Fireworks - a poem by Margaret Maguire

Flares and silver fountains
Illuminating exotic palms
Rockets and flaming stars
Exploding Chrysanthemums' tips
White crackling Crossetts
Orange glowing sky lanterns
Red Poinsettias and Diadems
Kaleidoscopic rain storms
Shimmering Catherine Wheels

Written by Margaret Maguire


One or two firework facts:

First documentation of fireworks was in China in the 7th century and were used in spring and mid autumn festivals.

The word for firework in Japanese is hanabi which means 'fireflower'.

The largest firework display was in Madera, Portugal, and consisted of 66,326 fireworks.

We are Poetry Rising

Pic from the film, LADYHAWKE, pure poetry that takes place on the silver screen.

We are Poetry Rising
by Savanna Kougar

Poetry. It’s here, probably to stay.

Okay, silly to say in a way, since poetry has been around for Age upon Age. I contend this form of creative expression is ‘simply and complexly’ a matter of the soul, and of the spirit.

Of being the unique divine creations we are as human beings... our emotions, our experiences, our realizations... to put it in another way... poetry is ‘us’ and we are poetry.

Think of the phrase ‘poetry in motion’. In a deeply profound way, we are all poetry in motion and we ‘motion’ poetry by penning it. By bringing those words to life on the page, on the computer screen.

In this wayward ‘coming apart’ day and age, we need poetry as never before. It is part of the Soul Rising that is taking place inside all of us, the Soul Rising that is tsunami-sweeping across our globe in this time of Awakening. This time of knowing the depths of our true natures.

Poetry is our friend, our companion during this journey. We are Poetry Rising.
~~~

Note: Originally blogged about on Kougar Kisses blog ~ July 29, 2010
~~~~~~

Okay, then, here’s a poem style called Diamante. Most likely you know about it. However, I belatedly discovered it doing an internet search for something else. If not, “Diamante is a seven-lined contrast poem set up in a diamond shape”.

This is my first Diamante poem.

free
passionate, wild
dancing, empowering, flying
source, elation, rage, trepidation
pillaging, destroying, raping
sorrows, desperate
slave

~~~~~~

This X-poem is about my goddess heroine in a novella [not pubbed] that I wrote about eleven years ago, titled ~ Goddess from the Dark Side of the Moon ~ the hero betrayed the heroine by pretending to be another man. Not knowing he was the god she refused as her lover, she fell in love with him as the man he pretended to be while on an Earth mission.

Silvery translucence
she slid down his cheek
as one drop of rain.
To torment him further
she rained herself
upon his dark golden hair.
To torture his need for her
she sluiced her goddess essence
over his Apollo-handsome physique
caressing every bold muscle,
every masculine plane of him
until he raised his face
to Earth’s gray pearl sky
and silently shouted her name.
She bathed him in her
beauteous Venus nature
until he clenched his eyelids
and begged for her.
She showered him with her desires
until he groaned like Mt. Vesuvius.
Until he screamed through the cosmos
pleading for her favor.
His human body strained,
a statue of blazing marble for her.
Only her.
Taking her woman’s revenge
she whirled as sheets of rain around
his naked body, shuddering him.
She saturated him with her
erotic dreams of him.
Only him.
Slowly, she slid her watery being,
her silvered transparency
down his taut agonized groin
and spun up his pillar-standing phallus.
Wickedly, she drove him to the brink
of ecstasy, then flowed from him,
denying him, leaving him to feel
the lava blazes of Hades,
as if the Lord of the Underworld
consumed his flesh to punish his
lover’s misdeeds, his betrayal of her.
Satisfied, still she cried her own tears
as splashing drops of rain
upon the thirsty Earth.
Transforming to ethereal goddess
above him, she whispered his name.
He opened his dark-as-midnight eyes
and she vanished from him
like wisps of fairy mist
before the gold-soft brilliance
of the morning’s risen sun.

~~~~~~

And, finally, my attempt at a sonnet.

