A Poet’s Corner

poetscornerWelcome to the Poet’s Corner at Caffe M~Path. I’ve been writing poems off and on for at least thirty years, but I’ve never claimed to be a good poet. I recently joined a poet’s group and have begun to study elements of poetry and the various types. I’m still a teenager on my journey to full poet adulthood. In light of that, I hope you’ll find a measure of enjoyment or inspiration here. Reading another’s poetry can be difficult and oftentimes quite painful. I liken the painful times to the sound of fingernails scratching down a chalk board.

Isn’t it sad that there is a new generation of kids who will never know what that sounds like?

  • 7 June 2009

I wrote a poem in honour of my eldest sister’s birthday, which is today.  The poem is somewhat dual in its purpose given that this weekend is also the anniversary of D-Day. I hope you enjoy this rather free-form style poem.

“This Day”  ©CaffeM~Path

Morning alarm interrupts much-needed sleep.
Far-away explosions roll and thunder.
Birds chirp beyond the window, in a tree.
Not rude or obnoxious in their persistent urging,
A rope to which I cling; prevents me from sliding,
Down into sleep once more.

The ticking clock of this day set in motion,
The last traces of dreams erased.
Cold water splashed from a porcelain bowl,
Blissful shower to awaken the senses,
Or hot wind destroying my comfort,
With its stinging grit in my face.

The rush of morning, seldom peaceful,
For there are always squabbling children,
A door slamming, or whirlwind of girls laughing.
Jets scream overhead and tanks roll by,
Eyes keenly watch for enemy fire.
Eager for his walk, my dog bounds to my side.

Traffic, stoplights, lines of cars; that task made easy,
With informative radio and loud, off-key singing.
Gun checks, equipment checks, orders shouted.
Tasteless rations or lavish coffees.
Dog panting, running along our shared trail.

Riding the natural waves of work;
Flexible, malleable, an ever-ready battery.
Bursts of bullets and reams of paper.
The gentle sound of bait plopping in water.
Laughter whenever possible.

Pause to be thankful,
Ever mindful,
Survival in these very hard times.
A job to be had and a job to be done,
Peacefulness of a job well done.

Bid my desk goodnight, at last.
Join the masses, our slow drive home.
Count the dead
Count myself lucky
Count the stars, peaceful and exhausted.
Comfortable in my chair, dog at my side.

The paradox of days that march steadily by;
Ever glad for their passage
Equally, they are mourned
Never to return
Tears mingle with relief
For in this day,
We are one.

  • 25 May 2009

The End

He stands alone
Gazing down upon the scene
Spread out before him
Wise eyes
Full of memories, and
Knowledge of what will come

Old age wraps loving arms
Around the youth of his soul
Cloaking him
In a shroud of wrinkles and grey
Obscuring
The man beneath

Pondering those years gone by
With memories that somehow never die
Pausing to regret
Yet
Knowing
Change has always been his friend

How does one accept
The end?
The question a drum beat in his mind
Demanding answer
In time

To grasp one’s own end
Is to say
I am done

Will he leave behind
A legacy that must
Color the future
Of worlds to come?

He casts a wizened eye
To the future
Sees but only the darkness
And
A solitary tear slides
Down his ancient face

He knows
He will not be there.

Written by: ©CaffeMPath 25 May 2009

  • 23 April 2009

Shakespeare introduced his plays with a prologue in the form of a sonnet. Sonnets were usually melancholy love poems, so it would seem appropriate that the introduction to Romeo and Juliet, a woeful love story, is delivered in the form of a sonnet. Shakespeare’s plays, as well as The Sonnets, are for the most part composed in iambic pentameter. The Sonnets contain three four-line stanzas (called quatrain) and a final couplet, a style now known as the Shakespearean (or English) Sonnet.

This month, I was inspired by the prologue to Romeo and Juliet, and decided to create my own sonnet following his technique. My poem was written, literally, on the fly and then edited somewhat the next day. Not that this is any excuse for why it isn’t even a minute fraction of Shakespearean quality (afterall, Shakespeare is the Michaelangelo of the literary world, at least in my opinion.) Whereas I’ve captured the overall theme of ten syllables in each line, I do not think I adequately adhered to the law of iambic pentameter as it’s defined.

Illusion

By fate, two will meet; an unlikely pair
His frozen land, her stormy sea, they rise
Two worlds apart, yet joined by new love shared
Who among us could foresee their demise?

From forth that frozen land, lies to betray
In glittering persona, well-rehearsed
Veiled, deeply hidden; a beast seeking prey
Darkness lays beneath; at his core, cursed

Light of truth appears, a glorious shard
Fragmented crystal, destined to shatter
Deception now unveiled; her heart grows hard
Beast, the truth revealed; fate does not matter

Two worlds once joined in hope, now worlds apart
Truth: solitary lover of broken hearts.

Written 23 April 2009 ©CaffeM~Path

  • 22 February 2009

This week, I decided to try my hand at the ancient craft of Haiku poetry. I hope to incorporate these poems into the novel I’m working on. According to http://www.thehaikupoet.com/ this style of poetry originated in Japan. It consists of 17 morae (or basically, syllables), in three metrical phrases of 5, 7 and 5 morae respectively. Haiku typically contain a seasonal reference and a verbal caesura (an audible pause that breaks up a line of verse).

In Japanese, traditional haiku appear in a single vertical line, while haiku in English usually appear in three lines, to parallel the three metrical phrases of Japanese haiku.

The following three poems represent my first attempts at writing Haiku. I don’t know if I managed to incorporate all the essential elements or not. I’ll let my reader’s judge 😀  (I wrote all three today and own all rights to them.)

A Celtic Dream ©caffeM~path

The shores of my home

in rhythmic tide your heart holds

captive in your soul.

Stonehenge ©caffeM~path

Timeless sentinels

whispering ancient secrets

to Heaven alone.

Rain ©caffeM~path

Heavenly tears fall,

deluge of heart-wrenching pain

or gentle weeping.

  • Many thanks to Mand for her inspirational teachings on Pantoum poetry, and many thanks to Dots for her support and encouragement. This is my first attempt at writing such a poem. I hope you enjoy it. It probably goes without saying that I own all the rights to this poem.

Stoney House ©Caffe M~Path

Let us ponder that wisdom of old
Where truth oft is found
Let us review our dreams of gold
Unlock that loyalty to which we’re bound

Where truth oft is found
In breathing earth and cry of sea
Unlock that loyalty to which we’re bound
With salt and tang of whispering plea

In breathing earth and cry of sea
Stones pitch as waves ebb and flow
With salt and tang of whispering plea
Reshape and smooth old stones below

Stones pitch as waves ebb and flow
By tide of moon and sun-filled pleasures
Reshape and smooth old stones below
For shoreline longs for glistening treasures

By tide of moon and sun-filled pleasures
Of sand and wave that tear asunder
For shoreline longs for glistening treasures
Old stones become new things of wonder

Of sand and wave that tear asunder
Reveal the sleep from which we must rouse
Old stones become new things of wonder
New dreams and hopes fill this stoney house

Reveal the sleep from which we must rouse
Let us review our dreams of gold
New dreams and hopes fill this stoney house
Let us ponder that wisdom of old.

written 17 Oct 2008

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