Thursday, May 24, 2018



The words gather       
                                    My skin wrinkled
                                    Yet I feel young
Just off stage
                                    I don’t remember the years
                                    That passed by
Out of sight                 
                                    Perhaps we waved from afar
                                    As we crossed paths
Knowing each is perfect
                                    On my last birthday
                                    I celebrated all 77
For the job required
                                    There has to be something
                                    A token, a memory…or skin
They tremble in their knowing
                                    Where we have been
                                    And for how long
Like children in a school play
                                    We walked this long and winding road
                                    The unexpected happens
Twittering laughter whispered
                                    Memories created
                                    Stored in a box
The curtain holds their secret
                                    Unimportant ones
                                    And precious ones
When called    
                                    So tender they can’t be touched
                                    Produce tears if you dare
Each will appear
                                    All wrapped in the skin
That holds me together
To be weighted and measured
                                    The outside wall of my being
                                    The ideas that run ahead
Tried on for size
                                    Secreted in the protective skin
                                    That is me

May 24, 2018
 Paul asked us to write a contrapuntal poem.  

In terms of poetry composition, the contrapuntal relies on both poems working as distinct entities as well as in conversation with each other. The third poem that emerges is one that results from the movement back and forth between the two poems.
It took a few drafts to realize that this poem was a contrapuntal, that there were multiple tensions trying to resolve. I wanted to write a poem that could contain the individual emotions I felt that night. "Aubade Ending with the Death of a Mosquito" was written in the intersection of many borders: in a waiting room poised in the present moment, waiting to dive back into the history of the past so that I could write what I learned into the future.
You can take two of your own poems and combine them to create a third or write two new poems to create a contrapuntal.



Paul John Dear said...

Superb Annell. Each poem stands beautifully alone but together they create a symphony.

sarah said...

I found this so moving. The combination deepens the meaning of each poem for me.

Frank Hubeny said...

We do seem "Like children in a school play".

Sanaa Rizvi said...

This is incredibly poignant!

kaykuala said...

You maintained very well the structure annell, just as was required by the prompt


kaykuala said...

You maintained very well the structure annell, as was required by the prompt


willow_switches said...

Interesting ... how the words must be the score - to the play(ground) stage(s) of life - there is an fascinating counterpoint between some the of the sections, which highlight the aspects, the facets of life, explored, shared with the self, in aloneness and then with another, - it's sensitively rendered Annell.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

A most wonderful poem, Annell, and a very interesting prompt. I will check it out.

Vivian Zems said...

How you did this. ..I don't know- but you delivered a warm poem (s). So rich with meaning!

brudberg said...

I knew you would ace this challenge... this is a form you have used so much before... this is just exceptional.

hyperCRYPTICal said...

Your beautiful thoughtful words are pure art Annell. Kudos.
Anna :o] said...

This is absolutely wonderful....all three "melody lines." Being 71, perhaps I relate to it more....I really do get "inside" this poem(s).
"Unimportant ones
And precious ones"
These two..... I find myself thinking backwards more these days.....recalling some of the mundane days and realizing they were anything but. Have you read the play Our Town? A person is allowed to go back in their life and reexperience one day....but the narrator of the play (who is a main character) warns the person to pick a very ordinary day because that will be emotional enough. I must find a copy of that play and read it again :)

annell said...

Thank you Paul John Dear, for your comments about my poem.

Christmas Comes Slowly/dVerse/early

Christmas Comes Slowly I avoid what comes too early Instead will wait for Christmas A long wait indeed But send my love for now ...