Surf – a poem.

Surf
by Ronovan Hester

No peaks, valleys, or destination points.
Never was a road map pointing the way.
No guarantees the fall will eventually end.
The trek back to the top not blazed or marked. Lost. Alone.
Unique in your success, and one more number in the failures.

Dreams ride the random undulating waves.
The crests unstable and never solid for long.
The high only lasts a moment before the crash.
The climax ends in a churning trough of descent, expected, unknown.
To climb this mountain your vision is vast and wide, planning, and watching.

Carried by the past dashed dreams of others,
and the burning saltiness of millennia of failures.
Just one unbalanced breath, and your ride in peril.
And your next, you slip, not along rough terrain to the bottom of dirt and stone.
But down the wall of see-through glass, life on the other side. Predators of players?

Or the dramatic plunge, less graceful than chaos.
Watching the greeting sun reflecting surface below.
Chest raw from the impact through the vanishing hopes.
Pushing through, chin, knees, shins, scrapped with sandpaper of pulverized dead things.
Bloodied and bruised, but not the end, tumbling over and over, gasping for breath. Dying?

Your limp body washes up on the sand, choking.
You join the other eons of unrecognizable rejects.
No one to help. No roadside assistance. No guardian.
People walking along, heads down, looking for empty shells, and finding you.
But you’re not enough, not quite dead enough, you stink of fresh disappointment.

Their heads refuse to look out to the horizon,
never seeing the sun-soaked crests of possibilities.
None of those tumbles, those survivors, or those joys.
They always walk safely on dry sand, toes dry, just out of reach of adventure.
The chance, the opportunity, of living. Heads not in the sand but forever bowed.

Lives only change with empty shells of the living.
Polished with time to the point they all look the same,
yet the wary keep up their search for the next perfect vessel.
Only inches away, a vibrant and exciting life calls with a roar they no longer hear.
But you’ve survived, and you tremble to your battered and pain-filled knees, again.

You stand, turn to that uncharted, desired filled world.
Wading in up to your chest, deep in the sting of the past.
Now dive and swim to fight the tide, or others will drag you.
They’ll help you along or drown you with their own failures, sinking before they’ve crested,
back to those footprints in the sand, now another empty shell to add to their dead collection.

Turn, wade, dive, scan the playing field, and wait for the swell.
Each fall, each ripped open chest and scrapped chin, battle scars.
No success without trying, nor without appreciated amounts of failure.
With each toe that leaves the sand behind, it dips into the salty dreams of ancient warriors.
You learn to descend from those crests in control, with less in chaos. With more success than not.


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© 2021- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Holiday Train – a poem

The night is dry, and the lights glow with cheer,

As the train rolls through to announce the Holiday is here.

The pretty blue tree, an elf singing with the band,

makes the clouds festive, while in the cold we stand.

Cheeks are happily frozen, slight relief from hot cocoa cups,

a time it’s okay to make kids out of grownups.

Rushing our way home to find comfort in warm beds,

Jobs are tomorrow, tonight joyful dreams play in our heads.


Lynn’s Tuesday Picture Prompt  A Holiday Train.

Lynn's Picture Prompt at twilight with neon, the word Holiday, a blue Christmas tree and an elf.
Photo by Lynn. CP Holiday Train

Penisitivity’s Three Things Challenge   Festive/Pretty/Drypensitivity three things challenge logoFandango’s One Word Challenge.   Comfort.fowc challenge prompt imageMMAStorytime’s 100 Word Flash Fiction Challenge   Job

MMA Storytime’s 100 Word Flash Fiction Challenge Badge Image.


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© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Upside Down – a poem.

Upside Down

 

Been in disguise since I was twenty-five,

never knowing if I should live or die.

Always thinking this world left me alone,

feeling it deeply through blood and bone.

Needing answers with these decades of doubt,

reaching for a handhold before I shout.

Then I met a small Carolina town,

flipping this Southern boy’s world upside down.

So close it hurts can touch but not feel it,

thrown up obstacles I fight to not quit.

This mask is slipping, years I’m passing through,

with no doubts I’ll live now that I found you.

