It's Baaaack...

As part of the new and improved writing me, I figured it was time to get back to my passion for poetry on Wednesdays. Until I'm really back in the writing groove these posts will probably be a little random - sometimes old poetry, sometimes new, sometimes a form, sometimes a favourite written by someone else - but at least it's a start. Today I'm feeling a little nostalgic . . .

As you know, I’ve been writing poetry for a long time – some good, some bad. I didn’t really get going with poetry until Grade 8, when our Language Arts teacher gave us a prompt each Friday to inspire us to write creatively. Today I thought I’d share a few of the poems I wrote from those prompts.

In response to a slide show of underwater shots:

Dreamy Sea

The sea in all its splendour stood
Before me in my dream;
Beneath the emerald blue salt waves
Lies the earth of sandy cream.

Like silver flashes fishes swim
Among the rocks of purple hue,
And plants that look like octopi
Stretch their long grey arms to you.

The shells with striking beauty lie
In patterns where this splendour reigns,
The starfish and the shark they guard
The tomb where King Neptune’s lain.

Yet, as all dreams, this one must end.
The tomb, the shells, the fish must fade.
The peaceful sea, its life below
Are now just part of one dream made.


I don’t know whether I did this on my own or we were prompted by a form, but this poem illustrates the Acrostic verse form:

Frost upon the window pane
Eerie winds along the streets
Blue-grey skies across the lane
Rosey red ‘most frozen cheeks
Underneath the snowy skies
And as thermometers go down
Returning once again, surprise!
Yes you’re right, it’s Jack Frost’s frown.


This one was prompted by a short film about the Nahanni River:

The Spirit of Nahanni

The spirit of Nahanni
Haunts its every bend,
The roaring, crashing of the waves
Seem to have no end.

The evil taunting of the walls
Tell many tales of gold;
Beckoning men every day
To search its every hold.

The men that had once tried and failed
Had lost not only gold,
The skeletons without the heads,
Tell tales of men so bold.

What took their lives, and heads as well
No one seems to know;
But the spirit of Nahanni
Knows what laid them low.

The spirit of Nahanni
Haunts its every bend,
The roaring, crashing of the waves
Seem to have no end.