay image above if you want to
Chelsea Owens – a wonderfully entertaining blogger – used to run a weekly Terrible Poetry Contest that was laugh-out-loud funny. The competition is sadly defunct, but she’s hosting a reunion!
The prompt for the reunion is a Christmas Song Parody. It must be Terrible and it must Rhyme. Stop by Chelsea’s to get the details if you want to partake or laugh at some terrible creations.
This is my last post of 2021, and I leave you with my terrible Christmas song:
Sale! The Yearly Christmas Call
(Sung to the tune of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing)
Sale! The yearly Christmas call Shoppers flocking to the mall Carts careen through crowded aisles Cash and credit reconciled
Frantic all ye lists are waving Budgets set already caving Wrap those presents for the tree Run out of tape, oh woe is me Wrap those presents for the tree I need tape, oh woe is me
Feed the crew from out of town Baking cookies past sundown Table’s set and goose is done Spilled the gravy, so much fun
Dinner’s gone in seconds flat Cooked all day and barely sat Washing dishes like a maid Boy, I wish my job was paid Scrubbing dishes like a maid How I wish this job was paid
Football’s on, the offense crouched Husband’s slouched upon the couch Cat’s in the tree, and globes are smashed Kids are bored, the house is trashed
Hail the end of Christmas Day When the kindred drive away Flip the cap and swig a beer Pooped out from another year Take a nap and get in gear New Year’s Eve is almost here.
Winter dawns, heralded by dreary skies and the sun’s retreat. Wind-whipped rain blusters, casting free the remnants of autumn’s crinkled leaves. Woodland creatures burrow into the roots of things, latent, enduring, and twinkling colors gleam in frost-rimmed windows, a warm false-light to see us through the darkness. Oh, do not despair during these days of dying, for the magic of this wise world welcomes the first day of winter with the return of light.
mornings by moonglow
shadows hushed in shades of blue
twilit afternoons
winter’s darkness shrouds the day
while solstice promises spring
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This tanka prose is in response toColleen’s #TankaTuesday challenge. A “tanka prose” is a piece of prose followed by a tanka with syllable count 5/7/5/7/7. For inspiration, she prompted us to write about any festival or tradition we celebrate during the month of December. Happy Solstice!
Myths of the Mirror 