 

ronovan writes poetry black words on transparent background


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© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

my pleas…please. – a poem.

my pleas…please

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dreams obscene,

thoughts so wrong.

Things your wearing.

turn me on.

What do you think I, feel when I see ya?

I’ve been stupid shy, this I can’t deny.

What is this cold fear, waitin’ for the all-clear?

Praying for a leap year, so I can see…you…dear…

That sinful grin,

jeans so tight.

I love it when,

you walk just right.

 

Skin so smooth

hair feels nice,.

Those fingertips,

I’ll pay the price.

This fire inside of me, is fighting to be free.

It needs hotter degrees., please hear my pleas.

Fire deep inside…

of me.

I’m on my…

knees.

I’m begging…

please.

Please hear my pleas.

Please hear my pleas.

Please hear my pleas.

ronovan writes poetry black words on transparent background


Sometimes I just have to let it go.


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© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

brave your colors – a poem.

brave your colors

Separate roads spread, from shore to shore,

passing through towns, locked door after door.

Where once a neighborhood, or a community park,

now you will find are places filled with dark.

 

All shades, all hues, divide people from another,

but now they separate a sister from a brother.

Where once it was skin, and so it still is,

now it includes what politics is hers or his.

 

Red, blue, green, and more around the world.

In divisive times we must brave our flags unfurled.

 

No matter your age your religion or family,

in this great land, your thoughts are yours and they’re free.

What I fear most is we will fall to our enemy

where once there was democracy, there will be anarchy.

 

If you must battle through the generations,

fight right now for our nation’s foundations.

For tomorrow is not tomorrow, it’s in five, ten, or thirty years,

by standing up now the future will have fewer tears.

ronovan writes poetry black words on transparent background

 


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© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

A Gray Day in November-a poem.

So stark and dreary, this day of judges be,

with scarred scalawags limp in somber defeat.

Are they still useful, or just dried up debris?

Do they wish to win by revolting deceit?

 

The fragrant smell of a hard-fought victory.

Winds wave a once more respected Old Glory.

As the free people of the world cheer and sing,

Wistful crusaders rest and binge The West Wing.

 


 

fowc challenge prompt image

Fandango’s One Word Challenge-Scalawag

 

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge Badge, GoDogGoCafe Blog

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challeng-Pick 3 Favorite words beginning with W.

pensitivity three things challenge logoPensitivity101’s Three Things Challenge-Fragrant, Limp, Scarred

Stein Writing's blog logoStine Writing’s Simply 6 Minute Challenge- Use the given quote as inspiration.

 

MMA_Storytime_Rispetto_ Poetr _Prompt_Challenge

MMA Storytime’s Rispetto Poetry Prompt Challenge-Judges

 

Lynn’s Tuesday Picture Prompt

 

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge-Use the given photo for inspiration.

 


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© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Dance Till Dawn – a Poetry Story for the #RWThe13WritingChallenge.

Dance Till Dawn
by Ronovan

Are you old and decrepit

or aged and wise?

Are you young and foolish

or idiot in disguise?

 

No matter your answer,

you’ll be pleased to know,

The devil is in you,

way deep in your soul.

 

He travels your pathways,

sees through your eyes.

He kills your darlings

and thrills your lies.

 

Your betraying glances

are his to play and toy.

Making his days fun,

and his nights to enjoy.

 

In either day or night,

matters not to he.

He’ll help dig your grave,

dance on it with glee.

 

But this tale fear not,

a myth to be sure.

The devil doesn’t dance,

but your writhing and twisting?          It holds an allure.


(The Badge)

Orange Letter with qwill and ink on black background.My writing with 113 Word Count for the,

Ronovan Writes The13 Writing Challenge

Theme: Spooky. Challenge: Write your style/choice with a word count of 13/113/213/313/413 or 513. It can be more, but try to stick with these. Title not included in wordcount. Pingback here or to the challenge prompt by clicking the link in blue, orange, and black (the link just above these plain text sentences.

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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Dance till dawn poetry image. Orange letters on black background. Orange quill and inkwell.

Ranee of Atlantis

Ranee of Atlantis

The vault revealed empty, clarion calls sound,

Ranee slips through shadows, each entrapment found.

