verlie burroughs

  A poem For me a poem  is a little song like a bird’s song that you hear  and then it’s gone but the memory lingers on. Day 26 prompt: Today, we challenge you to write your own  ars poetica , giving the reader some insight into what keeps you writing poetry, or what you think poetry should do.

Coming Out of Hibernation When I went out to wash the car yesterday  I was prepared,  with my (red) bucket  of soapy water and a brush And that made all the difference In my straw hat, my loose pink shirt  and ripped up jeans I felt very avant-garde  I can’t explain it, It was just a feeling like Van Gogh getting ready painting The sun was shining  Birds were singing It was absolutely gorgeous I almost did a pirouette  I washed the car in a kind of trance brushed and rinsed away  the winter bloom of green (algae) The car seemed to respond to me almost purring like a cat. Up the street a dog was barking (at a cat?) in a neighbour’s driveway pulling on a leash, a drama I ignored My car seemed to sigh in relief as we continued with the spa Splash, splash, splash I gave myself a little shower It was invigorating in the heat! All last night I worried like a dog having a bad dream Did I turn off the hose? Turning and turning in my sleep Not sure if I wa...

Night write Poems pass like trains  in the middle of the night Journeys underway They are carrying heavy freight The weight of our dreams. Note: written years ago and posted on another site; bringing it back for another airing because it seems to fit today’s prompt. Day 24 Prompt: write a poem that takes place at night, and describes something magical or strange that happens but that no one is awake (or around) to notice.  

  Villanelle purgatory Just give me five tercets, something French and existential Five tercets, and an aba rhyme scheme followed by a quatrain It looks easy on the page. What is the secret to the villanelle? All my scribble is going to hell tryin to write a villanelle I had to look it up, oh well, and I got more confused with every page I want to write something swell, something French and existential I wonder if all poets dwell in this special kind of hell Scribbling rhymes in villanelle, until they give up in a rage It looks easy on the page, what is the secret to the villanelle? At least I know now what a tercet is. Oh yes i know it very well But the strict rhyming is beginning to feel a little like a cage What I need is something special, something French and existential Finally on the fifth stanza, I’m getting there and that’s essential One must go on even if it’s dreadful, at least it’s something on the page (Even if not widely appreciated) What is the damn secret to the vil...

While reading The Love Song of J. Alfred Pruefrock Shall we go out at dawn and walk along the path, and enjoy the cherry blossom scented air And you can take your walking stick (and you can lean on it, admiring the forget-me-nots sprinkled everywhere)  Watch your step (the creeping blackberry winds along the edges of the path and will grab you with its hidden thorns) Are you getting tired now? Please let me find you a chair  And we can sit for awhile and listen to the Robins sing  between the silences that sound a lot like prayer. Day 22    Prompt: write a poem in which the speaker is in dialogue with self. Note: this is as close as I could get. My apologies to T.S. Eliot.  

Pagoda Garden Mae called me  wu-li   at the chinese cafe where I worked for chips and gravy (on special days chicken chow mein) Day 21 prompt: muse on your name and nicknames you’ve been given