Time Reminder

Time Reminder

Half-awake all night,
*I only* know this:
(that) time stands still
\so\ you have to be quick.

We put ink to paper
#and# i need no reminder
{that this is} my bridge
to find ourselves /kinder/.

  — by Sabio Lantz, February 2015

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Prompt:  Claudia and Brian are the founders and important leaders at d’Verse Poets Pub but will be handing over the bar to a new group of poets.  Before the hand-off, Claudia asks us to “grab one line, either of Bri’s or my poem and write your own poem, based on the line you chose.”

But Bri and Claudia have always been rule breakers — resisting any form constraints.  So to honor their rebellious spirits, I have broken the rules of their request and chosen to do the following with their poems.

My Form is: CBCB CBCB.

C = a line from Claudia‘s poem
B = a line from Brian‘s poem
special characters [imitating their styles] are used to surround a few words of my own added to their lines.

Thanx: Thank you again, Claudia and Brian, for all your hard work over the years!

An Ode to Careless Passion

An Ode to Careless Passion

At your slightest touch, my chest dances,
and lightning sparks across my skin.
My mind spins with your slightest glances
and my emotions go into a tailspin.

Your fires flashed up my spine
a symphony of tobacco and booze.
On Betel nut, Bidis and Bhang I dine,
to welcome you in, my lovely muse.

Health cowers submissively at your side
making way for cycles, sex and dares!
You and I laugh at Safety’s cries,
as unrestrained joy abandons such cares.

Though for the moment’s satisfaction, you always deliver,
your fine memory fades as I float down this river.

– by Sabio Lantz, March 2013

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• I wrote this poem two years ago, but brought it out of the “to polish” folder today in response to Björn’s prompt at d’Verse Poets Pub where he asks for a 14-line poem with a Volta — keeping with a Sonnet-like style, my Volta is at the end of the poem.
• For info on the Tantric picture, see the wiki article on Chhinnamasta.
• For vocabulary words I learned living in South Asia for two years, see: Betel nut, Bidis and Bhang

Pretending to Forget

Pretending to Forget

Locked up tight in her room alone,
my mother’s heart as cold as stone.
She yells out loud she wants to die
and utters nothing but deep groans.

I was just going to say good-bye
when I heard her sad, heavy cries.
I tried to talk her down again,
pleading through her desperate sighs.

I thought about the last time when
Mom threatened suicide again.
She hadn’t been successful yet
so I got up and left her den.

Hours passed, I returned with sweat.
Would I find my mother dead yet?
But smoking calmly un-upset,
we both pretended to forget.

– by Sabio Lantz, February 2015

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Prompt: Gay, over at dVerse Poets Pub, challenges us to write a poem in the style of Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, which is in Rubaiyat stanzas (4) with iambic tetrameter and rhyming like this: AABA-BBCB-CCDC-DDDD.  Gay feels the form “is ideally suited to giving depth and meaning to a subject”.  And so I chose such a subject: an actual event from my life.

Inclement Distractions

Inclement Distractions

Mister Linky said “expiration in 6 hours”
but I was piled in a 6-foot blanket of work.

The waiting room was filled with patients:
many suffering from falls on the ice
as they failed to escape their homes.

“Ah, relax into the snow,” I told myself.
“Enjoy the crystal souls floating into your life
— whispers from the cold sky —
and offer them your warmth.”

“Enjoy your shut-in life, and give back that which
others have shared with you for decades:
patience and love.”

We were all finally able to leave our clinic
and now Mr. Linky tells me there is only one hour left
to reflect on inclement distractions.

by Sabio Lantz, February 2015

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Prompt:  Marina Sofia, at D’Verse Poets, tells us that “for today’s poetics I would like to imagine or remember a time when you were snowed in, iced out or in some other perilous winter situation (whatever the season you are currently experiencing).”

A Syllabic Snake

A Syllabic Snake

odd lines climb
like vines up my spine
squeezing smiles and red dry wine
through the fine sieve of my quiet mind
pouring rhymes

– by Sabio Lantz, January 2015

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Prompt: Tony, over at d’Verse Poets, created a playful 3,5,7,9,3 expanded Cinquain form for us.  Note: Well after this prompt was over, for fun I crafted the picture above. I will leave to curious readers to untangle the symbolism. :-)

My Face Changes

My Face Changes

In framed encounters,
softer selves dissolve into
the blurred me gone by.
Reading your shared poetry,
I watch as my face transforms.

by Sabio Lantz
Jan 2015

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Challenge:

Grace, at d’Verse Poets, directs us to the art of Nick Gentry, and asks us to “share your thoughts about consumerism, technology, identity and cyberculture in society, with a distinctive focus on obsolete media, or concept of time.” (emphasis mine)

Form:  tanka (read here) 5-7-5-7-7.  See my list of forms here.

Process & Thoughts:

Mildly mimicking Nick Gentry’s photos, I took images from the  blogs of people posting at d’Verse poets and laid those snapshots on top of an image of my serious face today (I normally am smiling).  Click the pic to enlarge and look for your pic (note, only 16 folks had posted while I made this picture).

I then used the poem with the image to try and capture some of my understanding of our many selves.

Consider this quote from Walt Whitman:  “Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”
— from “Song of Myself”.

Windy Minds

Windy Minds

Doubt, like wind, comes from no where,
churning up leaves and dirt in our minds
uncovering neglected graves
soaked in wet memories.

Rain rolls off proud, forgotten marble,
through stubborn clay soil
and flows into branched-cluttered streams:
thoughts piled, stuck and obstructed.

Finally the wind stops, the rain softens,
clouds clear and the storm abates.
But the scent of change lingers
exposing our fragile homes.

— by Sabio Lantz 1/2/15
11:00 pm (pic credit)