Her eyes like morning’s sunstruck violets
Tease me without ever knowing of my gaze.
Her face, fiery, yet soft in innocense
Studies me upon occasion, as days
Drift between us, endless in our winter
Captivity. Oh, yes, my heart does love.
My soul yearns, ever the fool for her. Splinter
Like frozen glass, my words, as my fire dove
Flies to the side of her betrothed. Dance
They do on sweet swirls of music. Embraced
Lightly, for propriety rules, their legs prance
Beautifully. Yet his lineage I traced
And found a darkness, a danger. Dare I tell
Her? Risk her disbelief? Her sobbing hell?

~~~~~~

May your most poetic dreams come true...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
~~~~~~

Midsummer Poetry Week, day seven

Anatomy of a Smile

When she smiles she commands
Zygomatic major to lift
The corners of her mouth
Levitation of passionate lips
Of trust, friendship and flirting
Evolution’s opening face gambit
Lulls our base suspicions

Eyes join in orbicularis oculi
Direct a crow’s dance on her cheeks
Pointing to the source of light
Brown pools of passion to drown in
Draped in alabaster

La Giaconda that smile or was it?
In the heat of life we need to be clear
It depends how you look at her
A subtle ambiguity, a weak signal
Best viewed from the corner of the eye
Yes, there is something there
Perhaps a promise of a smile

Does she have much to smile about?
Gazed at by millions of punters
Airheading round the Louvre
Perhaps she saying ‘I would smile
If you all stopped looking at me’
Is that the enigma?

Alan Calder

[Pictures from Wikimedia Commons]

Poetry ~ Soul Food for Lovers

Because she expressed it with absolute exquisiteness, I begin with what Judah Raine said in her blog ~ Poetry - the essence of being...

Whether we love to dance, to paint, to sing… that is the spirit of the poet in us finding expression. It is eternal, a well-spring of life and joy and simple contentment. It is looking at life with the “inner eyes” of our spirits – with compassion and with wisdom, not to deny the existence of tragedy or pain or injustice, but rather to see beyond that to a gift as precious as life itself. To the gift of hope, and of faith, and of love. It is a way to live life to the full.
~~~
Over the years I’ve written poetry for the sheer enjoyment of it. Because doing so satisfies something deep within me that would be expressed for its own sake. I even took a creative writing class in college specifically devoted to poetry and adored it.
I admit I never jumped whole-soul into the world of penning poetry. That world has never held much appeal to me because of its arbitrary *this is the right way to do it* limits. Yes, it’s way too restrictive for my freedom-loving nature.
Also, at the time, the favorite sport seemed to be ripping other people’s efforts to shreds, a knockdown drag-out battle of egos ~ not what I need or want in my life.
Okay, so poetic language often creeps into my novels. And poetry incorporates itself into some of my stories. To the delight of some readers. Yet, to the vexation of other readers.
One reason the original owners of Hardshell e-publishing (1997) accepted my novella, SAVAGE GAMESWOMAN, was because they particularly loved the poetic language. However, could I get it e-pubbed now? Probably not in a million tries, because of that very use of poetic language. Yep, to my reckoning, this is an odd world, indeed.
Actually, I hadn’t meant to go this route for this post. It popped out, unbidden, as poetry often does.
First, here’s a snippet-taste of HOW NOT to write a novella. Second, my newest poem.

SAVAGE GAMESWOMAN ~ an OtherWorld fantasy ~

“I have healing-respected you, Practitioner. Now I shall pagan-wild ride,” Khazaria fierce-silk ruled, beginning to rise from the iced crystalline waters.

Catching the tangled flame length of her hair, Dhagado enjoyed its coolness. He serpent-wrapped it around his hand, soft-forcing her to stillness. “Your svelte succulent beauty will not be raging-hoof and whip-ruined,” he ultimate-male commanded. Then caring-deliberate, he lifted her from the rejuvenating waters. Reaching down he slid the drying blanket around her shoulders.

“Then... galaxy-perhaps, you should devil-lust use my beauty. Before I riding-ruin it!” she temptress-defied, swaying from him like a goddess.
~~~~~~
I am shamelessly a romantic. Within the rose-red depths my heart I yearn to write poetry which could be labeled ~ Soul Food for Lovers.
While this poem is no masterpiece, it was a bit of indulgent joy to write. I like to think it inspires the fierce and endless passions of the heart. For some.


