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The Sierras and the PacificPart I The Sierras call In the east the mountains rise, rocky and steep, with craggy boulders that one must scramble or leap.Evergreens stand sentinel Prepared for snow, their branches reach down with glossy green needles, from base to crownWildlife abounds Squirrels scurry, coyote stalk, black bears roam, a young buck rubs a tree to shed his velvet loam.Seasonal paradise Ski races, skating on ice, lounge by a fire, best winter sport, splash in the summer lakes, ride a horse, or hike in shorts. The Sierras call.Part II Sirens of the Pacific Lazily stroll barefoot on the warm wet sandy shore with toes tickled by foam, and listen to the ocean roar.Madrones, on guard Sculptured by the wind these red trees bend east, knarled driftwood and seaweed add to the visual feastBounty of the sea In the ocean’s depth reside creatures enormous and tiny, some cling to rocks, some swim deep, and some are briny.Year-round action Bikini or wetsuit, surfing, kayaking, sunbathing or fishing, and best of all, a bonfire on the beach and moonlight kissing. Sirens of the Pacific. ~~Judi Van Gorder Verse Form: Sidewalk Poem a la Gervic

The Galapagos You can find off Peru's southern coast,islands home to unique wildlife.The Galapagos Tortoise for one. This iconic reptile they boast.Critically depleted by the hosthabitat's loss to man's farm life,gentle giants roamed since time begun. Some folks think they are good to roast. One of Earth's long-lived creatures almost150 years sans strifeand weighing in up to a half-ton, this awesome guy has earned a toast.Known herbivores, by nature milquetoast,age 20 before choosing wife,saddle-backed or domed, bask in the sun.Endangered, protection utmost. ~~Judi Van Gorder Verse Form: La' Tuin

Saw this prompt and gave it a try. Up the creek in 8 lines. SanctuaryDeep into the redwoodsand up the creek awaysis my sanctuary.A secret spacewhere the silent forestwelcomes my prayers,the giant trees liftthem to the heavens. ~~Judi Van Gorder

Today's prompt twinkle or corode Use one or both words within the poem. In Gratitude Both eyes don't twinkle anymore,It seems with age the glimmer fades,slowly coroding to dim sightbut, corrective lenses fixed thatuntil a clot blew in one eye.A grey cloud now obscures vision.A stroke of sorts, who ever knew?Gatefully the other still sparks. ~~Judi Van Gorder

"Haiku is a way of letting God know we are paying attention." Margaret D McGee, Haiku - the sacred art I am trying to write something everyday but my varied schedule & responsibilities aren't conducive to setting aside a "writing time" ( or maybe I don't have the discpline). I do however find myself responding to moments in my day with haiku-like thoughts. So......... I decided to start a haiku journal... Haiku seems to me to be a perfect vehicle for capturing daily responses since brevitiy and clarity are at the heart of the form. My initial goal is to write & post at least one haiku a day. I probably will have many lapses but only time will tell. I thought I'd share this idea with you all and invite you to join me sharing your own haiku moments here when your heart moves you. A "haiku moment:: A moment when the mind stops and the heart moves."*Margaret D McGee This haiku thread will be a little different from the "haiku train" which builds on others' word images. Here haikus should simply be responses to a moment in time. So as a reminder with an overly simplified definition, haiku is: 17 syllables or less image driven written in the moment shared parallel images. Traditionally in 3 units, 1. an image 2. a parallel or an expansion of the image 3. the human enlightenment or Ah ha moment. often written in a 5/7/5 syllable frame but that is not a hard and fast rule. Although I have to admit I find the 5/7/5 frame seems to naturally finds its way into most of my haiku give or take a syllable. often called senryu (haiku exploiting human nature with a humorous slant) when funny and funny is always welcome here. I really hope to see you contribute your haiku in this thread along with me. ~~Tink

