Don’t tell me the moon is shining;
show me the glint of light on broken glass.
Anton Chekhov
the thunderclap
of breaking pane,
frightening.
splintered shards -
remains
of jagged lightning.
those tears I bleed…
my fist is raw.
blackness crawls
out of
the shattered hole.
a fearsome
flood of grinding rain
insane.
my knuckles sore
black and blue.
i’ve kicked a metaphor -
the dog. its bite
worse than the storm.
the glass-eye moon
reflects my mood,
outside the door,
where i was rash.
those tears i bleed
on a handkerchief
so I won’t forget
the glass…so I won’t forget
the glass…
2/22/2023
Writing Challenge - G Words
Constance La France - sponsor
Categories:
anton chekhov, angst,
Form: Free verse
"Medicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress. When I get fed up with one, I spend the night with the other"
Anton Chekhov
A doctor, a poet and a singer,
he was all three talents rolled into one,
prescribed in poetry, advised by song,
his medical practice was so much fun!
recited famous poems as he talked,
his happy patients were of him in awe,
he danced to his songs as he walked,
yet his treatment without a single flaw!
he was most popular with little tots,
they giggled at funny faces he pulled,
amongst doctors there may be many sorts,
but I bet none like him that are so chilled!
diseases of body are many kinds,
treated with medicines of many types,
with a jovial doctor, mind unwinds,
to help body overcome its gripes!
Premiere contest winner (4)
written 20/03/2021
Reveal your other Muse contest
Margarita Lillico sponsored
Brevity hence 4 stanzas
10 syllables, quatrains with partial imperfect rhyme.
Categories:
anton chekhov, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Rhyme
"Medicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress. When I get fed up with one, I spend the night with the other"
~ Anton Chekhov
She brightens the skies with her twinkling eyes
As they fall on the pages presented to her
Offering her the honor of a poetry prize
To cause her to smile with satisfaction as she will purr
Poetry and prose lift up like she can sometimes
With emotions so pure they bring conviction
Whether they’re about romance, history or crimes
Addressing the affections with nonfiction
Either by poetic vise or prose that materialize
In dreamy lives who welcome our pen and paper
We will find the inspiration to always idealize
The ones we discover behind a life filled vapor
If it be my wife or the love of my life
The novel, the noun, the verb and the pronoun
I find ways to work through all my strife
With the delight discovered when we write down
Our love for the words we read
As well as the wife we heed
Together, they are a masterpiece indeed!
Reveal your other muse poetry contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
March 17, 2021
Categories:
anton chekhov, books, inspiration, muse, wisdom,
Form: Rhyme
"Medicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress. When I get fed up with one, I spend the night with the other"
Anton Chekhov
~~~~~~~~~
Medicine, an in-pouring
Literature, poetry, our outpouring
In tandem setting into motion, vibration
Epitomising our being-ness by gentle resonation
Let then our medicine, oh hermit, be the love caress
Soft, healing touch, leaving us free of duress
Distilled and enriched within our heart
All souls one and none apart
We affirm in definitiveness
Bliss influx grips us in rapturousness
Mind body magnetised, one with the universe
Radiating beauteous love hues, as our creative verse
15-March-2021
Reveal your other muse poetry contest
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico
Categories:
anton chekhov, inspiration, joy,
Form: Rhyme
"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired." -- Anton Chekhov
Chekhov declared that it's clearly imperative
That a gun given billing must duly be fired.
The bullet obligingly cinches the narrative,
Sating the thirst that the gun first inspired.
Yet the world is awash in objects inutile,
Which clog our disorderly narrative streams.
So why should a playwright adhere to so futile
A diktat pertaining to props in a scene?
Myself for example, habitually arming
The darkness that swaddles me, inkily deep,
My mind so occulted its doubly alarming
To grasp the black Kimber, now sprung from its keep.
The prop having found its way on to the stage,
My untethered demons start chorally keening,
Quite certain they know what the gun must presage:
That this is the moment that holds all the meaning.
Categories:
anton chekhov, depression,
Form: Verse