Just Plain Foolish

Just a chance for an old-fashioned, simple storyteller to say what needs to be said.

Monday, January 21, 2008

2 poems: the last piaster

The Last Piaster is a poetry prompt site that I found today. Their first two prompts looked challenging, so I tried.

Piaster 1

Oh, to rush to you,
seeking union, wholeness, grace,
to become one,
lost in timeless now,
but find myself still me,
transformed by the trip.

Skipping, dancing,
clasped together, we whirl,
laughing joyfully
over rapids,
through your snags, Shenandoah,
downward to the sea.

Piaster 2

Blind, his fingers look
across painted concrete
for the switch.

Dull yellow light,
smells of dust, mold, creeping time
below the house.

A treasure unearthed!
My cold hands clutch the jar:
homemade peach preserves.

Turning, we climb
up steep stairs, the warm kitchen
our reward.

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5 Comments:

Blogger susan said...

Hi JPF,

You clearly create a mood. For me though the mood outweighs action here.

The exercise asked for one stanza and 25 words, but beyond the exercise, where could you take this?

Thanks for joining us at the Last Piaster

1/22/2008 3:42 AM  
Blogger Plain Foolish said...

Skipping, dancing,
clasped together, we whirl,
laughing joyfully
over rapids,
through your snags, Shenandoah,
downward to the sea.

1/22/2008 7:01 AM  
Blogger tumblewords said...

I think the change you made in the comment section - if I get this right - show the image clearly in the second stanza. Nice tension and action.

#2 Creepy right up to the peach preserves! I wondered about the use of 'his', 'my' and 'we'...re-reading it, I think it must be two people rather than the one I first heard!

Nice words. Warm kitchen is perfect.

1/23/2008 4:28 PM  
Blogger Plain Foolish said...

Tumblewords, when the prompt said "basement", I thought right away of going into my grandfather's basement to get preserves. I was terrified of that basement as a child because it was dark and dusty and cold, and because, a child of the Depression, he would keep food long after it should have been poured away.

So I would go down, too, and make sure we picked the newest jar of preserves, but it spooked me every single time.

And yes, the first stanza of the first poem was the original.

Thank you.

1/23/2008 8:10 PM  
Blogger ...deb said...

P2:
Funny-odd. We both had peaches in the basement (mine a cellar).

His, my & we are a few too many - for me - in a short poem.

I like that the sense of smell was involved.

1/26/2008 3:11 PM  

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