Pulsepoetica

…this month’s challenge is a triple whammy, a 3 in 1 oil of poetic lubrication. 

First, is to invent a new word, this is where the poet has license to thrill! It has to make sense, and be used by you in a sentence or poem.

Second:  Pick a colour and make a poem about it.

Lastly, more straight forward, look at the style of the image, retro comic? So write about a fave comic, real or imaginary…

After innumerable difficulties with publishing this post….

Pulsepoetica

Architexture, oil painter’s build,

old master of design technique,

or spellcheck missed, its spell mystique

in dragon puff of magic, blown?

Now pulsepoetica engaged

as art or ars as Horace wrote,

a part not played, learning by rote,

but spirit open to the muse.

How does it sound, that drum in ear,

tympanic with percussive loud,

or could its optic shine from cloud,

glyph marks translated, well sought sight?

Yet will it touch us, goosebump style,

and can it pass the meaning taste,

release full pheromones when faced,

demanding lexicon of sense?

Now at its core, a beating heart,

that bloody cordial of love,  

a verse, pulse, passion, flutter dove,  

as wordsmith licence registered?

Wordfitters

The problem with this merry month

is wordsmiths let loose, fantasies,

that we think real as reel can be,

the sound required, licence allows,

a statement of the obvious.

I know the term must earn its keep,

speak for itself with clarity,

bridge, liminal from here to there,

the list, inadequate, revealed,

shortfall of airy diction book.

Not frittered spam or flittered sprite,

not fitted wordrobe, bedroom plan,

or filler, putty, caulk to scan,

but more than that, the sound as lifts;

that foot required when metre’s short

like muesli when the muse falls flat,

wordfitters in their rightful place.

Keep writing on, but mind the gap,

though right, life unpredictable;

for some, short circuitry at work,

while others may judge brainwaves slack -

but, poets, it’s your voice to birth,

and mined, rite words, to fit that space,

cut diamond facets, flash of sun.

https://madswirl.com/author/skingsnorth/ 

Clearing up Afterwords

Used coffee cups for washing up, 

detritus after folk met, sup, 

we leave a scatter, chairs to stack, 

assorted cushions, plastic mac, 

forgotten stick, a hanging gamp, 

but quick to clear up afterwards.

A point of view, but blunt remark, 

on cue, the prejudicial mark, 

some battered pride, discourtesy, 

a foot in mouth while drinking tea, 

invective, unintentional, 

all slow to clear up, afterwords.

Unwarranted verbal attacks, 

defensive talk, then tongues relax, 

soft chewy nougat, nugget nuts,

ensure vociferous mouth shuts

for feedback while their teeth stuck fast,

so much to clear up, afterwords.

Much pride in this community,

where folk want to belong, to be,

but willing hands and brooms deployed

confirm that vile, hate speech seen void, 

make clear this place is space for all,

means fun to clear up afterwards.

Colour Associations

See Girl Guides’ blue, dun Brownies too -

Associations brim their fields,

as sad sea blues, grey days, see red

when flea the puce for beetle juice,

and cochineal can make its mark.

How does the pinkie earn its name,

for double Dutch unless it’s framed,

dark umber, ochre, clay earth build;

more babble from the Babel tower,

root fear of scarlet Babylon?

A hint print, hex code, which black witch,

green fingers more the Greenman’s toes,

wight as a sheet, the drapers’ wraith,

that spectre of a shaded past,

while rainbow proud of hopeful world.

Magnolia that fits with all,

a turncoat, writing on the wall;

whirl monochrome, chromatic scale,

repoint, repaint for mural’s sake,

mosaic of stained glass appoint.

All rainbow colours in a trout

suggests that spectrum everywhere;

is rainbow colour, hue or tone -

and does it matter in the mind,

with prism on the world around?

Setting the Tone

Magnolia, for fits with all

by being bland, when neutral good,

unlike Stellata garden star,

blooms bursting from skeletal wood.

Agent Orange, defoliant,

’Nam jungle spray, with napalm dread

my daily newsfeed as a youth

when Reds played dominoes, ’twas said.

Is gold a colour or a goal,

the standard set in sterling’s care,

though undermined by human cost,

save urban mining - old phone spare?

Less scan shows boy, pink, yellow-man,

though blues may knit unsuited chromes,

agenda turmoil for the wain -

without reserve, preserve love’s best.

Burnt umber through to earthenware,

a global sense of sun land soil,

though world awash, aquamarine,

on postcards, sea, crest bubble boil.

Greengages, middle eastern plums;

The Greenman, one I honour most,

his toes claimed as green fingers - ours,

as we take nature’s toil as boast.

Or slate, as list of candidates,

and quarried here, in aid of Plaid;

an area that’s grey they say,

who best to serve, Welsh valley guide?

Comic Stripped Back

Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional

As Janet, John read, Jack and Jill,

then tripod, soccer, cowboys, war,

though Dandy, Beano, beyond pale,

those Eyeties, Hun, jack-booted thugs

were met at school, not understood,

unwelcome in home, pacifist.

But Bunter, Bunty left their mark,

as strayed from sisters’ catalogue.

Posh boarding schools with dorms, removes,

and tuck shops, matrons, foreign words,

house captain codes midst yarns and japes,

where cheats, sneaks, liars, spiteful girls

could never prosper, ordered world.

With lightbulb hovers, word ‘Idea’,

hear ‘Tee-hee’, ‘Haw-haw, ‘Aaargh’, ‘Gulp’, ‘Zzzzzzzz’,

and ‘Yikes’, ‘Splat’, ‘Eeek’, ‘Yeeow’ sounding wild.

Those annuals for our Blyted lives

of secret sevens, famous fives;

then whizzing discs, bath submarines,

comic freebies or Kellogg box?

The Children’s Newspaper for Mee,

translated into Look and Learn,

handwriting comp, cert I still prize -

the hand me down from grammar school.