Spider webs hang their silk like cobs
from splintered stalks of sentences
that wonder where words went wrong.
Trapped in thick thread they struggle
to capture the cadence of chaotic rain
that drenches dreams in drowning.
Silver scissors shear through shrouds,
releasing clear sprays of syllables,
luminescing like the feathers on a grackle’s neck.
Purple then black then blue they shine
swirling pieces of soul pushed like silk
through a spider’s deep duct spinneret.
Brenda Warren 2016
Notes: A poem didn’t magically appear today. It was a struggle, so I turned to a poetic form. A triversen is written in tercets, or three line stanzas. Each tercet is a sentence. The first line should be an observation or fact, while the following two lines are used to set the tone, imply an associated idea, or carry a metaphor for the original statement. A triversen should also carry the rhythm of human speech having 1 to 4 stresses per line. Use alliteration.
Elizabeth provided six words for today, along with a prompt. The words are also posted at The Sunday Whirl. This piece is not written to prompt, but it was fun to try a triversen again.
Visit The Sunday Whirl
“Everything that deceives may be said to enchant.” —Plato
It is the lie’s intention.
Cloak your untruth in something glorious,
something shiny that I’ll really believe.
I do, don’t I?
I believe almost everything you tell me,
and then some.
Maybe there is something to Plato’s edict.
Maybe you are a lying tramp.
More like a black widow.
Spinning a web of lies
so you can suck out souls
to nourish your existence
fed on the lifeblood captured
by the fruit of your tempting deception.
Brenda Warren 2012
NaPoWriMo Day 11, Yes eleven poems in eleven days. I’m rocking it!
No prompt: this was inspired by the recent public break up of a Facebook friend and her girlfriend (and a need to write something for Day 11).
I can see you there, restless,
like a ghost. You dance a shadowy
tarantella through the nether regions of thought.
A delicate balance – a tightrope act.
Any time my sores seep you turn in my direction
and urge my fingers over letters,
dancing scorched landscapes through
You whistle in minor keys.
And now you hide from me
nestled in a smudgy cloud
read more feed me ,
I read books to feed you.
I read poems to feed you.
I open my dictionary to random pages
All to feed you.
It’s bizarre, I know, but without you
I am strangely empty.
Like a dog I want to call you in,
and strap you to my side
but when I set you free and read more
you show up in these lines.
Brenda Warren 2012
Process Notes: My muse disappeared, so I decided to write to her. It is reading that oils her magic.
This piece was written for The Sunday Whirl using the words in the underlying image.