v e r l i e b u r r o u g h s

  Pancakes for Candlemas Day Half way between  awaiting Spring on the ground the quiet sound of snow Sun comes around noon dispersing the gloom  on Candlemas Day* challenge: to try writing a poem that uses rhyme, but without adhering to specific line lengths. For extra credit, reference a very specific sound * I wrote this in February but I think it fits the prompt, feeling lazy today 

  I’m hoping there’s a real toad in this garden in the Sun In the jingle jangle morning in the Sun Dandelions stand singularly tall like yellow flags waving their colours in the Sun Mirroring the daffodil’s bright trumpet  You can almost hear them breathing in the Sun Then suddenly it rains and they fold up like umbrellas leaving me with this Ghazal waiting for the Sun And the tide waits for no one so I will send this to you now and hope it finds you happy in the Sun challenge: write a  ghazal that takes the form of a love song – however you want to define that. Observe the conventions of the repeated word, including your own name (or a reference to yourself) and having the stanzas present independent thoughts along a single theme – a meditation, not a story.

  My arches have fallen My walls are caving in   My buttresses have flown I’m lacking symmetry And most egregiously? Even the grotesque gargoyles pity me. challenge: to write a self-portrait poem, in which you explain why you are not a particular piece of art (a symphony, a figurine, a ballet, a sonnet), use at least one outlandish comparison, and a strange (and maybe not actually real) fact.

 Wrapped in green tissue nestled in a wooden crate It tastes like Christmas! My stomach gurgles when I peel it,  it’s the scent of cloves and hot mulled wine. Is that irreverent? I don’t know— If Van Gogh  had designed  the packaging  (or written this poem ) the paper wrap would have been blue. Challenge :   Oranges Gurgle Irreverent write a poem using these words to describe the taste of Orange

  We were waltzing to the roses with just a hint of frenzy Saturday at the hall A tinny sounding Buddy Holly emanated from the record player Sometimes we’ll sigh Sometimes we’ll cry And we'll know why just you and I Know true love ways The music skipped as we bowed and dipped in a sweaty slow dance sway My partner accidentally stepped on my feet (But his aftershave smelled divine) Challenge: to write a poem inspired by a musical notation, a genre and a random word from a list I used: notation:  “with a hint of frenzy”  genre: “waltz” word “roses”

I was there! emerging from the deepening dream Your painting  ~ stretched canvas rough wooden cedar framed Rocky islands emerging from the strait viewed through tall cedars from your studio window in your hippie house on the hill comfort of home touches my soul like a Bronwen Wallace poem: salad singing in a wooden bowl I see a young painter  living the dream delighting in the deepening green. ~ inspired by a painting by my dear friend Jenny write a poem about living with a piece of art.

  Oh, what would I be If I was just starting over on this journey? All of the arts are attractive to me But my heart tells me to write silly songs To entertain my friends and my poetry family And fortunately for me, it's free! But honestly, seriously I didn’t choose poetry Poetry picked me I think it started as a way of record keeping (a record of my own history the joy and the misery) But as so often happens with these kind of things It’s boring as hell if you don’t give it wings So respecting the craft I send you this draft and thank you for reading my scribbling I wish I could sing! challenge: to write a poem that obliquely explains why you are a poet and not some other kind of artist – or, if you think of yourself as more of a musician or painter (or school bus driver or scuba diver or expert on medieval Maltese banking) – explain why you are that and not something else!

  I see you in the doorway of your adobe hacienda I see you there in the patio  You’re reading Sappho  leaning on an elbow as the evening glows purple on the high hills Switching on the radio you’re missing Soho,    the East River,  the photo show I see you still  in Taos  New Mexico painting still life  with a flair rarity sea shells, iris, rose and cattle bones  red skies rust coloured hills and pueblos Your finely drawn pottery like broken fragments of poetry your living legacy. challenge to write a poem that directly addresses someone, and that includes a made-up word, an odd/unusual simile, a statement of “fact,” and something that seems out of place in time.

  Poetry is a beautiful bird   impossible to capture with   my charred wood and vine words more suited to Raven and Crow The resplendent Quetzal otherworldly painted, flamboyant and free          flies away. Prompt: artist glossary/Florentine codex