“HEY… THAT’S MY LINE!” – PROMPT #38

Take an eye-catching line from one of the poems posted ahead of you at Poetic Bloomings, and use it as the title of a totally new poem. Be sure to credit the poet and poem it is from.  Have fun!

Marie Elena’s Attempt:

I’M A POET, AND AS SUCH AM TOUGH

Pointless notions
seep, leak, drip, drain
flee the brain, launch campaign
to wreck the reputation.

 
Raw-emotions
scored, pared, sliced, peeled
spread open, core revealed
displayed for summation.

 
In the line of fire,
Gutsy versifier.

(From S.E. Ingraham’s Rime Couée, “Undergoing a Sea-Change”)

 

Walt’s Example:

THE DEADLINE CAME; THE DEADLINE WENT

I have no need to berate or vent. The deadline came,
the deadline went and all my offerings are meant as stated.
And if I am elated alone, it will be mine to own.

(From Marie Elena’s “Crash and Burn” – her prompt # 36 example)

BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS – PROMPT #37

Prompt #37 was a photo of three disturbances in an otherwise tranquil amber lake. Like the ripples that resulted from those splashes, our poets took their poems in many different directions, touching all that came into their paths. It is intriguing to see what various poets see in the same captured moment. Each and every poem posted was truly golden and worthy of recognition. HOWEVER … Marie and I choose only one each per week. So in keeping with our routine:

Walt’s Bloom:

One would have to be bananas to look at a photo of three splashes on Golden Pond and equate it with eternally resting in Valhalla. But, once the case was made… well, it made for a very visual and expressive poem. And Michele Breton was the only one Banana enough to pull that off. The imagery in her piece shows pure vision and imagination and has earned Michele my “Bloom” for week # 37. Well done, Michele!

Marie’s Bloom:

It was bound to happen sooner or later. For the first time in our 37 weeks, Walt and I chose the same poem. “Viking Funeral” is so different a take, so unique and well constructed, how could it not be chosen? Bravo, Banana the Poet!

Viking Funeral. by Michele Brenton

Lay him down
dress him fine,
weave flowers in his beard;
for he is loved,
he is mine,
paid for with my tears.

Battles over,
Warrior King
respected by his peers;
hold his image
sing his songs
to echo through the years.

Upon the waters
send him well,
let the flames begin;
Valhalla waits
while my heart breaks
and yearns to burn with him.