Tweetspeak Poetry

Whittles and Wood: Photo Play and Prompt

By 37 Comments

Nature is on stage during Autumn’s curtain call. Trees take a bow and we applaud— a show of gratitude for an unforgettable display of beauty and art.

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here is a poem from Robbie whose heartfelt words are a fitting tribute to Veteran’s Day:

The old man
Sits and carves
Entrenched lines
Like wrinkles
In the furl of his brow
Layers are stripped
Like mines
As he whittles in time
Slivers curl back as years
With shavings and tears
As remnants fall like shrapnel
To the cutting room floor
In disciplined craftsmanship
The essence of childhood
Is revealed in wood
As the toy soldier stood
The old man salutes what is lost
And what would never be understood

—by Robbie Pruitt

 

Photo Play Prompt: Take a walk among the Autumn trees. Snap a photograph of the breathtaking display around you. Or perhaps capture the delicate intricacy of leaves, bark, and branches.

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NOTE TO POETS: Looking for your Monday poetry prompt? On Photo Play weeks, it’s right here. Find inspiration from the photo in the post and respond with a poem. Leave your poem in the comment box. We’ll be reading. :)

 

Photo by Amelie. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.

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Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!

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Heather Eure
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Comments

  2. Prasanta says

    The submissions for this prompt were all delightful to read. The selection above is so fitting and perfect for the holiday. I especially enjoyed:

    Layers are stripped
    Like mines
    As he whittles in time
    Slivers curl back as years
    With shavings and tears
    As remnants fall like shrapnel

    Thank you for the prompts each week!

    Reply

  4. Robbie Pruitt says

    Thank you all very much for appreciating and reposting my poem! I’m delighted and honored to have it posted here and am very thankful for so many who have given themselves in service to our country. Thank you and happy Veteran’s Day.

    Reply

  8. Richard Maxson says

    https://www.flickr.com/photos/125528196@N08/15741437056/

    Of Trees

    I listen to the leaves,
    those that fall, those that persist
    on their dichotomy of stems,

    in a wind that is nearly silent,
    not the hidden fingers on a harp,
    but rather those of the guitarist

    moving unapologetically up and down
    the frets, so that into the music he
    weaves the agony of callouses.

    Dissection never reveals the whole.
    The fragile rings hide their stature,
    as the trees mock their seasons,

    brandishing their rattling bassinets
    in Spring and in the throes of Autumn
    drop their dappled dress exposed.

    There are memories that uphold me,
    fibers that vibrate from my searching
    for the words to describe them,

    words like houses made of trees,
    that let the winds play at their doors,
    and let the windowed light know where I am.

    Reply

  9. Marcy Terwilliger says

    Robbie my friend, it’s so good to see you here, saw the poem on the face book feed, beautiful. I also like the second one you posted as well. Hope all is well with you and family, you inspire me as usual. Love, Marcy

    Reply

  10. SimplyDarlene says

    I got a twofer deal out of this prompt. Images and poem and my site. http://wp.me/p1sn25-2i8

    Poetry only – read below…

    autumn daze chilled out

    yonder, reflected, shining behind her

    as dishes sudsed warm

    (lather rinse repeat)

    she took her way, slow –

    as rays leaned low; she changed

    clothes: sweater, knit

    hat, woolen underthings – in town

    she found the creek-sliced park

    overflowing with fallen

    things. she kicked colors around, flying

    them atop frozen grass; scuttled up

    a gnarled tree, safe! as a sea of leaves

    rode sunset’s glow, don’t giddy-up the majestic

    (take her easy, gentling the bite)

    crisp with morn’s snow skiff – just

    a kiss of winter days (and

    nights) to come; home

    at last she drove

    a nail, hung her lantern out.

    Reply

    • Marcy Terwilliger says

      SimplyDarlene,
      Girl, I really like this autumn poem you have laid before my eyes. Getting dressed in our warmest clothes, the words so smooth as we ride along taking in each sight. So personal, as if you invited me along.

      Reply

    • Richard Maxson says

      Darlene, your poems are journeys, whether just out in the back yard or a trip into town. I loved this one, loved the creek-sliced park and “don’t giddy-up the majestic” is classic!

      Reply

  11. Elizabeth Marshall says

    The Bride

    Blushing
    Flushed fall foliage
    Ushered
    Down the aisle
    Winter
    Waits
    For wispered vows
    Sacred
    Ceremony underneath the bent tree’s
    Boughs
    The earth committs
    To spin and never stop
    For better and for worse

    In Winter and in Spring

    And every season in between

    This

    Is her solemn vow

    You may now kiss the blushing bride

    Reply

  12. Marcy Terwilliger says

    Brewing Time

    Autumn,
    Time for a brewing.
    Host of friends come calling,
    Even ones that have died.
    Let the Spirits rise.
    Fling open the doors,
    Scatter old cups and saucers about.
    Open the windows,
    Let cool, crisp, air move about.
    Kick off your shoes,
    Come dance to the beat of a drum.
    Candles flicker,
    Everyone hums.

    Reply

  13. Richard Maxson says

    Marcy, we just had an evening like this with new friends at the Stone House a local brewery in Eureka Springs a couple weeks ago. “Let the Spirits rise” is a wonderful line in context!

    Reply

  14. Bethany Rohde says

    Changing Views

    That maple tree at the front of my lawn

    is missing pieces by the handful.

    In June it offered a full bouquet:

    an overflow of top-down green.

    I ducked under a lower branch

    and stood inside its canopy.

    I let my body’s weight fall

    back against the scruff of bark.

    Wooden arms reached out toward me,

    toward my neighbors, toward the street.

    Yesterday, when the school bus left,

    I stooped back in my leaved den.

    Those same branches, ripe with autumn,

    relaxed their grip on stems.

    The wind punched out clusters

    in the nutmeg shag above.

    Through those holes

    in my roof

    cold air fell

    all the way

    down the back

    of my collar.

    I peered up through a skeleton of sticks

    and found

    shifting windows of liquid blue.

    In that dome of floating lakes

    two twig hands kept overlapping

    and spreading apart again,

    like someone feeling her way out

    of the dark.

    (Previously on AllNine and VerseWrights)

    Reply

  15. Marcy Terwilliger says

    Leaving Autumn

    Hearing colors
    Seeing sounds
    Red dances with leaves,
    Peeled back bark
    Inspiring visual to see.
    Spiritual color blue
    Propels to the clear sky.
    Yellow an Irish tin whistle,
    Like wind blowing by.
    Autumn is passion
    Shine on those red heels.
    Prance as she walks by,
    But hurry still.
    Winter is coming,
    Snow Geese take to flight.
    Let there be,
    Peace tonight.

    Reply

  17. gassingon says

    whittles and wood
    once we were all good
    all smiles and soft and new
    akin to the new spring
    advancing quickly in view
    as soon as March is in
    like a soft new skin
    things start out fresh
    seeing through the mesh
    and heat and the suns retreat
    from summer and autumn too
    turning again to winter
    oh how I wish we too
    could each spring be renewed

    Reply

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