Summer Solstice Seductress

My Summer Solstice Seductress, shades of yellow swirl around her, from golden to icy pale.
She is summer to my eye, her frock an airy whirlwind graced by the sensual display of her legs.
Curvaceous and gleaming with a delicate tan, I would devour her with my tender and brutal passions.
Before me, she is playful as a naughty kitten offering a carefree flirtation only for my pleasure.

I am in love with her ankles watching her flash them in the breezy sunlight as she glances at the flapping sail.
Around us, azure and peridot waters ripple forming diamonds. Yes, I adore her pert nose and silently beg.
If only her father will allow our match, I will dance her into the bold raptures of our love, our marital passions.
A queen aboard my sailing yacht, she kicks off her bright yellow sandals, so sassy with our light-hearted leisure.

A gust of wind lifts her long bouncing curls, a blaze of splendid red beneath the high laughing sun and I swear I will not fail.
Languidly lifting one shoulder, she eases back on one palm, a sweet seductive pose only for my eyes, then gracefully straightens one leg.
She sneaks a peek at me, smiling, a heart-shaped curve of her pink luscious mouth and I quiver like an untried lad with my passions.
A languorous tilt of her head, she surrenders to the sun-drenched rise of wind, her naked throat tempting my lips to plunder such a lovely treasure.
~~~~~~

Savanna

Savanna Kougar
~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

"More" Poetry: from a non-poet

I Dream In Color

Running outside
My little feet wrapped
And body bundled against the cold
I fly
Into the snow

I am taken
By its warmth
But more so by its color
I dream
In many colors

The rainbow before me
Lies on the ground
In my backyard so deep
A child
Surrounded in warmth

For years to come
I still dwell
In the hills of rainbow snow
Taken
Home in my mind

A favorite memory
Not for real
They say you can't go back
But I do
And still dream in color.

(Feb 2005)

 
I'm not a poet. By that I mean I'm not trying to make my name as a poet. I'll leave that to those who study the technique, form, style, and work at improving their particular craft. I'm a novelist who likes to play in poetry now and then.

It's funny, I suppose, since I've been writing poetry much longer than I've been writing novels. My first was in high school after a successful day of marching band when we won first place in a parade. We did that often but this was my first time. As an expressive outlet I wrote a little ditty that started:

We are closer
Almost here
All the traffic
Hope for cheers...

Well okay, but it was my first and I was about fourteen. From that came an explosion of teenage angst stuff that I won't bother retyping, and some holiday stuff ... only spurts of thoughts. With my youth and naivete, I was taken in by one of those companies looking for poets only so they could sell you their "anthologies" *sigh* - ah well, it helped land a feature in my local paper! I had just graduated high school by then and was on the front page in an article that showed off my creative tendencies. It included the "published" poem and a drawing I'd done that received a blue ribbon in the state fair. Talk about feeling important! ;-) Maybe it wasn't so much, in the grand scheme of things, but it was encouraging.

I have to always give credit to my poetry background for helping to give me a jump start into an eventual writing career. I'm still not a poet, but I still write poetry at times. I love the quick expression, the hidden meanings (sometimes so hidden readers are left scratching their heads - oops), and the free-writing creative emotional release. I love the way when I write poetry it surges the feel of it through my prose, as well. It makes me a better novelist. Anything that taps such deep inner feeling will do that.

I'll share one more, a fairly recent one (bypassing the I Once Ate A Cat poem) that came from a prompt since I also love grabbing a prompt and simply planting myself in front of a blank sheet of paper and letting the words come out as they will. This has no editing - it's true free writing, an exercise I highly enjoy:

More

Deeply, you love me, you say
More than I
But wait
You cannot, I say
More cannot exist

Strongly, you show your pain
Your tears
