Category Archives: Writing 201

Writing 201 Day 9: Cold, Concrete Poem, and Epistrophe/Anaphora

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Wintery Shape in the Snowscape

OH NO

THE SNOW!

YOU KNOW IT’S

COLD WHEN

YOU LOOK OUTSIDE

AND SEE THE SNOW. AS SNOW

 FLURRIES FLUTTER AROUND AND

DRIFT ON DOWN ALL TOO SOON COVER

THE GROUND. SNOW, SNOW, AND

MORE SNOW! STARTING IN NO

VEMBER OR DECEMBER,

THAT IS THE WAY THE WEATHER

WILL GO; SNOW, SNOW, AND MORE

SNOW. AND THAT SCENE OF EVER WHITE

SNOWFALL IS SIMPLY NOT ALL; FOR ALONG

WITH THAT SNOW WILL COME WINTER STORMS

 AND BITTER, FRIGID COLD. THOSE DAYS, WEEKS,

 AND MONTHS OF SNOW AND WINTRY COLD

CAN SEEM TO GO ON AND ON. EVEN SO,

ON CLEAR DAYS WHEN UPWARD

YOU GAZE YOU MAY SEE THE

 SKY IS A BRILLIANT HUE

OF VIVID BLUE BENEATH THE GLOWING EYE OF THE SUN.BUT THEN STILL ALL THAT PURE WHITE SNOW AND MORE SNOW UNTIL WHITE IS THE ONLY COLOR YOU KNOW. EVEN STILL WINTER DOES HAVE ITS’ THRILLS WITH SNOWSHOEING, SKIING, AND SLEDDING DOWN HILL.AND ON A BLUSTERY COLD AND SNOWY DAY YOU JUST MAY CONSIDER YOURSELF LUCKY ALONG THE WAY WHEN YOU SPY IN THE SKY AN UNUSUAL VIEW OF AN ARCHING SUNDOG OF A VIBRANT ORANGE HUE. IT IS A WINTER RAINBOW; A SIGN OF HOPE JUST FOR YOU.THEN BACK TO THE SNOW, SNOW, AND MORE SNOW! OH THAT SNOW NEVER SEEMS TO QUITE END UNTIL FINALLY COMES WELCOMED SIGNS OF SPRING.

Writing 201 Day 8: Flavor, Elegy, and Enumeratio

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008

Flavor of Autumns Past

Pungent scent of oak, pine, and maple trees

Penetrating the autumn air.

Remembering also the birches, cedars, and elms

Adding their aromatic flair.

Clasping to the limbs are leaves of deep and changing

Colors; apple red and tangerine orange,

And bright splashes of dark lime and lemon yellow grandeur.

Sweet memories of walking, strolling, and

Wading through clusters, piles, and layers of fallen leaves.

Autumn is harvest time as the last

Of the vegetables and fruits are plucked smelling fresh and sweet.

Pumpkin, squash, and ripened tomatoes

Are reaped from the gardens while the clinging apples

Are pulled from the orchard trees:

Granny Smiths, braeburns, bright red delicious, and

The yellow delicious apples too.

The last of the corn, the wheat, soybeans, and hay

Are reaped without further delay.

Then all enjoy the harvest and a feast on Thanksgiving Day.

Enjoying the warm winds from the south

And the west; a strong and yet gentle, tantalizing breeze

Before the colder north and eastern gales

Rush on in and strip the swaying trees until they’re bare.

For by then autumn is gone and winter

Has rushed in with its snow, layers of ice, and frigid cold

As temperatures drop to zero and below.

Amid the snow and that freezing cold, we take the time

To celebrate Christmas, favorite holiday of old.

Then to restore hope of warmer days to come, a hint of

Spring is in the air as the snow melts

And the ground is bare. Also soon, the snow turns to rain

And the world becomes green again.

Summer then arrives for all those young at heart who like

To camp, hike, swim, and dive.