 

Fiends unfurl and fly, Deceiver’s crown gone?

What will Ranee do, once set upon?

 

Through streets of Ubar, through dwellings past,

she passes the poor, so many…vast.

 

The demons fly in, stones rain down,

Ranee the rightful queen, wears the crown.



There are a number of words used this time with many meanings. Your interpretation could make the story of the poem be several things, although mostly the same, just with your own imagery and flair to it. Ubar is one of the names of a legendary lost city in the southern Arabian sands, claimed to have been destroyed by a natural disaster or as a punishment by God. The fictional name for it is Atlantis of the Sands.


This poem was created in response to the Weekend Writing Prompt by Sammi Cox of sammiscribbles blog. As you can see it was to use the word ‘Vault’ and be 56 words.

Weekend Writing Prompt 180 Vault badge. Black text on white background.

Sammi’s challenge as well as other blogger’s challenges/prompts links are collected on the page at the top of this blog Challenges/Prompts from the Blogosphere.


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© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

How to Write a Vocabularicon Poem.

This is replacing the previous post due to inappropriate spam I would rather not deal with. Don’t ask.

There are two ways you could do the Vocabularicon.

#1

A few months ago, after I started the Décima Poetry Challenge, I was wanted to create something of my own, as I tend to do. A 10 line poem with 10 syllables per line. It was inspired by a poet named Vocabularical and his participation in the challenge. He was a cool guy, with awesome ideas, and a way with words. I mean, if you’re going to give yourself a name like Vocabularical…you better be good. I decided to name my new poetry form, a Vocabularicon. If you think about it, you definitely will need to use great vocabulary.

#2

What gave rise to a second manner of doing the poem was when I participated in MMA Storyline’s 100 Word Flash Fiction Challenge. I thought this challenge is perfect for trying out my new style for the very first time. So, I wrote 10 lines, 10 words per line, with only 10 syllables per line. Yes, that means only one syllable per word. Your word choice is even more vital here than in other poems. Other than perhaps a Haiku, especially the 3/5/3 version, that’s syllables, not necessarily words or even the non-existent 1/2/1 I’ve tried**.

The quick and dirty instructions: (links are to LiteraryDevices.net)

Number One

  • 10 LINES/verses
  • 10 SYLLABLES PER LINE.
  • DIVIDED INTO 5 Couplets See the example below.
  • With Couplets, meter is important. “Essentially, meter is the basic rhythmic structure of a line within a poem or poetic work. Meter functions as a means of imposing a specific number of syllables and emphasis when it comes to a line of poetry that adds to its musicality.”-LiteraryDevices.net
  • “The literary device “foot” is a measuring unit in poetry, which is made up of stressed and unstressed syllables… The combination of feet creates meter in poetry. Later, these meters are joined for the composition of a complete poem. Therefore, a foot is the formative unit of the meter.”

Number Two

  • 10 LINES/verses
  • 10 ONE-SYLLABLE WORDS PER LINE.
  • DIVIDED INTO 5 Couplets See the example below.
  • With Couplets, meter is important. “Essentially, meter is the basic rhythmic structure of a line within a poem or poetic work. Meter functions as a means of imposing a specific number of syllables and emphasis when it comes to a line of poetry that adds to its musicality.”-LiteraryDevices.net
  • “The literary device “foot” is a measuring unit in poetry, which is made up of stressed and unstressed syllables… The combination of feet creates meter in poetry. Later, these meters are joined for the composition of a complete poem. Therefore, a foot is the formative unit of the meter.”

IF YOU WOULD LIKE, YOU COULD GROUP THE VERSES TOGETHER TO FORM A GEOMETRIC BLOCK. THAT WOULD BE KIND OF NEAT TO ACHIEVE.

  • Think about it, if you can get the exact same number of letters per line, keeping to the other guidelines mentioned, that would be a nice accomplishment.

Below is an example of the 10×10/Vocabularicon.

 

Daddy’s Baby Boy

They sneak at night, to pick their mid, fall  gourd,

But they know not,  they have crossed the Dark Lord.

 

The clouds do glow, to buy the fools some time,

and lead the way, clear of his broods’ wet grime.