Won't sway
I believe, I say
More cannot exist

Take heart
Take strength
Take all I am
All I have, within
I have no fear, I say
You stay

Stay within bounds, unwound
Unseen are
My tears
I have no fear, I say
While you are near

Deeply, I love you, I swear
More than you
I dare
You cannot, you say
More cannot exist

Strongly, I hide my pain
I smile
On display
You believe, you say
In my strength

But wait
My strength
Belongs to you
All I have, within
I get from you, I swear
You cry

More, I say
And smile
More exists

(Feb 2007)

LK Hunsaker
www.LKHunsaker.com

MidSummer Poetry Week ~ Day Four

I haven't written many poems, but I do find they are a great source of release when going through troubled times. The first one was written when I woke up one morning after being married for over ten years, and realized...the man lying next to me had become a virtual stranger.

Nothing More

Whispered in my ear
Three small words spoken many times before
My heart does not flutter like the first time
A moment of disbelief
Nothing more

A note left on the table
Signed in the same way as always
I look for some uniqueness in the words
A tear escapes
Nothing more

A letter in my mailbox
Words of endearment as if copied
No unpredictable gesture of kindness
A heavy sigh
Nothing more

A night of lovemaking
Hurried motions without meaning
No shudder reaches my lips
Cry into my pillow
Nothing more

Suitcase ready to depart
Filled with regrets of time lost
The words I love you have no meaning
When they are just words
Nothing more

Adelle Laudan
Copyright 2007

This poem was written during a period of time in my life where I lost one too many friends to the disease of alcoholism. I remember writing this the night of the funeral.

Rebel Child

Rebel child
Beautiful baby
Born into a life of abuse
Born destined to abuse her life

Rebel child
Always on the run
Not knowing where you are headed
Not knowing where you came from

Rebel child
Such a beauty
Using her smile to find acceptance
Using her smile to accept her reality

Rebel child
Silently weeping
Trying to understand her past
Trying to forget her memories

Rebel child
Easing the pain
Drowning her sorrows in a bottle
Drowning in an ocean of guilt

Rebel child
Always searching
Looking for love in all the wrong places
Looking for a place to call home

Rebel child
Is missing
No one is looking for her
No one knows she is gone

Rebel child
Finds peace
Escape was at the bottom of the bottle
Escape caressed her, took away the pain

Copyright 2005
Adelle Laudan

I don't want you to think my poems are only of sadness and heartache, so I will throw this one in the mix. I think the passion is very obvious.

RIDING IN THE RAIN

Some folks ride in the rain
To wash away their tears
Yearning for days of yesterday
Never shifting gears

They always ride the same old roads
Never venturing into the unknown
Cursing their life for opportunities missed
Crying as they head home

I don’t dwell on days gone by
I took a different route
I look forward to the open skies,
Riding free is what it’s all about

So, I bring to life my iron beast
As quickly as can be
I don’t want to miss a moment in time
There's still too much left to see

I want to feel the winds of time
Blowing in my face
I want to find many new roads
Not happy to be just taking up space

I want to see what's up ahead
Not where I should have turned
Life's too short to have regrets
Just long enough to learn

So when the rain is upon us
When you hear the thunder crack
Go for a ride and cleanse your spirit
Get your life back on track

It's all right to walk down memory lane,
That’s part of who we are
But, today is for the living
To chase a shooting star

The thrill is in the mystery
Not what you already know
In the wind is where it’s happening
Not knowing where you go

Life is riding all the twists and turns
Even when it starts to rain
It’s living in the moment
Ride on or go insane

You can’t see what’s around every corner
Sometimes you have to make a change
The world is yours for the taking
Even when it means riding in the rain

Adelle Laudan
Copyright  2004

I'd also like to share a Sqeeeeee!! moment in my house. My youngest daughter, soon to be 14 years old, graduated grade eight last night. She won two awards. One , Excellence in Visual Arts...and, The Award for Literacy! Was a very proud moment in my life.