The Birthing of Pat's PrideAn early spring morning,I went to check on my marewho was soon to foal. A newborn coltlay off to her left, still shedding his sack.St Pat approached meas I cooed and spoke love wordsto her, she dropped her headso I could stroke her starand lavish her with praise.All the while she kept an eye on her foalwho awkwardly struggled tostretch, flex, and bendhis long spindly legsin an attempt to right himself.I just watched as he finally stoodon unsure wobbly stiltswith a little help from his mama's nudges.A black beauty,sporting his mother's star.She snickered and nodded, proudand happy to show him off,I took one cautious step in his direction.Her ears went back,she squealed, lunged, bit my shoulder,and sat me down in the mud.Once down, she backed off,then gently nuzzled my hair,her way of saying, "It's OK, just not yet". ~~Judi Van Gorder

Thank You Juris Today's walk, though I've never been there, was on familiar ground. A raked path, a morning moon, a bushy tailed squirrel confronting a guardian crow, a ponderence of things to come, a closed gate I will soon open, a village I could never imagine, and one of many graveyards in which I'd love to rest one day. I remember climbing through the hole in the fence, though it seemed smaller then, unobstructed by fog. The gate is open now and I will explore new paths. ~~Judi Van Gorder Inspired by a journey from thegateless.org

Bluebird A harbinger of happiness of which some might call sappiness, this delightful, feathered creature born to be a joyful preacher, will flap his wings of brilliant blue exposing chest of orange hue and sing his hopeful melody bringing glee to you and to me. ~~ Judi Van Gorder "Notes:" 8 Lines 8 syllables each rhymed couplets Prompt: National Bluebird of Happiness Day Sept 24, 2022

Weekend CampingHere's to the scavengers of the campground.Those black bear who lumber in, to scout around, stealing an unattended watermelon, unboundby civility or fear of the weekend camper's frown.They trash the trash, leave behind their debrisand in their wake, a mess for everyone to see.The sounds outside my tent, I admit, scare mebut, it is their home where they should run free. ~~Judi Van Gorder Verse Form: Shai'r

Hi Y'all, I have been away for over a year to care for my husband (with amazing assistance from St Joseph's Hospice) and to finish the last of my 40 year financial career. November 30, 2021 I closed my Agency two weeks after my husband of 58 years, passed. I'm still taking care of loose ends from my former life but I am tentatively picking up the pen and want to get back into writing. Reading that February is Haiku Month was the spark that I needed to ease in. So here I am on February 1, 2022, Chinese New Year - The Year of the Tiger. Maybe a haiku a day for 28 days will get me going. You are welcome to join me if you feel so inclined. I missed this community. ~~Tink 2022 #1 sleeping tiger wakes to the sounds of celebration Gong hei fat choy! jvg

I seem to write in the mornings a lot. I also seem to seem to write about my morning a lot. Here was some thing I saw right outside my bedroom window this morning while sitting in bed setting up my journal/To Do / daily planner Morning Jay A Jay lands lightly on a bobbing redwood bough, rests a bit then bounds away into the morning sky. Its mohawk crown and royal hued wings project his persistence and fearlessness. My charge for the day. ~~jvg

Cavorting Long thin arms and legs of an African tribesman in full headdress undulate in rhythm with the vibrations of primitive percussion instruments. Bent knees lift and spring while sharp elbows flap wide. All manner of awkward yet graceful poses process through his movement. The stealthy lion, the big winged buzzard, the slippery serpent infiltrate his dance. Raw, earth, primal. ~~jvg

Sitting Under My Flowering PearThe gilded banter quickenswith each gust of wind.Speaking all at the same time,the restless leaves’ chatter risesand falls riding the wings of the zephyr,scents of sage, apple,and honeysuckle hitch on board.The glitter of the golden sun peeksthrough the lacy canopy to eavesdrop while I let the lyrics wash over me. ~~ Judi Van Gorder