Such enjoyment of long days, abundant sunshine, and

Celebration of Independence Day.

Like the musical beat of a favorite song or poem which

Entails its own melodious rhyme,

Each season with its own scents and flavors enters in its own

Predictable and expected time. As

After autumn, winter arrives, and then comes spring

Followed by summer and then autumn

Returns again with its own aroma and charming flavor

 like an enchanting and familiar friend.

Writing 201 Day 7: Neighborhood, Ballad, and Assonance

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001

The Ballad of a Stroll and a Photo That

Offended the Waterfowl

One day I arose

To go on a stroll

Through the streets of this old town

Built ever so long ago

Although it was a bit chilly and cold.

I strolled past the post office,

A closed café, and the grocery store.

I saw plenty of old homes

containing history of their own

And I soon found the old sign describing the town’s

Historical account with the old railroad.

The old depot I well did know

Was somewhere across that other road.

It is not far to go, you know;

Just down this street, this century old road.

Then make a right turn and then a left

Until I am strolling on Main Street due North.

I have my camera in tow with a bit of hope

That I might capture an interesting photo

To share with others and perhaps on a post.

But many times that bit of hope is quite remote

As this small town remains continuously the same.

Although I reminded myself,” you just never know

What new or interesting or sight  my eye may behold.”

I walked into the Dairy Queen to have a bit of ice cream.

Then I was eagerly so wanting to stroll to a favorite place, you know.

So I continued to stroll to the small park where the

Trees towered high in the cold as I still strolled

Down the sloping, grassy knoll to stand

Alone on the beach where the waves

Gently lapped and softly rolled.

Not expecting to see any company

On such a cold and woeful day.

But wouldn’t you know as I looked

Out I saw not one but two quiet

And graceful waterfowl.

In silence I watched them lift up

Off the rippling lake and gliding into the air.

They made almost no noise; hardly any sound.

They seemed content to not go far

But only to fly close to the nearly

Deserted lake which shone

And shimmered in their wake.

They hovered and glided

Back and forth; to and fro.

Then oh how I vainly tried

To shoot and take a photo

As I stood on a warped and sloping deck

With the flowing water down below.

Suddenly in a splash they arose

Seeming to not want their photo

Taken at all. Oh dear, oh no, they preferred

The pure quietness and absolute obscurity.

They had no wish to be known or be shown

Through a photo taken by me.

Over the years I have known

others who were too bashful to smile

and have someone snap a photo;

However, it never dawned on me

that a such a desire of anonymity

could apply also to the graceful waterfowl.

Oh woe! Their peaceful and uneventful morning

Now interrupted as they knew they weren’t alone.

So into the sky of billowing white clouds

They lifted in such haste and soared.

Not giving me one last look

nor any parting word.

Writing 201 Day 6: Face, Found Poetry, and Chiasmus

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019

 Hidden Face

In fear of being singled out,

Teased and hurt all over again,

She keeps herself safely hidden.

She felt the need to hide her face

As if in some buried disgrace.

For in memory she is still haunted

With visions of being ridiculed and taunted

During her long ago school days

Where she would fall in a familiar maze

Of classrooms, corridors, and hallways.

She often fretted and wondered

Which unkind classmate was around the next corner?

So, even today she fears that same stabbing rejection

Although longing deeply for one true friend,

She remains ever quiet; hardly speaking.

How she has learned to hide her pain

With her solemn and non-committal facial expression;

In the midst of a crowd, she cleverly blends in.

She walks around town with

Her covered head tilted down,

Never looking up, never seeing

The sweet beauty of day or the warmth of the sun.

She misses the rainbow’s arching arm

In the quiet calm after a thundering storm.

She misses the watchful eagle

Sitting high on its rocky pinnacle

And his sudden majestic dive

As he soars through the sky.

He glides over the crystal blue river

Spying a fish swimming like a quiver.