Midsummer Poetry Week, day three

More love poems today from my writing group. Graham, Candida and Barry provide the poetry, while the top two pictures are by Victor Harris from Barry's garden and the one at the bottom was taken by my hubby in ours.


Love, Lust and Friendship

Friendship comes first, with a smile, a word.
Shared confidences over a drink or two
secret meetings, a quiet field trip.
Something happening, don’t be absurd,
we’re just good friends, what harm can we do?
Our own relationships are just having a blip.

Lust can come as a surprise.
That warm driven passion from a stolen kiss,
gentle touch’s hidden from view.
A burning lust does arise,
obsessive secret meetings, a warm wet bliss,
the fires keep burning whatever you do.

Love gifts and tender feelings creep in.
Lust gives way to lifetime thoughts,
the knowledge of a warm and tender love.
No more snatched moments of sin.
Our love will last, no negative thoughts
the angels must have blessed us from above.

Graham Alibone


Six-word poems

Eyes meet,
Sensations prickle,
Lovers greet.

Cannot breathe
I need
Your squeeze

Love’s found
Together
Love’s lost
Alone.

Hey you,
Let’s say
I do!

Together we are
Better than
Apart

First the kisses,
Then it’s Mrs

Shared moments
Knowing eyes
Love’s found

Arthritic joints,
Loves’ longevity
Cures all.

Love is a universe
For two

My inner fire
Wants your desire

Candida Heard


IRIS

Irresistible, dramatic, majestic and yet delicate
dancing with the crowd

Rhizomes exposed to the sun
storing the energy

Inspired Monet and Van Gogh
style, beauty, breathtaking masterpieces

Sensual, demanding and always full of surprises
the charm of a gypsy

Barry Kellington

Midsummer Poetry Week, Day One

Welcome to the start of our Midsummer Poetry Week on the Lindsay's Romantics blog! Here to open are two poets from my own local writing group: Alan Calder and Margaret Maguire.


The Chemistry of Love

Sin from thy lips? Oh trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.
William Shakespeare


Two specks of nubile dust coalesce
In the infinity of space and time
A low probability event, it happens
Anywhere called destiny
Or is it really down to chemistry?

Hands melt together in warm caress
Fingers knot round fingers
Keeping in fond light touch
Enough to fan the next flame

In the dark quiet corner
Lips seek out soft quivering lips
The passport gateway to all else
Four slivers of flesh colliding
Teasing, searching, sensing
Pouting, puckering, pressure
Signalling passion explodes in
A hormone high tide that
Sweeps them far upstream on
Waves of strident urging molecules

Phenylethylamine sets them on fire
Dopamine makes them feel good
Norepinephidrine makes their hearts race
The level of sinister serotonin drops
A symptom of another form of
Obsessive compulsive disorder
Or the up phase of manic depression
Plato said it was a mental illness

A cocktail chain that binds them
Drowning them in each other
Lifebelts invisible in their blindness
Two hermit crabs outside their shells
Nature’s drug fuelled purpose
Storm troopers from its Ministry of Population
We know what it wants, it isn’t pious
Our ancestors whisper in our ears

Addicts in that chemistry of life
Cast on that sun kissed beach
They build a castle in the sands of lust
But who would want to say
‘I’ve fallen in lust’
With its Biblical bad press and baggage
Better to call it Love-Stage 1
In love with the idea of being in love

But beware of the withdrawal symptoms
If you’re abandoned there by your mate
The opposite of love is empty grief
Only you can say whether it was better
To have loved and lost than never loved at all
If you break up try not to break down

But who told dopamine and friends to strike?
Not every kiss leads to short term bliss
Is there a winged messenger?
A chemical cupid twixt lip and life
A pheromone that throws the switch
To say that A’s ok a compatible genetic mix
But B’s a frog, get real, no chance

Do we really want to know that?
And have to find a mate in a lab
Dating adverts, chemical formulae
It might save time for lonely moths
Who never seem to find the flame
Pheromone free zones perhaps?
Let’s leave this part a mystery

Once you’ve found it will it last?
Not that drug fuelled phase
That keeps the heart cuffs on
