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Posts tagged ‘forms of poetry’

Embrace Connections


https://smarturl.it/ThanksForTheDance

Reach out to others
Make meaningful connections
Share your thoughtfulness

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Did you click the link?
The link was “Thanks for the Dance”
From Leonard Cohen.

If you didn’t hear –
Didn’t see the video,
Go up and do it!

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EMBRACE CONNECTIONS
Look into another’s heart
See the hidden pain

Learn to disagree
Learn to listen with your heart
Show your compassion

Connections can save
The loneliest from despair
Suicide is real

Express your concern
Let your compassion embrace
Those in depression

Depression is real
Too often it is hidden
Inside solitude

Leonard Cohen’s poem
Hit me right between the eyes
Took me to my niece

‘Twas nineteen years old
When her life appeared hopeless
Jumped Golden Gate Bridge

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‘Twas two weeks later
When her decomposed body
Washed its way ashore

Only dental charts
Helped to identify her
Memories are raw

Never imagined
Her pain was so very deep
Didn’t see the signs

So much is known now
Nearly forty years ago
We just weren’t aware

Today it’s rampant
Especially Montana
Third in the nation

Growing suicides
It’s not a good statistic
Something must be done


These are images from Leonard Cohen’s impactful video. (Haven’t watched it yet? Go back up to that link. Take five minutes and then come on back.) The poetry and his raspy, musical voice will touch your heart. You’ll carry it with you.

You’ll ask yourself, “What Happens to the Heart?” and you will want to be more aware, more compassionate, more helpful. You’ll look in your friend’s eyes. You’ll study your loved one’s face. You’ll ask questions. You’ll care. And you’ll want to know WHAT CAN I DO? When you see sadness, despair, loneliness, you’ll want to help. How??

There are visible
Ways we can show how we care
Check out resources

Reach out to others
Make meaningful connections
Share your thoughtfulness


Embrace Connections
They can make the difference
YOU are important!

Thanks for dropping by JanBeek

Sending you love and hugs
Stay Connected!!
See ya tomorrow


Last Day Sedoka


[Sedoka is a Japanese poetic form comprising 38 syllables in a sequence of 5, 7, 7, 5, 7, 7.]
It is the invitation from d’Verse Poetry today…

Last Day Sedoka

When my last day comes
Won’t be a celebration
Not one that I can attend
So I’ll celebrate
Last day of twenty-twenty
With a Hip-hip and Hooray!!

Jan Beekman

Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com

Check out my inspiration for this Sedoka at
https://poetscornerblog.wordpress.com/2020/12/31/last-day-sedoka/

When I first told my family…


We were having one of my favorite meals, spaghetti with meat sauce, when I first told my family that I had broken up with my fiance’. My dad nearly choked on his mouthful. My mom shoved her plate of spaghetti half-way across the table!

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To this day, I can’t eat spaghetti with meat sauce without remembering that day.

My fiance’ and I had been engaged for about a year. He was in the army, stationed in Germany. I was a senior in college, missing the social life, trying to remain true to my engagement. I wanted to attend the school’s dances and other social functions. It was hard!

Rather than being untrue to my boyfriend who was so far away (we had not seen each other in six months), I broke off with him. Obviously, my parents were devastated. Especially when they learned the guy I wanted to date was a divorce’.

“Why buy a used car when you can have a new one?” my dad finally spoke. Then he got up and walked out of the room. (Yes, Dad was a man of few words, but a list of prejudices a mile long!)

Mom followed him, without speaking a word. That was so unlike her.

Proverbs 6: 20-23

20 My son, obey your father’s commands,and don’t neglect your mother’s instruction. 21 Keep their words always in your heart. Tie them around your neck. 22 When you walk, their counsel will lead you. When you sleep, they will protect you. When you wake up, they will advise you. 23 For their command is a lamp and their instruction a light; their corrective discipline is the way to life.

The man I broke up with was from a family very much like my own. He grew up in the same area I did. We shared common roots. My parent and his got along wonderfully. The man I wanted to date was nine years older than I. I won’t get into why he was so attractive to me, but suffice to say, my parents’ dismay touched me deeply.

They let me have my “fling.” They did not bad-mouth my new friend. But when my ex-boyfriend came home on leave, they invited him over. When I returned home from college that weekend, he was there. I realized how much I loved him. That love has carried us through 58 years of marriage. Not always perfect, not always blissful, but always respectful, and always knitted together in prayer, faith in God, and common purpose. The love has grown as years passed – and I am grateful every day for my parents’ wisdom.

Put a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of me. I can taste the kindness of my parents in every meatball. I can hear my mom’s silence and feel her prayers in every slurp of pasta. I feel my dad’s concern about age differences and divorce. I keep their love in my heart with every Italian meal! God bless ’em!!

Today at d’Verse we are trying a new form of poetry. Synesthesia is a neurological phenomenon in which stimulation of one sense leads to automatic, involuntary experiences of a second one.   There are over 80 types of synesthesia described by science.   Nearly every combination of sensory experiences or cognitive concepts is possible.

Seeing music as colors is one form of synesthesia. Perceiving letters as personalities is another one, or seeing numbers in color. Even hearing colors or touching smells.

How about tasting memories?
Do you have any of those?

Photo by Ali Nafezarefi on Pexels.com

This post is a combination prompt: 1) My Madison Valley Writers’ Group Prompt was the title of the blog, and 2) the d’Verse prompt informed the style and content. It’s not poetry… but it may qualify as Synesthesia. What do you think?

My Italian Daddy and me

See ya tomorrow.
Thanks for visiting
JanBeek

What a Week!


Problems
Creep in
Usually they’re unbidden
Happened all week long
Blame

Gifted
With Love
From my Lord
I did move forward
Strength

Possibilities
Are fueled
By firm beliefs
Making hard things easier
Faith

One step at a time
Life is easier with faith
Just follow the Light!

This last one’s a Haiku, but the preceding series of three poems (written in the German-inspired style of Elfchen or Elevenie) shares a total of eleven words in each poem, with a sequence by line of one, two, three, four, and one words.

I hope you had a good week.
Enjoy your weekend.
Thanks for visiting JanBeek.
See ya tomorrow.

BYE!!
BEEEEE Well.

Sixty-Four Years


SIXTY-FOUR YEARS
(a heptameter)

man in black shirt

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No, this “old coot” (who may have a wonderful sense of humor locked inside, by the way) is not sixty-four. He’s much older… and he reminds me of the subject of the poem below.

It’s a seven-syllable poem. I read somewhere, “Seven-syllable lines in English verse can have several different names.” I call mine heptameter. I heard that somewhere. I didn’t make it up.

Seven syllables on each line… a true story here… first published in our
Madison County Writers Anthology for the year. The subject was a 96-year-old for whom I was a senior companion. He was a hoot of an old coot!

Sixty-four Years

a heptameter

 

The poem rings a loneliness bell, doesn’t it? Ah, but he loved company and he had a million stories locked inside, aching to be told.

Do you know a senior who lives alone? Why not decide to visit today – or give him/her a call.

By the way, doing a little research with Siri, I learned that in English poetry, you only count syllables in Haiku (a form borrowed from another language, of course)… not usually in other poetry forms. Other languages, like French, count syllables in most forms of poetry. The reason English poems don’t was explained this way: English is a stress-timed language, and French is a syllable-timed language. This means that in English, the number of stressed syllables in a line is generally more important than the total number of syllables … (and besides, depending upon what part of the country you’re from, the syllables differ … y’all relate, raught?)

Nevertheless, it was fun to write my Heptameter. You should try it. It’s fun!

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