 

They come each year, to choose for their blithe signs.

and with plans made, hunt one with thick lush vines

 

Once they find him, his life’s line is cut short,

pray what comes next, you’ve heard tell of a sort

 

The Dark Lord comes, his rage steams up the night,

It’s All Saint’s Eve, and Dad’s set for a fright.


Most of us self-taught poets have used poetic meter and feet for the entirety of our poetic lives. Meter, for this poem, is the shared length of the verses and the rhyme pattern. The feet are either stressed or unstressed words. Stressed is when you go up on the word or syllable. Since this poetry form is restricted to one-syllable words, you stress a word. For this poem  I’ve made the first part of each verse four words long, and the second six. As you read you quickly pick up both the feet and meter patterns with ease. Or so I hope. But, for each person their might the opposite feet emphasis than another person reading it. Also, feet are not as simple as four words here and six words there, you should also listen to how your words are working together to accomplish a natural rhythm and not one that’s hunted for. As I’ve been working with these types of poems, I’ve been trying to do better with meter and feet, but still have a long way to go. But…I keep writing.


**My How To Write A Haiku Poem In English Form post has been updated with some added information.

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© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Daddy’s Baby Boy – a 10×10/Vocabularicon poem

Daddy’s Baby Boy

 

They sneak at night, to pick their mid, fall  gourd,

But they know not,  they have crossed the Dark Lord.

bikurgurl photo all rights reserved pumpkin farm at night

 

The clouds do glow,

to buy the fools some time,

and lead the way,

clear of his broods’ wet grime.

Image by Bikurgurl

They come each year, to choose for their blithe signs,

and with plans made, hunt one with thick lush vines.

 

Once he is found, his life’s line is cut short,

pray what comes next, you’ve heard tell of a sort.

 

The Dark Lord comes, his rage steams up the night,

It’s All Saint’s Eve, and Dad’s set for a fright.


I used this form of poetry for my last poem, Fuel, for the first time, also written for one of our very own poet community members., MMA Storytime’s challenges. I’ve had the idea for this style for a while, haven’t been able to find it out there anywhere so far. I call it the 10×10, meaning 10 lines with 10 one-syllable words each. You see the structure above if you’d like to try it.

This 10×10/Vocabularicon poem has been composed in response to bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday image prompt below. (Out on Wednesdays, see the challenge list at top of this blog.)She provides the image, and you write what you like, how you like, with, I’ll say, exactly 100 words. She’s a bit more lenient. As you can see, I used my new style for this one. It just works so well, I couldn’t resist.


 

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© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

 

Fuel – a 10×10 Poem.

The mind is a vast starved beast of a thing,

it takes all you give, like leaves in the spring.

 

The means to stir one to move like the wind,

is the means it takes to make the same bend.

 

To feed the soul or to feed the gut’s fire,

start with one thing, to push you to the wire.

 

When the three piers are good, glad, and well fed,

there’s not one thing they can’t do when well led.

 

Keep in tune and you will not fail to win,

lest be your foe man, or be your foe sin.

 

I’ve had the idea for this style for a while, haven’t been able to find it out there anywhere so far. I call it the 10×10, meaning 10 lines with 10 one-syllable words each. You see the structure above if you’d like to try it.

But, I haven’t had the time. So, when I saw today that MMA Storytime, our resident all things macho, (at least in my mind) had his 100 Word Flash Fiction Challenge, (Out on Tuesday, see the challenge list at top of this blog.) I thought…oh why not give it a shot. This week’s word is DIET. You don’t have to use the word, just be inspired by it.

MMA Storytime’s 100 Word Flash Fiction Challenge Badge Image.


 

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© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Poetry Challenges and Prompts?

IHello Y’all,

I’m looking to participate in some poetry challenges, and writing challenges, other than my own, and thought maybe some of you could put links in the comments to your favorites. And maybe a one-sentence blurb of what it’s about. Not a necessary thing though.

The links you provide will appear on a page, Challenges/PromptsFrom the Blogsphere, at the top of my blog, as long as they are writing-related and preferably not too naughty. If they are naughty, just let me know and I can make a note by the link.

Don’t worry if someone has already put your choice in, put it anyway. That just shows me how popular it is. Also, you can give more than one challenge site.

