Autumn Sacrifice: a pantoum June 26, 2009

Mara mentioned villanelles at Spoken Word last weekend. Here’s a form I like: the pantoum.

It is a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next. This pattern continues until the final stanza, which differs in the repeating pattern.

AUTUMN SACRIFICE

Holy ghost mist
Walks on water
In morning’s sacred hour.
Autumn hovers above,

Walks on water
In reflections of the sky.
Autumn hovers above,
Mild, then meek, in wind.

In reflections of the sky
Leaves deny death.
Mild, then meek, in wind,
Branches scratch testaments.

Leaves deny death,
But frosty breath withers.
Branches scratch testaments.
Sun draws blood,

But frosty breath withers
Holy ghost mist.
Sun draws blood
In morning’s sacred hour.

“Autumn Sacrifice.” Poetry. 2006 Explorations, MECC, Third Place.

Husband (now my ex.) April 23, 2008

(Now my ex.)

HUSBAND

 

 

You were raw white sugar,

Sweeter than sweet.

Dissolved in my heat,

Thick and sticky,

Buttery rich and brown,

Caramel, melting down.

 

Now a watched pot:

Steady and slow,

Simmering steam,

Rising above the rim.

Ready to turn up the heat.

 

  

 

“Husband.”  Poetry.  2005 Explorations, MECC, First Place.

Autumn Sacrifice – a pantoum April 15, 2008

 

 

 

AUTUMN SACRIFICE

 

 

Holy ghost mist

Walks on water

In morning’s sacred hour.

Autumn hovers above,

 

Walks on water

In reflections of the sky.

Autumn hovers above,

Mild, then meek, in wind.

 

In reflections of the sky

Leaves deny death.

Mild, then meek, in wind,

Branches scratch testaments.

 

Leaves deny death,

But frosty breath withers.

Branches scratch testaments.

Sun draws blood,

 

But frosty breath withers

Holy ghost mist.

Sun draws blood

In morning’s sacred hour.

 

“Autumn Sacrifice.”  Poetry.  2006 Explorations, MECC, Third Place.

“The Pawpaw Tree” excerpt April 10, 2008

The family sat on the porch in silence, watching the world fall apart. Lightning raked scars across the air. Hail fell then, in ivory bits that reminded Katie of knucklebones. It seemed that the sky was sloughing off its skin to reveal its skeleton. A wail rose up around them and Jim leaped to his feet, his lips pulled back from his teeth. He pointed, though there was no need. They all saw it.         

The funnel emerged from the bank of clouds like the proboscis of some terrible insect. Katie pressed herself against the wall, fearing they would be sucked up the long snout to be devoured by this black dread. Jim grabbed her and pushed her into the kitchen.

 

 

“The Pawpaw Tree.”  Short Story.  2006 Explorations, MECC, Second Place.