It’s been awhile since I published one of my Wordle attempts. MindLoveMiseryMenagerie regularly presents these Word-puzzles, in which a list of words is provided, to be crafted into a poem or other form of writing. This Wordle is #157. (*see word list below.)
The Art of Flirting
We have reached a stalemate…you and I
in our playhouse of make-believe,
avoiding muse-thieves in cahoots vis-à-vis
in competition for cleverness … a turn of a phrase.
I bite my tongue in affected semaphorism
… a flicker of eyelashes with a knowing smile,
a hint of a shared secret, imaginary interlude
“remember the willows…?” a tentative glance…
To know or not to know becomes the quest
we wonder: are we on the same page?
Do we deserve to solve the paradox
of saying nothing…while expressing it all?
*Word list: bite, smooth, open, deserve, paradox, semaphorism, stalemate, tension, playhouse, Neptune, thieves. (I was unable to work in two of the words: Neptune and tension, but did manage to incorporate the prerequisite ten words—including Semaphorism — a conversational hint of something personal to say; a half-told anecdote; one of those comments we slip into an otherwise unconnected conversation, such as an aside which has no apparent meaning other than between two specific people; a private joke.
Bless the blue and the red
those who tirelessly stump for votes
among the hopeful and hopeless
grabbing at sticks and straws
as they burn bridges behind them
and always conceal how they ran the race
the votes they cast—win or lose—
behind the locked curtain.
Wordle #273, November 11, 2016 … by MindLoveMisery
the words: blue, burn, lose, race, red, lock, grab, bless, stump, vote, conceal, stick.
A scent of Wisteria
if real or fake
borne by warm breezes
over rippling tidewaters.
A ship’s sharp whistle
from deep in the gut,
as sweet music echoes
through silent halls
… a faceless, mute bibliotaph,
who treasures… within his soul…
sounds he cannot experience
except in his penetralia.
© Sometimes, 2017
This WORDLE #129, has languished in my notebook for months. I do love these exercises offered frequently by MINDLOVEMISERY, and enjoy the challenge of making a poem or other form of writing, using at least ten specific words from a list of 12. This Wordle words are: Wisteria, faceless, penetralia*, sharp, tidewater, fake, breeze, occur, mute, bibliotaph*, step, and guts.
penetralia: held in interior, core, deep, innards, etc… as in deep sometimes private thoughts or memories
bibliotaph: someone who hoards books, a book collector
This poem I wrote last year seems an appropriate companion with one I published this morning. I love Wordles, and MLMM always is one of my favorite sites. Thanks again MLMM!
This is a Wordle for Special Edition “Touch” MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie, August 29, 2016 Challenge. https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/08/29/wordle-special-addition-touch-august-29th-2016/#respond
This is not my usual fare, but here is the short vignette that I wrote using many, if not all, of the Wordle words given for the challenge.
to die in Satin…
Feverish now, thrashing among sodden sheets
grown bristly and coarse, soaked with salty tears
in a tangible horror of torturous linen…
no smoothing touch of pumice could relieve,
to sharply barbed cloth…once satiny to the touch…
The dying man’s angular body wracked with agony,
viscous sweat turning waxy his once swarthy skin
as rigidity overcame and replaced malleability.
“Oh! Let me die!” he entreated those who
could do nothing else.
Here’s a Wordle that I’ve been working on. I like these prompt-forms so much that I write them down in my notebook and work on them when so inclined. Here’s one I worked on for a long time but haven’t gotten it published on my blog. The twelve words given are: apple, frigid, pain, gall-and-wormwood (deep resentment,) dive, cinch, halfway, grime, wind, vintage, pause, and Palinoia ( compulsive repetition of an act until it is performed perfectly.)
Vintage memories pause halfway
on the stalled turntable of
Palinoia’s imaginary grime…
brought on through “gall and wormwood”
that eats my craw and forces me
to dive into the frigid apple wine
that dulls the pain and
quiets the howl of the wind.
I like to use the Wordle words for poems, although any literary form is acceptable. Wordles are great fun, and anyone is welcome to join in. Yves Morrow, the owner of the blog always welcomes contributors to his various and daily prompts…or any visitors, there is some really excellent material found here. https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/
Here’s a scrap of rhyme from one of my notebooks, Wordle #124, from last October’s prompt in MindLoveMisery’s post. I would apologize for the delay, but here it is anyway….better late than never.
A grey Cygnet has lost its Mum
adrift on a branch of fennel.
A tad of soft nectar escaped from a bloom
inexplicably left by a passing Sparrow…
serves well as emergency forage
against hunger pangs, until Mama’s return
to bandage the Cygnet’s distress.
The sunlight reflects beams of light
which belie the clarity of vitrified matter
embodied in clear bubbles of resin.
© Sometimes, 2017
[Here is my entry for MindLoveMisery’s Tale Weaver #105, The Dark Side
The challenge is to write a horror tale, something dark and scary (if possible…asking for “scary” is like asking for “humor.”) I usually don’t write this kind of thing, but here goes….]
Some call them “entities,”
the mysterious forms that appear
out of the dark identities
that linger beyond their time to disappear.
Would they remain if the light fails
when the switch malfunctions
or a passing cloud the bright moon pales
or if we freeze before we give in to compunctions?
Or if our night visitors are figments of imagination,
as we reassure our waking senses,
would the benefit of a new orientation—
like turning our backs to them—compense?
Just think, how a chilly shiver might give us pause…
if Mr. Poe’s “tapping,” instead of just a black bird,
had been in fact a creature’s pecking claws,
an unspeakable thing from a mired pit, so untoward.
So what if the cloudy caricature figure (our entity,)
solemnly menacing from the dark places beside our bed
would not fade into nothingness at flash of first light…
but take form of the night terror within our head?
© Sometimes, 2017
(Day 16, 2017)
ever the scapegrace (his position aside)
given no quarter of tolerance
for sudden nicotine cravings…
mealy-mouthed and queasy from years
of parapraxis and gelatinous back-bone…
he longed for a fusion of wit and wisdom
to complement his vast popularity.
Then at last came the day that a spark
took flare and he enacted a non-smoking law
of dubious but far-reaching value.
© Sometimes, 2017