The challenge this week was to write in the acrostic form. Here are the results.
Jane Yolen left this poem in the comments.
Undertaker
Victim look up.
Under a low and
Lowering sky, the undertaker comes
To carry your particulars
Up to a bleak, black heaven.
Read the set of wings, cruel beak, hooded eyes. This is no
Easing into eternity but a short, sharp shock
© 2009 Jane Yolen
Julie Larios from
The Drift Record left this poem in the comments.
Green
Squash and tomatoes
Up, white clematis vining, cherries done,
Me down on my knees
Minding the weeds.
Each year, I hear their green
Rebellion
All around. And by the time I stand
Up again, another season’s come
To nudge me along. There, in the back yard,
Under the bare maple I see
Myself on my knees again, and next to me
Narcissus bulbs – named Polar Ice -
Waiting for their dark dirt.
I turn, I turn, the year turns with me.
Now it’s time for the person I am
To go inside, out of the snow, tuck
Everyone I love into bed,
Read them stories. What could be
Simpler or warmer? Later, I see someone
Putting small seeds in their trays.
Rain does its job, too, and the sun comes.
I hear the year’s green complications.
Now, the season whispers, go ahead.
Go ahead. Grow.
Tess from
Written for Children left this poem in the comments.
Senses have their own symptoms.
You may experience or
Not experience
A sense perception that switches.
Even
Senses that are
Tactile such as your
hand, you may just hear it.
Estuaries can
Slide sideways suddenly
Into intuitive structures,into
Almost anything -- your salted lip!
Tiel Aisha Ansari from
Knocking From Inside shares a poem entitled
Azan.
Laura Purdie Salas shares
two acrostic poems!
Dianne White shares a yummy poem entitled
Pizza Patch.
Jone from
Check It Out shares a poem inspired by her trip to
Disneyland.
Elaine from
Wild Rose Reader shares an acrostic for
Tortoise, as well as some reviews of Fables in Verse.
Diane left this poem in the comments.
After a Month of Rain
Wearily I
read
each day's forecast
today a
chance of showers, tomorrow
heavy thunderstorms
expected with 60% chance of
despondency.
I've spent every day this week immersed in conversations about the teaching of math and science for middle school kids. With my brain swimming in numbers and theories, poetry has not come easily. Here is one of the poems I scribbled and scratched in the margins of my notes.
Phrases imperfect, imprecise
Ordered and reordered
Endlessly
Turned and twisted end over end
Revised
Yet again
It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.