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Indian Verse Regional Verse IV.Hindi poetry is a descendant of Sanskrit and is found primarily in the North, West and Central India. Hindi is the official language of India. The region is known for its romantic poetry. The Doha is a Hindi stanzaic form employing a rhyming couplet with long syllabic lines.The Doha is also used in Urdu verse. This form often steps away from the Hindi tradition of romantic verse and can also be written as didactic verse or used in longer narrative verse. The elements of the Doha are: stanzaic, written in any number of couplets. syllabic, each line is made up of 24 syllables and is paused by caesura at the end of the 13th syllable, making the line two phrases of 13 and 11 syllables. The couplet can be arranged as a quatrain breaking the line at the caesura. rhymed, aa bb cc commonly used for proverbs, though can be for used for longer narratives, romance or didactic poetry. Vanquished in the Night by Judi Van Gorder The starless night drops down into the silent forest, small creatures scurry to secure safe haven. Peerless predators have eyes accustom to the dark, they stalk weaker prey with guile until craven. or if you choose to break the line at the caesura: The starless night drops down into the silent forest, ----------- small creatures scurry to secure safe haven. Peerless predators have eyes accustom to the dark, ------------ they stalk weaker prey with guile until craven. Isaac's Legacy by Eric Wharton When Isaac Lefever fled from his home in Lorraine, in sixty and nine of century fifteen; all his family wanted was to live by their faith, but jackbooted soldiers arrived unforeseen. His kinfolk lay slaughtered to the beat of a death drum, his parents with three sisters and brothers three; he took naught but a bible tucked away in his arm, and helped by a matron named Madam Ferree. He heard of a land where faith was in high esteem held, at only sixteen he had hopeful intent; to the new world he sailed, a Huguenot refugee, well-girded for what he could not circumvent. As centuries have passed his escape bears repeating, his Bible still rests in a Penn's Wood retreat— there are those who have come to look over it's pages, a testament to his bold faith and his feat. Now heirs of his spirit live under a threat, three thousand were killed in the course of a year— Tortured and dying from hate in a world-wide pogrom, now millions live by the caprice of a spear. Newspaper journalists remain surprisingly mute about faithful who form a martyrs parade, as the bulk of all the world's folks in patience hold on for what Ike’s Bible has said: justice delayed. Regional Verse Forms

Full Worm Moon Last night in the southern sky I watched as the Full Worm Moon reigned.This March moon illuminateda softened terra beckoning birdsto pluck wiggling worms from its surface. Glow from the orb's soft rays penetrated an overcast mist that blot out the sparkle of far away stars. The super moon's orbit closed on us and magnified its attraction. Bathed in the moon's glow in rhythm with the pulse of the earth - a push and pull, I danced with arms outstretched. ~~Judi Van Gorder The Freedom of the Moon by Robert Frost

[CA] Today I know that life is but a dream, For how else could a moment ages past Arise now on the surface of this stream Of being, sliding freely in its churn? Before, rash memories swirled up, eddying fast Against the current’s flow; now hours return To present tense unrippling, it would seem. Yet fiction glints off this which I might deem Pure fact. Forthwith, it blurs and slides away With shoreline forests slipping past the hull Of this stern oarsman’s boat, soon turning dull.

When in the Woods Settling into stillness, spine straight, shoulders relaxed, lines from a Robert Frost poem glide through my thoughts, images never lost. Settling into stillness I open to the sounds of a grey squirrel up high gathering for winter and never asking why. Settling into stillness, a single beetle crawls across a lacy fern, graceful feathered leaves fan to usher my return. Settling into stillness, the minutes drop away Pain and joy become one, one moment, one lifetime, one with the silent sun. ~~ Judi Van Gorder Rewrite of an old one. Original Verse Form: Monchielle Stanza

April is National Poetry Month Many poetry sites are encouraging writing a poem a day. This thread is my daily poems for April. Comments are welcome Please join me in creating your own thread of daily poems, it is never too late to get writing. ~~Tink

On a Starless Night The stars hid their light that chilly night, a lone snap of a twig broke the silence and her lithe body froze prepared for flight. She'd hid him in the brush beside the fence, obedient he lay in shrouded allusion waiting her return to end his seclusion A lone snap of a twig broke the silence a soft stirring in the grass across the field warned of a stalker's malignant pretense. A bobcat crouched using the dark as a shield, the fur on his back bristled with intent he lifted a searching nose to catch the scent. Her lithe body froze prepared for flight to lead the danger away from the nest but if the need arose she'd stay and fight, a mother's heart beat inside her breast. Earlier she'd left to hide the older twin within the forest deep with discipline. She left the younger in brush beside the fence. too weak at birth, he could not travel far. Into the twilight he was closeted for defense in the frigid cold of the night without a star. The bleating of the fawn betrayed his fear response from Mama said "I'm near" Obedient he lay in shrouded allusion, the doe deftly lunged at the lone threat. With a snarl the cat snapped back in confusion. Relentless thrashing razor hooves he met and finally turned and ran to avoid the fury through the meadow bloodied and weary. Waiting her return to end his seclusion he awkwardly claimed his legs and stood then took stronger steps to conclusion She looked him over as a mother would, a few more steps then she led the way to where she came, at the dawning of the day. ~~ Judi Van Gorder A Trenta Sei

