Miss Pelican's Perch

Looking at my World from a Different Place


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Orgulous

I learned a new word today: “orgulous”.  It is an adjective meaning haughty, proud, ostentatious, disdainful.  Based on this I took some pictures and wrote:


A Haiku:

Nasturtiums flaunt
brash colors across my yard
–Jealous salvias.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ljg (c) 2019

 

 

 

 

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/07/10/rdp-wednesday-orgulous/


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Breathe In, Breathe Out

This feels by far the lamest poem I’ve written this month.  But I am one day to the end so I am not going to stop now.   So the prompt, which has a lot to do with the difficulty in writing this poem, is to write “a poem that meditates, from a position of tranquility, on an emotion you have felt powerfully.”   Huh?   Tranquility and passion are polar opposites in my mind so it stands to reason that the rhythm, meter and rhyme of this poem might fight with each other too.   I took the instructions literally and focused the poem on the act of meditation in conquering pain.

Breathe In, Breathe Out

“Find a place to lie or sit.”
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…
I can’t, it hurts, I want to quit!
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…

“Make that monkey take a nap.”
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…
But he’s swinging in trees and flinging his crap!
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…

“Inhale that golden light from above.”
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…
Oh let me be filled with heaven’s bright love!
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…

“Exhale that dark and searing pain.”
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…
But I feel this battle is all in vain.
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out…

“We’re done for now, open your eyes.
You’ve been cured for sure, now dance about.”
It’s all been for nothing, it’s been a great lie.
“Keep breathing in and keep breathing out.”

ljg 2019


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Ars Poetica

Today’s prompt poem about poetry:

ARS POETICA: How to Write a Poem

Poems, like gangs, take over the beach at dark.
It’s not safe, I’m told, to go down there.
But to learn to write a poem, I am going this morning,
in Spring when clouds, thick like pudding, hug
chilled, wet sand and the quiet feels like padding on a wall.

I sprawl on the sand, feet pointing towards the surf,
lacy green foam washing poem-matter over me,
coaxing words whispered in a hesitant ear,
each wave’s fondle hiding a fatal undertow.
Then I realize: I am not safe here.

Lori Gloyd (c) 1997, recast 2019


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You Are the Summer Sun

Today we get to play around with the Bard himself.  The prompt is “to challenge you to ‘remix’ a Shakespearean sonnet.”  I am selecting for my inspiration the first line of one of his most famous sonnets:  “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” from sonnet 18. (No this is not a sonnet   Just some rhyming quatrains).

You Are the Summer Sun

You came over my horizon
Like a scorching summer sun
flooding my life with light and heat
leaving no place where I could run.

You warmed me like a beach fire
after a long hot surfing day
You blistered my innocent skin
when too long in you I lay.

You found a fertile soil in me
but did you love what you had at all?
I think not because that land is bare.
A sudden frost heralds an early Fall.

ljg 2019


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Gold Light

I’m sorry, but I simply do not have the time today to write.  However, just so I don’t break my rhythm and in keeping with today’s prompt to “to write a poem that is specific to a season,”  I offer this poem I wrote way back in 1996.

Gold Light

In my mother’s chair I bask at ease
in a square of orange light and hear
magnolias applaud with breeze blown leaves
their farewell dance to Persephone.

Caught in rods of amber light,
dust specks float above the door
refracting sparks of diamond white,
gold squares stretch across the floor.

No hoary frost garlands the jack.
No maples burn with autumn fire.
Just golden light to break the back
of scathing summer’s brazen ire,
While I recline in deceptive ease
to mourn the death of Persephone.

ljg (c) 1996, 2019


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The Rings of Saturn

Today’s prompt is “to write a poem that… is inspired by a reference book. Locate a dictionary, thesaurus, or encyclopedia, open it at random, and consider the two pages in front of you to be your inspirational playground for the day.”    I used the link described here to hit this random page:  Zeroing in on one phrase, I derived this:

The Rings of Saturn

Down in Baja there’s a beach
where years ago we combed
for dead urchins and turban shells,
cracking open sand dollars,
amazed to see angel-shaped
shards fly free.

We watched Fata Morgana
mess with our minds and flip
All Saints Island on her head.
Under a Milky Way spilling
out of heaven’s black bowl
we telescoped Saturn’s pale green rings.

I do not travel as far these days
but the thrill of nature’s magical ways
still astounds and moves me to spend hours
Reading and writing and tending my flowers.

Ljg 2019

 

Ljg 2019.  Image courtesy of Wikipedia.


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Peering at the World Through Cat’s Eyes

This is one of the first—and favorite—poems I ever wrote, way back in 1996. I am re-posting it in response to today’s prompt “to write a poem about an animal.”.

Peering at the World through Cat’s Eyes

To meditate like a cat,
Poised, enigmatic, sphinx-like,
on a redwood deck
watching morning sun splinter
through dew-drops,
sniffing the fading
night scents of jasmine,
listening to rising
birdsongs and strong steps
of mistress in the kitchen,
to meditate on such as this
in stillness, in silence,
peering at the world
with golden almond-split eyes,
is to watch it crack
open and display
its wonderous beauty.

Ljg 1996, 2019


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It’s All About the Beat

Today’s prompt is ” to write a poem that engages with another art form .”   Okay, that would be drumming for me.

It’s All about the Beat

It’s all about the beat and the rhythm and the flow.
For whatever reason I did not go
to band or orchestra like those other kids
with their black scuffed violin and trumpet cases
stamped with words: “Property of the Music Department.”

Still I sang and danced with my hair brush around my room
finding the beat and the rhythm and the flow.
I learned to belly dance and bang my zills
and what I lacked in those exotic skills
I made up for with beating out rhythms and finding my flow.

Darbuka and djembe and the timbrel too–
I played like Miriam so long ago
finding the beat and the rhythm and the flow.
I’m not that good but it doesn’t matter though
because it’s all about the beat and the rhythm and the flow.

ljg 2019