The Tuesday Platform: Gather around for some ghost stories (Poems in April ~ Day 23)

I Felt A Funeral In My Brain
 by Emily Dickinson

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,

And Mourners to and fro

Kept treading - treading - till it seemed

That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,

A Service, like a Drum -

Kept beating - beating - till I thought

My mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box

And creak across my Soul

With those same Boots of Lead, again,

Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,

And Being, but an Ear,

And I, and Silence, some strange Race,

Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I dropped down, and down -

And hit a World, at every plunge,

And Finished knowing - then -

Greetings poets, wayfarers and friends. Welcome to the Tuesday Platform, the weekly open stage for sharing poems in the Imaginary Garden.  Please link up a poem, old or new, and spend some time this week visiting the offerings of our fellow writers.

If you are participating in the poem-a-day challenge and looking for inspiration then here is an optional prompt for you. Write a horror poem that makes one taste the dark in broad daylight. Follow this link to a list on Goodreads for further inspiration.

Choose your own form or write in free verse, if preferred. I look forward to reading what you guys come up with on Day 23 of the month-long adventure. Happy Poeming!🥀

SHARE * READ * COMMENT * ENJOY

FASHION ME YOUR WORDS ~ a query

[image from google dot com]

Hi Toads, FASHION ME YOUR WORDS ~ a query in the style of Emily’s ‘Answer July’

Answer July—
Where is the Bee—
Where is the Blush—
Where is the Hay?

Ah, said July—
Where is the Seed—
Where is the Bud—
Where is the May—
Answer Thee—Me—

Nay—said the May—
Show me the Snow—
Show me the Bells—
Show me the Jay!

Quibbled the Jay—
Where be the Maize—
Where be the Haze—
Where be the Bur?
Here—said the Year—
-Emily Dickinson

Fashion me a poem, using not more than 100 words, in the style of Emily’s ‘Answer July’, have fun

AND while you are at it enjoy my video of choice


Remember!!! this is a fun project

A Skyflower Friday - Shipwreck

Greetings to all. Yes, it is Kerry here, standing in for the nonpareil Fireblossom, who could not post this week, due to unforeseen circumstances. In the spirit of the genuine article and inspired by one of Shay's favourite poets, I bring you today's challenge.

The Shipwreck on Northern Sea
Ivan Aivazovsky (1865)

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924.

Part One: Life

V

GLEE! the great storm is over!
Four have recovered the land;
Forty gone down together
Into the boiling sand.
 
Ring, for the scant salvation!        
Toll, for the bonnie souls,—
Neighbor and friend and bridegroom,
Spinning upon the shoals!
 
How they will tell the shipwreck
When winter shakes the door,        
Till the children ask, “But the forty?
Did they come back no more?”
 
Then a silence suffuses the story,
And a softness the teller’s eye;
And the children no further question,      
And only the waves reply.

SOURCE

Shipwrecks were common in Dickinson's time, and in this poem she contrasts the joy that the storm is over and four people were saved with the sorrow that forty people lost their lives. Notice how Dickinson uses punctuation marks to emphasize feeling. The sombre tone in the final stanza is an appropriate response to the pointed question of the children. We seem to live in a society increasingly hungry for stories of other people's suffering, and often forget that individual lives are a part of those news headlines.

Thus, today's challenge is to write about what it means to be shipwrecked in our times, either literally or figuratively. You may choose your own point of view: are you a witness, a survivor, or one who will go down with the ship? 

Personal Challenge, Ella

When Sherry challenged me to share my art and write a poem-I breathed a sigh of relief.  I was tagging my art to submit to Stampington & Company.   I had just finished making three journals for A Gift for an Artist Challenge.   Sherry loves nature-my new nickname for her is WOW-Wild Owl Woman.  She is very insightful and full of ideas.    I decided to let Sherry pick the art to inspire my poem.  I have written articles about what inspired my art and always find it revealing.  I was intrigued to see how my art would  inspire a poem.  I think all creative types need a place to pen their hopes and dreams-this inspired my journals.

  

Hope keeps us going on our journey, no matter how many storms we weather.  

Forbidden Love

Lunar tickles light n'

embraces Sacred Oak's

bare branches

 Lunar swims towards night owl perch

as Oak scribbles love notes 

soul's cross illuminates the sky

Oak speaks of velvet purple mountains

red Cardinal's feathers

n' dandelion wishes.

Jealousy rained on Oak's green penned poems

Hurricane Mariah bent his frame

he snapped into fragments.

A man came-lugged him away

Lunar cried pearl tears missing

his board bare shoulders.

Man carved Oak's trunk

to sail blue's labyrinth haze

Lunar discover Oak and mirrored light

to wash over him-together again.

Quicksilver flash captures their love

but

salt wore out his bow

Landlubber again. 

Another man bought scraps

serenaded by the sea-LM and SO had secretly eloped.

Man carved a walking stick 

to witness celestial ballet-but no

an Oak wood umbrella 

to catch Lunar's Swarovski crystal tears. 

 A famous poet tends their

 children, in her moonlit garden.

She keeps Lunar's and Sacred Oak's secret.

Green stars perform lullaby in a clothesline of blue

-as proud parents watch. 

©Ellen Wilson

Thank you Sherry!

A Toad's Favo(u)rite Poem ~ Susie

This is my week to share a favorite poem which wasn’t an easy task. I have so many. As I have stated numerous times the first poet I fell in love with was Edgar Allen Poe. His dark works spoke to the darkness in me and helped my find my voice to share the pain I had been hiding from abuse. I often read his work when I need inspiration.

Today I have chosen to step away from Poe’s influence and speak of Emily Dickinson. She was introverted and reclusive and that resonated with me when I was young. Many who know me or have known me through the years would never describe me that way, but the “me” I shared with the world was very different from the “me” I held inside.  I was literally hiding in plain sight. I retreated in laughter to avoid having anyone discover the turmoil behind the grinning imp I portrayed. 

Emily Norcross Dickinson, 1840 by O.A. Bullard

As a young child reading helped me escape the trauma I kept hidden. When I was lost in a book, the world was a much kinder and brighter place. Through words I found wings to fly beyond my circumstances as Emily’s poem so beautifully relates. 

Part One: Life

XXI

He ate and drank the precious words,      

his spirit grew robust;     

He knew no more that he was poor,         

nor that his frame was dust.        

He danced along the dingy days,        

and this bequest of wings             

was but a book. What liberty       

a loosened spirit brings!