The tide goes out to leave an itch
To scratch in four to seven years
Time to make a babe or three
And move on to Love- Phase 2
But some are primed to seek others
To extend the human gene pool

So then the love struck junkies
Addicted to that initial ecstasy
Need that aching surging rush
They start afresh along the shore
Condemned to play there forever
Singing that same old song again
Does anything grow in salty sand?
Or is that backward moral bollocks?

If you’re lucky and patient
You will find the soothing peace
Of deep and everlasting love
The novelty of the sandy beach
Must move onto firmer ground
Built on a million memories
And foundations of all things shared
No high pressure chemistry
A gentle balm of endorphins entwines
And oxytocin keeps the cuddles going
It’s in our psyche to work for
What nature makes us desire

A long journey not a sporting event
Evolving with the seasons
Each with its different rhythm
Facing life with one mind
All an investment in fusing souls
Together till death do you part
In hope to meet again
And do it all another time

Alan Calder


My Life long friend

To start our journey I send a kiss
For a life of wedded bliss,
Our first home sparkling and new
A love so faithful and true.

Our lives to spend together come
What may to stay forever,
This we will learn from one another
Truth, love, joy and sorrow.

The journey is never going to end
With you my life long friend.
Many explorations to be done,
The future’s going to be such fun.

We may travel far to distant lands,
Or simply stay close at hand.
When life has gone, we will journey
On through all eternity.

Margaret Maguire

[Pictures by Victor Harris from the garden of Barry Kellington.]

Poetry - the essence of being...

Hey everyone! With Midsummer Poetry Week coming up on the Pink Blog, it got me thinking about poetry in general. And how, so often, we regard poetry as being something in regular verses with a certain amount of rhyme, repetition, alliteration… True, modern “poetry” has broken free from many of these constraints, and “poetic licence” has taken on a whole new meaning. But all this deals essentially with form and structure. But what about the heart of poetry – the essential “something” that makes it a uniquely expressive literary genre?

While mindful of all the poetic conventions and the accepted definitions, I can’t seem to escape the idea that poetry is really so much more. To me, poetry is the “language of the soul” – a deep and unconstrained voice within us all that we can express in so many ways… through words, music, art…

Take the art of sculpture, for example – lines and images and beauty that tell their own kind of story and appeal to the aesthetic in all of us. Or a photograph that stands out, a masterpiece of light and shade and harmony. And what about a painting that strikes a chord, or a piece of music, or a particular line from a song? What is it about all of these things that “talks” to each of us in different ways, but no less powerfully than through the lines of poetry as we usually define it.

I believe that poetry is the expression of everything fluid and beautiful and deep within us. As a writer, with the obvious love for words, I recognise the “poet” in so many narratives and descriptive phrases, feel the power of the poetic gift through the right rendering of a tale. That gift finds many ways of expressing itself. It is a kind of reaching out of the human spirit beyond the here and now. It is vision and freedom and transformation. It is the ability of every human being to transcend circumstance, overcome fear, achieve greatness. And it is the ability to recognise the simple beauty in a flower, a butterfly, the laugh of a child…

Whether we love to dance, to paint, to sing… that is the spirit of the poet in us finding expression. It is eternal, a well-spring of life and joy and simple contentment. It is looking at life with the “inner eyes” of our spirits – with compassion and with wisdom, not to deny the existence of tragedy or pain or injustice, but rather to see beyond that to a gift as precious as life itself. To the gift of hope, and of faith, and of love. It is a way to live life to the full.

We all have it. It’s just that sometimes we lose sight of it along the way…

Thanks for having me!
Jude

Judah Raine
http://www.judahraine.com