Asymmetrical Tygers (and other unwanted creatures)

[Sorella]

John,
I love Orchestra of Birds, the title, the fancy form and your execution. Wonderful!
Sorella aka Karin indeed (I think only Dunc and some FB poets use it but you are right!)

[Steven]

'Orchestra of Birds' was very musical and the form well-managed. The last lines are the best, 'Thrush will trill from
thistles, fill the day.' Enviably good.

[JFN]

Triglyph, Paul, Karin, Steven, thank you for your thoughts.

[JFN]

Fledgling

a ruffled fledgling
sheltered by a tulip's leaf --
only the wind moves.

[kristalynn]

An image of protection, your haiku. Very nice.

[Featherless Biped]

Well done, understated contrast in A Day Visit to London. I like the escalation of S1, like an auction.

Many lovely sounds in Orchestra of Birds. I love your swallows/haloed rhyme.

A nice sharp image in your haiku, with much emotion coming through implicitly. (Surely the only thing to want when confronted with a bird like that is for the bird to be protected. You've got me holding my breath.)

[cookala]

heya John! nice ku - I like the use of non-motion within motion as the yin and yang, and a pretty picture, too! enjoyed!

[Arlene]

First wish i had beautiful cars too, though don't drive, they are just such lovely posessions, I imagine, fingerprints on them, very nice; second, an orchestra of birds, lovely, just perfect, the haiku, too.

[Emilio]

JFN, I love that you're playing with a variety of forms. Fledgling stood out to me, the moment, the imagery. I enjoyed reading it,

Best,

[Hare]

Hello there John...I'm falling over my own feet trying to find everybody. I need some system!
Orchestra of Birds I particularly like...and this ' darts born
of art and of ballet.' The line break on 'Mart' I find strangely pleasing.
You went to the Ideal Home Show? How many years since I've done that. But I did smile at
all the hot tub, gazebo...and garden shed. I can't imagine what a 6K garden shed looks like.

[vmh]

Hi John: You picked the perfect form for your first poem. The last line set apart is perfect for the topic. In Orchestra your line breaks strengthen the short lines, also strengthening the sonics. I like that one a lot. In your haiku, the sonics are very lively for the first two lines, and very settled for the last, mirroring content. Cool stuff, and a strong start.

Vicky

[Scrow]

Hello,
I do like the way you write, and 'orchestra' is simply lovely. I'll keep reading.

Sarah

[JFN]

Andrea, Rachael, cookala, Arlene, Emilio, Hare (René? - I'm trying to remember peoples' real names, but never been much good at that), Vicky, Sarah, thank you all for your readings and comments. I'm slowly making my way through all the threads. I have a list of all 65 names and am marking off the last poem read / commented on so I know where to start reading from when I eventually come back around. It's hard work this fluffing malarkey. Will try and pick up the pace, but have a family Easter planned, and coursework deadlines all month, and work, and two small children, and a garden to plant, and a house to fix, and why am I doing this again? Hmmm...

[JFN]

Peregrine

falcon and pigeon
chase zephyrs, carve through branches
of cherry blossoms --
cherry blossom feathers,
cherry flesh stains.

[JFN]

The Force of Habit

Fingers unfold, the skin relaxes from the fist,
my palm released from its imagined weight,
given away to the words of the psalm.
Within my ribs my heart begins to clench,
the vena cava balls into a knot
of fishing nets, aorta set to twitch,

a St. Pierre caught by a fin. I stop to watch
a group of men knuckled into a fist
of prayer, and I question why I am not
so filled with faith. My hand open I wait
for tongues of flame that I can see and clench
and hold until they melt into my palm

and char my leper's skin, then I will bring my palm
up to my chest and burn the angry twitch
away. But I know that my hand will clench
before that day, reform into a fist
that holds that same imagined weight --
I long to let it go but I cannot.

So I will swing this heavy whip, let fly the knot-
ted leather strips laced with bone chips, my palm
will ache from the grip, arm tire from the weight,
but still I'll swing, draw blood for that to which
I should shed mine instead. I draw my fist
so tight the nails leave marks within the clench.

And I will reach into the hawthorn tree to clench
a clutch of twigs to twist into a knot,
a crown to celebrate the pacifist,
the King of Peace, as written in the psalm;
and I will stand and force myself to watch
the blood drawn down his face by its own weight,

then I will bend a knee and lift the greater weight,
the wooden handle splintered in the clench,
practice a swing and feel the muscles twitch.
I'll take a nail, my stomach turned to knots,
and place the point upon his supple palm
as fingers start to close into a fist.

I'll feel the forearm twitch beneath the heavy weight
of my left knee, the fist pulled to a rigid clench,
but Destot's space does not require an open palm.