Lightning Fireflies #amwriting #novembernotes

Written for November Notes, Words as Weapons by Birdy. I thought of redirection. I am also offering this for dVerse open link.

 

Lightning Fireflies

Pathetic to consider the energy you expend to injure

how all of those atoms redirected, momentum amassed

could be lightning fireflies portending delight.

 

©Sascha Darlington

11/16/2017

 

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Thunderstorms

The inspiration for my very first ottava rima (and my last?) is occurring right now and I probably should be powering down rather than typing on, and I can hear people I know say: she just doesn’t show good sense.

While I consider myself a writer, I don’t totally consider myself a poet. I love words and I love the possibility of the musicality of words when rhythm and wordplay exist. However, when words like iambs and feet and meter come up, I, for some reason, hear white noise. I’m still hoping to grow out of it.

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Can’t Write Scared

dVerse~ Poets Pub OpenLinkNight #196

 

Can’t Write Scared

At university

the stoned poet said

“you can’t write scared”–

I continued

each word precisely penned

attuned to imaginary readers

whose lips curled derisively

on occasional lapses

of censorship.

I was an egg

concealed in a flimsy shell

like another half-dozen

cosseted caricatures

playing writer

spinning trite phrases

of sweet sounding words

imaginings of pink packaged

saccharine sentiment

but then I succumbed

to non-consumption.

∼∼∼∼∼

On rebirth I cried

“you can’t write scared”

and I didn’t, for a while

developed succinct style

of hewn craft on drafts

pinched words like pennies

wanted bennies, not

in my twenties anymore.

Fear pervades the core

bores into the brain

insane unremarkable drivel

pours through pores

I wrote scared

but scarred surfaces

surge upward

like polished wood

trampled on daily

til frailty exists no more.

 

5/18/2017

Sascha Darlington

(oops. I had farce in there, but deleted it.)

 

Haibun: Mushroom Ragout and Birds

Haibun Monday: From the kitchen of poets dVerse Poet Pub.

 


Haibun: Mushroom Ragout and Birds

When I ate meat, I did not eat mushrooms. I claimed it was the texture, but secretly I viewed them as alien lifeforms and still do, but these days they frequently showcase a dinner. At the beginning of January I savored rich mushroom ragout in a quiet beach restaurant after all of the holiday vacationers had returned to their lives elsewhere. The thick tomato and mushroom laden sauce smothered pasta while the aroma of red wine, tomatoes, and mushrooms with savory rosemary stimulated my senses. Each taste ensured an eye roll of pure delight. At home, I recreate the dish, although it takes an hour of sautéing mirepoix and mushrooms separately, adding tomatoes and wine and garlic and then finally combining for thirty minutes of marrying the flavors to ultimately adorn anything from pasta to potatoes. Besides the ingredients, the secret is time. Only after simmering and reduction, do the flavors peak.

 

In the holly bush

Robin rests upon blue eggs

Spring welcomes rebirth

 

Instead of a robin, I offer a picture of Monsieur Cardinal.

cardinal

©Sascha Darlington