No Longer a Good Actress

I used to be able to pretend a lot better than I do now. In some ways life is better, but in other ways it is worse. At the same time, I might like myself better now than, say, in high school. A Chaucerian stanza for FOWC: Lips.


To smile with ones lips and not one’s eyes —
Underneath this mask, who can for long hide?
No longer a good actress, I reprise
This role without success, cannot abide
Nor anymore pretend, not satisfied.
Emotional, my brain tends to break down,
But I’ve no painted smile like a clown.

Humility

For FOWC: Coach, I wrote a Chaucerian stanza today. It is important, yet sometimes difficult, to be teachable.


Humility is key to being great,
For in accepting one does not know all,
One can be taught: a coach can help create
A greater confidence where fools would fall.
To know when to oneself a novice call
Will help skills in reality to build,
No sense of hubris but with newness filled.

New and Old

This Chaucerian stanza is for Linda G. Hill’s SoCS, and the words today are old/new. Although it’s not a free-verse poem, it was pretty quick and I didn’t edit, so I am sharing it. 

The old has passed away, the new has come:
This I believe with all my beating heart,
And I want to give it a warm welcome.
Every single day is a fresh new start;
Change does not come at once, but part by part.
Do not lose heart: we are works in progress,
Magnificent, and will find happiness.

One Step

Confusing is the path one ought to take,
So full of twists and turns it’s hard to stand:
Stand by; and soon enough the path will make
More sense, next steps elucidated, and
Courage nearby to take the trembling hand.
One step ahead is all that might be shown,
But difficulties won’t be faced alone.

Grains of Wheat

For DVerse Poetics today, we are to write inspired by wheat. At first, I was completely at a loss for any inspiration, but tonight I wrote this Chaucerian stanza.


Unless a grain of wheat shall fall upon
The fertile ground and die, a sacrifice,
It remains a single grain; but once gone
It returns, and is now worth well past twice:
Potential on which you can’t put a price.
Does wheat feel trepidation ere the fall?
Is falling in the field falling at all?

The Angelus, Jean-François Millet

Scary Paranormal Stuff

This is a Chaucerian stanza inspired by FOWC: Paranormal, and underneath that is a quick cinquain about what I most fear, for FDDA day 11. As I don’t like to dwell on disgusting things, I wrote it in about a minute, so I’m not putting the second poem in its own post. 🙂


In haunted houses do true ghosts exist?
Some disembodied spirit stuck in pain?
Cannot move on, relinquishing resist,
Stuck in between eternal and Earth’s plane?
One need not die; regrets can haunt the brain
Like much more hungry ghosts, which will devour:
Horrors of past may push into this hour.

Now, for my next “masterpiece”….

Maggots
Spawn of satan
Disgusting wormy things.
Don’t even make me think about
Them now.

Morning Fuel

For FOWC: Aid. A Chaucerian stanza inspired by coffee (what else, this early in the morning?). 


To aid in waking up my coffee’s there,

Its caffeine is flowing through my veins.

Its warmth is comforting, and I’m aware

That it will help me through the day’s remains.

A slump at 3 PM — my spirit gains

More motivation, energy and verve:

‘Most anytime is good to coffee serve.

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Prepare a Place for Hope

This week, Frank challenges us to write a 14-line poem. I was going to write a sonnet but decided to try two Chaucerian stanzas. My poem is inspired by today’s Gospel reading, which is John 14:1-6.


The Lord has said He will prepare a place
And that He will return to take us back,
So that we may live always face to face,
Realizing finally there is no lack
In love, and that there’s safety from attack.
We must wait patiently for His return,
The chaste heart of His bride He will not spurn.

His words were difficult to understand,
Even for His disciples to believe.
In times distressing we look to what’s planned
And know that there is someday a reprieve,
Pure paradise which we will never leave:
There are manifold places there to dwell,
I long for that day when all will be well.