poem – Susan Joy Clark

Creative Life, Poetry

Monster in My Head, #Chant Poetry

There’s a little monster in my head,

He’s a one-man percussion band,

beating his bongos and grinning —

maliciously.

There’s a little monster in my head,

who doesn’t like to go to bed.

When it’s time to sleep,

the little monster in my head

plays bongos and castanets and

vuvuzelas, jumping up and down inside my

cranium — that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

with a trampoline and a mallet

and — perhaps — a chisel,

and he’s doing unwelcomed and

random refurbishments —

that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

and he likes to play with the lights,

strobe lights and

disco lights

to go with the beat of the bongos,

to go with the beat of his mallet —

that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

doing the conga with his monster friends,

doing gymnastics with dangerous

objects — far worse than running

with scissors — that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

and I have no love for him.

I’d really like to evict him

and make him vacate —

that little monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

but I can not make him go —

that nasty wasty monster in my head.

There’s a little monster in my head,

and you might know his name.

Do you want to know it?

That little monster in my head?

His name is …

Migraine.

This was written — a little late again — for dVerse’s chant poetry challenge. I started out with a completely different poetry idea, but the migraine continues (a little bit reduced by medicine maybe) and has been quite distracting. So, I decided to write about it. There was once a commercial for some sort of migraine medication that presented the “migraine” like a cartoonized monster. In an abstract way, it kind of made sense to me (not scientifically,) but in the sense of how it feels. It’s too bad I didn’t make this coincide with Migraine Awareness Month which was in June.

Creative Life, Poetry

For Love of My Characters #Paint Chip Terza Rima

Blank canvas is my laptop screen,

Where seedlings of ideas might grow,

Unfolding action to be seen.

My characters act out a show,

On a different sort of screen,

And to the cliff’s edge sometimes go.

Though they dangle close to danger

And sometimes they fall into it,

To complete demise, they’re strangers.

This, my love for them, won’t permit,

A happily ever after

Must resolve every conflict.

This was written for Linda Kruschke’s Paint Chip Poetry challenge where we were challenged to use three of the words or phrases below in a terza rima form poem. I found quite a few of these worked perfectly for a poem on storytelling.

Here is an explanation of the terza rima from Linda’s page and the poetry dictionary.

TERZA RIMA (tare’-tsuh ree’-muh; Italian, “third rhyme”) Tercets with an interwoven rhyme scheme, invented by Dante Alighieri for The Divine Comedy: aba bcb cdc ded efe fgf, etc. The poem (or individual section, called a canto by Dante) usually ends with a single line or a couplet, rhyming with the previous tercet’s middle line. But it may also end with a tercet, it’s middle line rhyming with the opening tercet’s first and third lines, making the form circular.

Celebrating Creativity

Bubbles (An Old Poem of Dad’s)

Dad recently messaged me with a few old poems from his youth, and I thought I would republish one here.

Bubbles

Never trust a bubble,

Though it bobbles in the air,

Or drifting gently there,

Does allure.

Though it twinkles in the light

With colorful delight,

Don’t be sure.

Though you very lightly grasp it,

Though you very gently clasp it

Like a dunce;

All at once,

Nothing first,

It will burst.

My dad was a physics major at New York University and was a senior scientist at ITT, accumulating 44 patents over his time there. He was working on things like voice recognition and GPS long before these became common terms everyone knew. He also invented many things to help out the U.S. military and worked on a secure telephone that President Reagan used. Many who know him might be surprised at his artistic side, but he wrote a lot of poems in his youth.

I have a great aunt on dad’s side who had some accomplishments as a painter and poet. Below is one of her poetry books.

One Thanksgiving, a cousin on dad’s side, who has appointed himself as our family historian, shared all sorts of stories about Great Aunt Marie and showed me a different poetry book of hers that he has. I never met my great aunt, but I found it all fascinating. I Googled my great aunt and was surprised at what I found. I was able to order the book above from Amazon, which actually came from a used bookstore in California, and was even an autographed copy. I’ve been meaning to post about this in detail for a long time, so stay tuned …

Creative Life, Poetry

Goldfinch, #Haiku

a bird’s serenade

from among the coneflowers,

trills out for his mate.

This haiku was written for Ronovan Writes haiku challenge in which he asks us to use synonyms of song and chirp.

The bird in the photo is the American Goldfinch, which is, by the way, the state bird in New Jersey where I live. I remember learning that fact in grade school. Years later, I saw a lot of these colorful birds at my dad’s bird feeders which he filled with nigel seed, a favorite with finches. Dad no longer keeps up with the bird feeding, but I still spotted a goldfinch this season in the shrubbery.

Just for fun, here is the soundtrack of a goldfinch’s song.

Creative Life, Poetry

Ice Cream Cone Romance, #Paint Chip Poetry Sixain

He gifted her an ice cream cone.

He gave it to her with a blush.

“I wish it were a precious stone,”

he told her in a quiet hush.

His hands were stuffed into his jeans

of faded denim, while he leaned

In for a kiss from his sweet girl.

Her lipstick marked him on the cheek,

Leaving his head then in a whirl,

As he felt awed and somewhat meek.

To him, she wore a halo bright,

An angel that mystical night.

Years later, his fortune increased

But his girl was still the same,

His romance then did not decrease,

Even after she took his name.

He thought a better gift he’d give,

To celebrate the love they lived.

He gifted her a polished stone,

She was then the one who blushed.

“I wish it were an ice cream cone,”

He told her in that quiet hush.

And, after this, that husband meek,

Still got a kiss upon his cheek.

This was written for Linda Kruschke’s paint chip poetry challenge. The challenge this week was to write a stanza or more of a sixain, using four or five of the paint chip words below and one as a rhyming word.

The poem was partially inspired by a story my mother told me that she had read about the actress Helen Hayes and her romance. At one point in her courtship, the man who became her husband gave her a bag of peanuts (maybe at the movies or some event) and told her he wished they were emeralds. Years later, he did give her emeralds and told her he wished they were peanuts. In my poem, peanuts and emeralds became ice cream cone and polished or precious stone. All other details were also fictionalized and, of course, created, to fit in the paint chip words.