Fear and lack of self-assurance prevent

 Others from seeing her true consonance;

The unique person she is meant to be and her

True personality ever so carefully

 Buried and shielded, so mysteriously.

But oh how she desires and longs to be

A courageous and different person, so free.

But that old foe, Fear, keeps her hemmed within

A deep darkness but soon a light does penetrate in

As one fine noon day, she decides s to be brave

Determining she had a new path; a new trail to blaze.

For it had occurred to her that she indeed had the ultimate choice;

She could remain always sheltered or make known her own voice.

As finally it dawned as she was quiet and reflective

To start thinking differently; a new perspective.

She realized that in the heart of the matter

It was she who kept herself so silently sheltered;

There was no one else but

Just her own timid self

Allowing her being to be trapped

By old recollections of her past

Which robbed her of joy for today

As deep inside, her spirit withered away.

 So she promised with a hint of trepidation,

But also with a note of celebration,

 “I’ll try, I’ll try today!

 to let my face be seen; not hidden.

Oh yes, my hidden face will be seen today.”

Writing 201 Day 5 Map, Ode, and Metaphor

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052

Ode to a Journey to Wyoming

One day I awoke to prepare once again

To go on journey to visit my friend.

I have traveled this same route several years ago

But the adventure of going on a trip never grows old.

 twice I have endeavored on this solo journey of

Traveling from Minnesota to the land of Wyoming.

The familiar towns and landmarks along the way

Are dear old companions who greet me and wave

While silently proclaiming, “Yes we are still here;

So glad to see you travel our way this year.”

I passed through several small towns and by farmsteads too

And oh my, Lake Heron is a splendid sea of blue.

I drove by several state parks along the way

And note, “I must visit there on another day.”

The morning was full of bright, illuminating sunshine

As I drove along the interstate crossing the first state line.

Onward I drove with my intent eyes peering into the horizon

As I joyfully anticipated revisiting my high school friend.

And lo, how we both know that we don’t visit enough

As times can be hard and cost of travel just too much.

With the consistent rain through the summer months,

The ground has remained emerald green; deep and lush.

For usually, the further I journeyed westward from home,

The atmosphere became more and more arid while I drove.

But on this trek the land remained moist and green much longer

And I chose to enjoy this and not ponder and wonder.

So forward I drove and gladly journeyed

Into the horizon; a vast green and blue sea.

Near the end of the day my traveling was done

As I paused beneath the vaulted ceiling of a glowing sun.

While it slid down settling in the distant west,

I knew it was time for a long night rest.

I opted to stay at on a hilltop of green sloped wonder

In a motel overlooking the winding Missouri River.

For the wide flowing blue stream curved this way and that

With an iron scalloped bridge uniting one land mass to the next.

Next morning arrived and soon I was on the road

Anticipating new places to see and sights to behold.

“I can’t help it,” I chided myself with a frown,

“I must visit once again that old ghost town.”

Soon I found the right off-ramp and pulled in

And found myself wandering the old streets again.

I strolled past the old schoolhouse and the church too

Wondering what life was like back in say…1882.

I drove on nearing the Wyoming border

And noticed the rugged mountains coming closer.

After another long day’s drive,

To my friend’s house, I finally arrived.

I was there for a week, treasuring each day;

And we embarked on a few adventures along the way.

Such a sweet time to spend with a dear friend,

That my heart ached with sadness at the week’s end.

Turning around I started the long journey home

Thankful for friendship which nourished my soul.

So now, ode to a Journey I took to Wyoming,

I have a new treasure of memories inside of me.

Poetry 201 Day 4: Imperfect, Limerick, and Enjambment

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453

Imperfect Journey

One bright

morning, I

ventured on a

long

autumn drive

To see

the vibrantly

changing

trees

along

the

riverside.

But this once

blissful

and

carefree

day was

marred

by

closed

lanes on

the highway

As rows of

cars

became

stuck, unable

to

move;

just

sitting

side by

side.