it’s Valentine week.
Got love poems?
Green is for grass, green is for trees,
green is for beautiful, beautiful leaves
Green is the vale where my love lies,
green is the love, in my love’s eyes
From a song in my "free fall" story about orphans with green skin
One of my little joys in life is going every Friday to my free fall group where we can express ourselves. By “free fall,” as invented by novelist W.O. Mitchell, I mean we write swiftly without stopping or self-editing. People in my group are mostly moved to write fiction. For me personally, since at home I daily write nonfiction, it feels so good to unleash my imagination.
After hearing a common “Prompt,” we all lean over and industriously write in our notebooks for about fifteen minutes; then we go around reading aloud. Somebody in the group told me that when I write “outside the box” I give others permission to write “outside the box.” That’s nice. Sometimes a person will pen a rant, an essay, or a memoir. Sometimes someone will write a spontaneous poem, one that rhymes, the way poems did back in our youth. Did you know modern poems don’t rhyme? Maybe next week I’ll “free fall” a non-rhyming poem.
What is the purpose of a poem? Of writing? Of any art? Why does our city mandate that one per cent of all public works budgets must be set aside for art? (Don’t you love those carved fish along the side of the Glenmore Trail underpass?) Easy: If our city didn’t have any public art, and public trees, then things would be very dull and grey. And then we wouldn’t have all those head offices relocating here. (We have the most head offices in Canada, next to Toronto, partly because of Quebec separatism)
So here are some of my recent free fall poems—not edited, as free fall is not edited, and not for publication—poems that served to brighten some Friday mornings of our group.
Is it a love poem if I want to strangle you?
Only if I love you will I say I do
The coin has two sides, of love and hate
As for success, we’ll have to wait.
God will judge us, at the end of our days
Judging our coupleship, and its myriad ways
Of devotion and trials and tea late at night
Of buckets and soaps and smiles so white
I know loves remains, if our voice is strangled
Oh how I love, and it’s all tangled.
Prompt- winning game
When last we took you through the door
You waved your ribbon from principal Gore
And now we set you on your bed so high
With L.E.D.s that spell the sky
You won our hearts, with yours so big
Your heart had a valve, blocked by a twig
A part of nature, like fallen sheaves
I see you in the fallen leaves
You lurched and swayed, without any grace
I ignored that, to see your face
You hugged so well, with the press of love
And now my touch is masked by glove
I can only press, and look fondly down
And hope to join you, in God’s own town.
Over the hills and far away
Bears and robins like to play
Every morning I awake and say,
I wonder what will I do today
My friend Piglet will hang out with me
Sometimes we sit and just let be
Sine waves and static, roar like the sea
And I don’t care, no, not me
I want to go where there’s sweets and books
And crazy capes on crazy hooks
And ally-ways narrow and filled with spooks
And twists and turns and little nooks
Prompt- grandma on a ladder
Grandma on a ladder by a reindeer
That’s not how to spend your Halloween,
You might say it was a real good costume
But grandma really wants to vent her spleen
She was having a good time stringing jack-o-lanterns
Her grip on the ladder quite relaxed,
When some fool with a jetpack and a costume
Made her glad that she was wearing slacks
Now grandpa has the perfect excuse
To buy hydraulic cherry pickers and giraffes
And on Halloween he doesn’t dare to wear his jet pack
He just looks like Gandalf with his staffs
Oh you can fly your jet pack over hades
Feeling safe that you are doing well
But anyone who costumes as a reindeer
Will be kicked by grandma straight to hell.