As promised, I have included the nonets that were sent to me at my last post’s request. The first one called “Star” is mine and was done at a friend, Jane Voorhees’ request to try an upside down nonet in order to make a Christmas tree shaped poem. Then Jane, using old-fashioned letter press equipment, formed the words and with a swipe of a watercolor brush, formed a beautiful little Christmas card. This is the fun and beauty of collaboration.Star Pine’s Pungence Snaps the cold Air whitened by Sifting snow. Red bird Flutters in her night’s nest Suggests holly berry bright. Black trunks cast long shadows against Drifts while stars drape boughs in mystery.
Below are the nonets readers submitted. The submissions are all quite good and prove the point that surprising things can happen when we fit our words into a form. It was very hard to choose a winner from these great nonets, so I put the names in a hat and drew one out. The winner is Pamela Hill. She wins a copy of “Saved by a Poem: The Transformative Power of Words” by Kim Rosen. Congratulations and enjoy!Leaving
Lucid once, then often not, she leaves
more quickly now, frightened by a
shadow, spark, or spot, she’s off
to wander isles of blue,
then asks “Where are we
now?” “Who are you?”
lot. (A nonet by Pamela Lee Hill, Nov. 2012)
Waiting for my Eye Exam An old hand, wrinkled skin drapes on bones, creped fingers curl softly around two younger hands — a picture in a magazine I use to pass the time. Tears sting my eyes — I see my mother’s hand. by Ann Teague Aging in Place Cruel alarm shatters the darkness of early morning sleep. Full moon spies paper tossed carelessly on wet lawn. Fresh coffee, soon your doctor we greet. Relentless pain, crippling spirit, mind, body. Constant love the only drug Binding us past reason Hope and fear You are Mine. © Jeanne M. Sievert 12/1/12 /3/12 Semester’s End No more hikes up the hill to Hogwarts. No more challenges to old rules of writing, of power, of living a successful life. Teacher, you led my heart through the stone shower into now. —Jan M. VanSchuyver 12/6/2012 My Sundowner
She asks my name like we have not met.
Cloudy eyes gaze, her hand comes up
To brush my cheek and the tear…
Mother, it’s your daughter.
Barb? Where have you been?
Here mom, right here.
Who are you?
Stoney grey, the weather holds us in
Doors cordon off drafty windows
Steamy cup of joe to warm
And blanket in my lap
A cozy corner
In well lit room
thaws my mood. —Susan R.