The sites could be:

  • poetry prompts
  • writing prompt sites in general
  • Flash Fiction
  • It can be an image that is meant to inspire a written word response. (Or typed word, for you literal types.)

I would like to start doing some fiction as well. I’m editing a few books for authors now, and writing my own but need a creative brain break to do something entirely off the plot.

If you facilitate a prompt/challenge then please comment with the link and a little blurb of what it is. As few words as possible.

This will help me, who always forgets where to go, and it’ll be good for people visiting this post to find some prompt sites.

I’ll be making a page with the prompt sites you provide, and the prompt/challenge. If you can provide a small blurb of what it’s about, that would be great, but it’s not required. The site link is what is a must. With the page, we all can easily find them, or at least I can.

I’d like to start up my Friday Fiction prompt again but I would not be as involved as I was before when I was reading and critiquing each story, providing feedback, and some technical information. It’s more difficult to come up with prompts than you might think. If readers show some interest in it, I might start it up. I know of a couple of people who ended up becoming authors after participating. And no, I’m not counting you, and you know who you are. Although I want to. And technically it’s true. 😀

My two poetry prompts are:

Thanks ahead of time. And please do give some great ones.

Much Respect,

Ronovan

P.S. If you see any extra letter ‘t’s in the above, forgive me. My ‘t’ key is apparently on the way out. It is super sensitive right now a I end up with two or three ‘t’s sometimes. I had to edit three words in this P.S. message alone. 🙂



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@RonovanWrites

 © 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Love Swells – a poem

In the wee hours

The cock crows just three times

fore love swells… rises.

 

Poetry Lost Mind Image

Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge 321 Morrow & Surge

To learn more about the Shi Rensa Haiku and to use it for my weekly Haiku Challenge, click HERE.

 © 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

YOU ARE A MYSTERY TO ME – A Chanso Poem.

YOU ARE A MYSTERY TO ME

I search and spy you from across the room.
At first sight, I felt my heart burst in bloom.
My thoughts race to islands of blue waters
And for just a moment my vision blurs.

I touch your dress and feel the electric.
In this moment I know you’re the right pick.
I grip you in my hands, oh how perfect.
You hold my attention, firm, and direct.

You open to me, no fear to reveal.
Fragile as glass or hard as tungsten steel.
The lure of the first moments of delight.
No doubt about it, it’s love at first sight.

Your voice just for me, soft as a whisper,
Drawing me in and cause visions to stir.
Telling me what you plan to give to me,
Every single thought I can’t help but agree.

My eyes thrill to follow your every line
Making the moon rise and the stars to shine.
My mind explodes… the things to do with you,
and oh… the smile on my face when we’re through.

Took you home quick… opened your cover too.
Turn those pages for a whodunit clue.

 

If you want to know more about a Chanso poem, click here for How To Write Chanso Poetry. Or jump below the logo to get a not so quick explanation but a somewhat clear version.

 

Poetry Lost Mind Image

 

The not so quick explanation but a somewhat clear version:

You write however many stanzas you like or need in order to tell your story.

Each line has the same number of syllables… your choice. If one line is 7 then all lines are 7.

The number of lines per stanza is up to you but must stay the same for all stanzas with the exception of the last stanza. If one is 4 then all are 4, but the last would be 2, see next.

The final stanza has half the number of lines the other stanzas have. For this poem the stanzas have 4 lines, so my final stanza has 2.

The final stanza sums up what happened in your poem, or you can make a dedication to whoever or whatever you wrote the poem about.

And that’s it. I’ll be updating the How To… post soon with some history about the Chanso poetry form and some interesting language aspects that a history freak like me just loves to stumble upon.

Hope you enjoyed the poem, and try the style out.

Just a tip, if you write one, pick your topic/subject, then write a sentence for what each stanza will be about. For example:

My poem was about reading a book, as revealed in the final stanza. The subject of the poem being a deception until the end was my own doing, not a requirement of the style at all. Now here is how I went about my Chanso. I divided it up into what I considered the elements of reading a book, a real, honest to goodness, made of paper, book.

Seeing the book (On the shelf, the thrill that it’s there, the color of the cover.)