Pacific Golden Way Locked and closed in night, full throttle in sunlight, blanketing the rise and fall of rolling hills, turning them to carpets of pirate-booty. Greedily they gobble the land from mountain to shore. Fog-horns outside the bay, trumpet the glory of California's untamed, golden, prodigal poppy. ~~Judi Van Gorder

Through the Mist The gray dawn yawns without the sun in sight, the autumn sky shifts with a misty cobweb of fog. Through the wet film the tree’s green takes on a dusty shade without reflection, just a tinge of its former self dares intrude. A clammy chill lies on my skin spreading cold up to the base of my neck, like a screech too shrill. Mornings like these I want to crawl back to my cocoon, that warm spot buried deep beneath our downy quilt and dream of you beside me on a summer afternoon. --- Judi Van Gorder

Synergy The power of the western wind bends the phlegmatic pines, is this a contrived collaboration? Not flames on a lake but a common duet, a process of nature, remedy for stillness. --------- --Judi Van Gorder

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Southeast Asian Verse The Philippine Islands is a Southeast Asia country located in the Western Pacific Ocean. Filipino poetry dates back before colonization and has been an intregal part of the Filipino culture. The earliest Tagalog epics are written in verse. Blue by Joel Josol A favorite of mine, a modern day, Filippino poet. Dawn, at the pier, without you, its blue cast holding tent, veils the colors of the day. The sky moves clouds, bluish grey and half-asleep, over waters undisturbed in its blueness. I sit at the platform's edge with crags, in silhouettes, before me watching the horizon lift the veil. The only remnant of the night is the lamp's light walking away, an old man. This beautiful glimpse, this dawn is short-lived, quickly dispersed like your glances. I look down on the waters, my reflection is all blue. Ambahan is ancient indigenous poetry found carved into bamboo on the Philippine island of Mindoro. The island is home to eight indigenous groups collectively called Mangyans. Two of the groups carved 7 syllable rhymed lines onto bamboo to record events such as marriage, birth, death, gatherings, and other cultural events. The poems were then chanted at the events The elements of the Ambahan are: written in any number of lines syllabic, 7 syllable lines rhymed, end rhyme as far as you can go, then create a new rhyme to go as far as it can go etc sharing cultural events A Place to Rest and Nest by Judi Van Gorder Never seen a yellow kitebirds of prey are not so brightsoaring high by day, some nightwith extraordinary sight.Tagalog prehistorytells us those birds caused the seato war with the sky, chieflyto make Earth, creatively. ~~Judi Van GorderMythical Tagalog story of creativity. Kites cause a war between the sky and the sea which created the earth where the kite had a place to rest and nest. Awit literally means song. This stanzaic form seems very similar to the Tanaga. It is unique in that a stanza should be one complete, grammatically correct, sentence. The elements of the Awit are: stanzaic, written in any number of quatrains. a narrative, it tells a story. dodecasyllabic, 12 syllables per line, there is usually a pause after the 6th syllable. rhymed, each stanza mono-rhymed aaaa bbbb cccc etc. composed with each stanza representing a complete, grammatically correct, sentence. composed liberally using various figures of speech. written anonymously. The Tanaga is a Filipino verse form that was originally composed in Tagolog, which to my ear is one of the more musical of languages. (Kumusta ka? Mabuti salam at) The form dates back to the 16th century and has an oral tradition. This old folk form had a resurgence of popularity in the 20th century, died down and resurfaced again mid 21st century. The poems are not titled. Originally it was a compact poem, contained in 4 lines, each is emotionally charged and asks a question that begs an answer. The elements of the Tanaga are: a tetrastich, a poem in 4 lines. However, modern poets have modified it to longer works in a stanzaic pattern of any number of quatrains. syllabic, 7-7-7-7 syllables per line. rhymed, originally monorhymed aaaa. Modern Tanagas also use aaaa bbbb etc., or aabb ccdd etc or abba cddc etc or any combination rhyme can be used. asks a question seeking an answer composed with the liberal use of metaphor. untitled. But in this poetic world we kind of have to title our poems for identity's sake. I'd Like to Think, It Knew Saintly sentinel stands guard, oversees nature's regard. St. Francis in my front yard, stone statue weathered and scarred. The welcome, silent and stead, his story of care is widespread. A brown bird lights on his head to peruse the garden bed. Do you think it may have known what the ancient priest had sown? In Christ he was never alone, love for all life he'd intone. ~~Judi Van Gorder

