Each month this blog will feature a word of the month to stimulate a poem. Anyone who wishes to share a poem is invited to participate. The point is to enjoy the challenge of writing a poem inspired by a single word. It doesn’t matter if this is your first poem or five hundredth. It’s all done for the fun and exercise of writing.
Cutoff for posting the current Word of the Month poem is the last day of the month.
On the first day of each month, a new word will be posted to challenge your imagination for that month.
Please post your poems on this page, so everyone can find the poems easily.
Thank you and have fun!
David
PS: The word for August is VOICE.
Voices
Smart, fat, kind, old, fun.
Many voices fill my head
Which will my heart hear?
Hard to decide which is the right one to pay attention to. Very thought provoking, Susan.
So many voices in there. And I love all of them! Well…most of them. 🙂
“Smart, kind, and fun” for sure, Susan!
Thank, Cory! I usually “hear” the good words, too!
The Council of Poets
by Linda Boyden ©2018
The Council of Poets
sits around the wooden table
sip wine, red or white,
nibble delicate word hors d’oeuvre,
phrases drenched in metaphor
or abuzz with onomatopoeia,
kept in time by rhyme,
similes flowing like the veils
of a belly dancer.
Their poetic feet tap out the meter.
Their voices take truck
with trite and cliché:
“There will be no easy as pie,
slick as a whistle,
sharp as a tack
allowed at this table.”
Every month, the Council of Poets
meets and devours
a moveable feast of words
Love the imagery, Linda!
Thanks, Susan, this was a fun one to write.
“…nibble delicate word hors d’oeuvre…” I love it!
Aw, thanks, George!
I love the “similies flowing like the veils of a belly dancer”! Very intense imagery.
A Different Voice
by George Parker
When Mom died,
Pain stole my voice.
I would try,
But then choked on the words.
Words, my refuge,
Failed me.
I picked up a guitar
And learned new words.
Words without words.
Words that wailed.
Words that screamed.
Words that ripped the scabs,
Let the poison leave,
And allowed me to heal.
This tears at my heartstrings. Thanks, George, for posting.
Thank you, Linda! We all have those days when the negative voices try to take over.
Beautiful, George!
You leave me bereft of words…
here is my August poem:
voice
voice
stands
like a statue… set in stone
pushes
like a crusher
molding steel
whispers
like a summer breeze
weaving tendrils
sings
like a love bird’s
nesting wings
whispers
like a mother’s
sweet lullaby
voice
leads you home
and out again
all rights: Jeanne Poland
This is simply beautiful!
If you want to seem my illustration, go to: https://thevibrantchanneledcreator.wordpress.com/2018/08/10/voice/
I like the strong verbs, Jeanne. Thanks for sharing.
Here’s my Word of the Month poem for August.
The Voice Clock
When he was little,
his voice squealed,
piped high soprano notes
that accompanied his play,
the excitement of each day.
But came a time
when the high notes cracked,
like shards of youth, into deeper timbre,
croaked at girls, who were curious
more than attracted.
Awkwardness ended
at the threshold of manhood.
His voice grew strong, firm,
confident beyond his years,
but people listened.
He grew into his voice,
learned about life,
became a lover, father,
wage earner, leader,
spoke with manly assurance.
The clock kept ticking.
The once deep thunder
of his testosterone-laced voice
lost its verve, began, at times,
to quiver and break with uncertainty.
He still yearned to speak but feared
his outdated wisdom and the sounds
of his soprano voice.
He sat in blankets, folded in thought,
and watched children play.
(c) 2018 David L. Harrison, all rights reserved
A touching journey through time.
My 12 year old son is at the beginning of this journey. His voice is comically cracking in every sentence he utters. He is tall and lanky, awkward in every movement. I would love to print this with some artwork, frame it and give it to him for his birthday.
Be my guest, Janine. I’m happy you like it.
Oh, THANK YOU David!
HIGH NOTES
When I was asked what I wanted to be,
A life as a singer was my desire.
And though it seemed solos were not for me,
I’d be quite content to sing in a choir.
I went up to St. Pauls for a session
And sang the extent of my repertoire.
But I could see from their pained expression,
My choral ambition would not go far.
They told me they’d never heard such a voice;
One that had such a lot of vibrato.
They said they could offer me just one choice;
It was something they called a castrato.
I Googled the thing when I went to bed.
And I chose to be a poet instead.
Bryn Strudwick
I would choose ‘poet’, too. Well done!
delightful!
I read this earlier in the month and continue to derive such pleasure from it. Thank you!
All that my mind came up with was this:
The voice inside gives good advice:
Let go of the bitterness;
Live fresh and down to the earth;
Love everything you come in contact with;
Learn to listen to what is not said;
Lean on your friends and family when you feel weary.
The voice inside gives good advice!
janine:
all your comments were poems! And now the one with voice is so practical and honest!