Dream {a Pantoum}

In my dream, the sun sets pink.
Tall evergreens grow all around
a sturdy house that will not sink.
Snow’s in patches on the ground.

Tall evergreens grow all around.
A house sits on a sloping hill.
Snow’s in patches on the ground,
and I remember still.

A house sits on a sloping hill.
No one knows it’s there,
and I remember still
the way the slope was bare.

No one knows it’s there–
a sturdy house that will not sink,
the way the slope was bare.
In my dream, the sun sets pink.

{Last month at dVerse, the Pantoum was the featured form. I missed the deadline, but I still wanted to try one. I had some difficulty finding the right subject. Then I ended up having a vivid dream that really stuck with me. So I decided to use that as inspiration. I have also been meaning to use more art with my writing–not because I’m any good at it, but because I think it helps to tap into the subconscious.}

Shelter Cat {a Rubaiyat}

A cat is curled and sleeping. His clipped ear 
shows. “That’s how we know,” a volunteer 
explained. (It’s all the information we gain)
In his new home he dreams about the year—

twitching, crying out, remembering rain.
His sunny lanai is serene. Then hurricane.
A neighbor child hoots and screeches. Fast
and blatantly brash. It’s her domain.

Repeating words again and again. Outcast.
”Play elsewhere”, they tell young enthusiast.
From carpet austere, cat listens. Places one
mushroom colored paw over his ears at last.

But now is the soft sound of day being done.
All the leaves have fallen, red as the sun.
Grass grown. Engines down. Darkness begun,
waking the cat and the night in unison.

{The rubaiyat is a lovely and challenging form. I learned quite a bit about its origins and about Fitzgerald’s work (a translation with a unique beauty of its own) which popularized it. I am looking forward to reading it in its entirety in the near future. Linking to dVerse.}

Bee at Dawn {a Sonnet}

We worked all night, under white-roofed hood,
praying for sun-ripened blooms to bear
fruit forbidden by sullen shadow’s stare.
We who woke to partly cloudy understood
(in part), knowing we were the ones who could.
Day by day, stepping toward our dogged fear,
toward a sweet, petaled puppeteer,
year after pre-dawn year (none yielding as it should).

So I step toward sunlit morning, stubborn
in my own way, cold and soberly clutching
last night’s vigil, last year’s vacuous words to warn.
And with new prayers, I begin again to cling
and crawl, placing word after word on pages torn–
a busy bee, bumbling free, flying from a honeyed thing.

{We’ve been challenged to write a sonnet at dVerse this month and to try using enjambment. I chose the Petrarchan sonnet form. I’m glad we have been given several weeks to write and edit it. I wrote the first version about a week ago. This revision is quite different than my original. I started this poem with just one word– sullen. It just sounded right to me. And then came the words of the turn or volta– So I step toward sunlit morning. The rest of the poem took shape as I wrote it. The form actually helped me. I don’t think it would ever have gone in the direction it did without the constraints of the form.}