Feeling the book (As I take it off the shelf. Happy I finally and thrilled I finally have it.)

Opening the book (Opening the book to a story of a heartbreaking emotional story or a hard as nails action thriller. And knowing it was the right pick and delighting in what I see.)

Hearing the book (Hearing that creak of a book opening and the pages rifling.)

Reading the book (The words and the images and the ending and satisfaction of having read the book.)

The reveal (In this case.) that it is a book. (A quick summation of the poem. I was surprised by how easy it was to do it.)

© 2020- Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

A SPECKLED CROWN – a poem

As bird gifts to man

a crowning day of white specks

so Man gifts the Earth.Poetry Lost Mind Image

Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge 320 Day & Flaw

To learn more about the Shi Rensa Haiku and to use it for my weekly Haiku Challenge, click HERE.

 

 © 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

polluted veins – a poem

Polluted Veins – by Ronovan Hester

~*~

The problems of man are just so, the problems of man.

Man fell from the gift of God’s creation to the gift of its own.

He gives us centuries of warning of disaster to come.

From the lowest of lands to the driest of earth,

from the wind-torn paths to the fruitless sands.

Knowledge, God’s greatest gift tells us the patterns of our fate.

He provides new histories to add to that of our lives.

We heed them or stay with our stubborn and troubled paths.

Some can go. Some cannot.

Those with none, need those with abundance.

To move from the barren, the heartache must travel.

Life is for living our ancestors know. Forgiveness is granted.

Blaming the heavens for what we as Man have done,

is our peril and denial of the twisted blood

through centuries Man has spun.

I leap into a life as one of God’s open-eyed man,

With a hope to right the wrongs in our ancestries’ polluted veins…

brought through its greedy sins.

To find the solutions to the decaying of our inner being.

My prayer is this, to keep the path, The Way.

To open the blind-eyed into those of the seeing.

To fill the world with hope and strength,

To see the truth in our life as Man.

To end my life… on the day that comes… with the, I Am.

Polluted Veins poem on sky blue background.

© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

priceless – a poem

declared as common

my ego stumbles, is subdued,

but remains priceless.

poetry by ronovan hester image

Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge 319 Trip & Whip

To learn more about the Shi Rensa Haiku and to use it for my weekly Haiku Challenge, click HERE.

 © 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

hear me say – a poem – a letter – a message

It’s okay
What I’m saying
What I’m playing
That I’m praying
You think you know me and can show me

Hear me           Say

It’s okay
My mind’s relaying
It’s dismaying
It’s decaying
You think you know me, can control me

Here me           Say

It’s okay
I’m testifying
And I’m lying
And denying

And
And
And

It’s okay
I’m conveying
I’m portraying
And I’m fraying

And

It’s

Okay
I’m implying
And denying
And I’m dying
You think you know me, can console me

 

And
And
And
And

Is it okay
It’s diverting
to be inserting
and not be hurting

and
and

 

is it okay
i’m justifying

what you’re supplying

so preoccupying

death defying

dissatisfying

is it okay
that i pray

that i pray

that i pray

Poetry Lost Mind Image

© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

nature saves – a kouta poem

care for life in      all      its forms

each      with purpose and meaning

protecting one another

fail in this       means death

 

 

The Japanese poetry form of kouta, meaning little song, was apparently created during the Muromachi Period (14th-16th centuries). It became popular again during the late 1800s as a Geisha song style.

There are two versions;

  1. A four-line or quatrain poem with the syllable pattern of 7/5/7/5.
  2. A four-line or quatrain poem with the syllable pattern of 7/7/7/5.

There are no hard and fast theme elements to consider. Some kouta use colloquialisms and onomatopoeia. The thing to remember is, it’s all according to your imagination. I have seen sites mentioning a fifth line may be added

poetry by ronovan hester image

For added information:

One point to consider about the Geisha song style of Kouta is, the song may contain a 5/7/7 style. This is based on the first such Geisha song using this style in 1856. There may also be confusion in how the west interprets the style into English.

© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

burning – a poem

sweltering heat

suffocating tender skin

relieved in cool shade

 

I’m actually allergic to heat. Weird? Yep.

 © 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.