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Welsh Verse Features of the Welsh Meters Welsh Codified Divisions Clogyrnach clog-ír-nach, the 16th codified Welsh meter, an Awdl, is associated with what I can only assume is the name of an ancient poet, Cynddelw and is framed with a cyhydedd fer couplet combined with a longer form. It is rarely used by today's poets. The elements of the Clogymach are: stanzaic, written in any number of quintets, combining a cyhydedd fer (a rhymed couplet of 8 syllable lines) and a tercet of two 5 syllable lines followed by one 6 syllable line of 2 equal parts, 3 syllables each. rhymed, rhyme scheme AABBA. The 1st phrase of L5 rhymes with the previous line and the 2nd phrase rhymes with cyhydedd fer couplet. flexible, L5 of the cinquain can be added to the end of L4 creating a quatrain or can be broken into 2 separate lines creating a sixain. Clog Ear Nach by DC Martinson Inside my head there is a fight That leaves me void of sleep at night: My ear infected, By cure neglected. Dejected - Till dawn's light. x x x x x x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x B x x x x B x x B x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x B x x x x B x x B x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x x x x A x x x x B x x x x B x x B x x A Youth Smooth lines with the color of peach, time invites them to dream and reach. Peer imitates, lust lures, promise baits, a world waits, ours to teach. --- Judi Van Gorder Prism Within the gemstone, facets glint like sun on snow with winter's tint, sparkling colors fuse in translucent hues mark my muse with fired flint. ---Judi Van Gorder

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry English Verse The Roundel The key to the Roundel is the rhymed rentrement which is incorporated into the body of the poem and becomes its anthem. The English Roundel is a variation of the older French Rondeau. A rentrement is the first phrase of the opening line repeated as a refrain. In the Middle Ages the term Roundel was synonymous with Rondeau or Rondel. Chaucer's A Knight's Tale, 1529, has been called all three. Later, the term Roundel became associated with the properties of the form introduced by Algernon Swinburne in his A Century of Roundels, 1883. The elements of the Roundel as introduced by Swinburne are: a poem of 11 lines, made up of a quatrain, followed by a tercet and ending with a quatrain. metered, primarily iambic pentameter but can be written in iambic tetrameter. composed with a rentrement or 1st phrase of L1 which is repeated as a refrain in L4 and L11. rhymed with only 2 rhymes, rhyme scheme aba(Bb), bab, aba(Bb) B being the rentrement or refrain. The end word of the rentrement should rhyme with the end word of L2. The Roundel by Algernon Charles Swinburne, English Poet, (1837-1909) A roundel is wrought as a ring or a star-bright sphere, With craft of delight and with cunning of sound unsought, That the heart of the hearer may smile if to pleasure his ear A roundel is wrought. Its jewel of music is carven of all or of aught-- love, laughter, or mourning--remembrance of rapture or fear-- ------That fancy may fashion to hang in the ear of thought. Its a bird's quick song runs round, and the hearts in us hear Pause answer to pause, and again the same strain caught, So moves the device whence, round as a pearl or tear, A roundel is wrought. Sunset's Tango by Judi Van Gorder When sundown sings and airs its crimson glow, the covert clouds that float on winsome wings will join to dance, romance, adagio, when sundown sings. Into the grey-blue sea slides the golden ring while the falling night plays the gigolo and woos the sleepy stars awakenings. The sunset's tango advances smooth and slow in fuchsia, reds and golds that bleed and cling to the gliding dancers of twilight's nightly show, while sundown sings.