Under the Sea in Black and White

Black ink Zentangle Inspired Work

Mincing Words...

A poet friend of mine, Frank James Davis, (should you care to have a read of his writing too)  who I met through reading his writing on Hello Poetry had an interesting reaction to the following poem which I had written in response to a challenge to incorporate given words.  The poem is as follows:

Final Rest

 

Here lies my body
my life-long shell.
Worked through the grind
and finally fell.

Lying postmortem
on this cold table.
The reaper calls,
"Come, you are able."

An undertaker prepares
to hammer the stones
Of my final resting place
sepulcher for my bones.

Resting in pieces
all through the years.
Time washes away
lost memories' tears.

4/24 New Words: grind, hammer, undertaker, postmortem, sepulcher

 

 He had the following reaction to this poem:

 

Frank: This poem really bummed me out, Judy. What's the sense of doing anything?--in eternity's scheme, we're already just a bunch of forgotten bones.
Let me give you a few new words to work with: don't, ever, write, anything, so, damned, depressing, again.   (Technically, a great poem.)

 

Well I couldn't just let it go at that.  So I wrote another poem using his given words.  And it goes as follows:

In the Name of Cheerfulness

 

So, let's see, cheeriness personified.
Damned if I can think of anything depressing.
Again and again, my mind goes on ever and ever,
In search of that infernal lightening rod
To which the dark and dreary are attracted.
And yet, butterflies and billowing clouds,
erupt magnificently in full bloom.
Hiding in the nooks of my cranium,
fluffy bunnies and poofy flowers.
Anything really, to while away the hours.
And so I write about grand battles,
frogs on crack, and ladies in your lap.
Seems this perky cheeriness is infectious....

A wink and a nod to my friend Frank. ;)

© 2011 Judy Ponceby

 

 Apparently this response to his reaction was very unexpected, and I really enjoyed his comments on this poem a great deal. :)

 

Frank: Wow! I'm not only genuinely flattered, I'm truly amazed! You somehow turned my nonsense into something wonderful.  If I could choose how people thought of me, I would be sincerely honored if it were exactly what you put in this poem. Thank you, Judy. I couldn't be more pleased.

 

And then later on in another comment to the same poem:

 

Frank: Just thought I'd re-review this poem because I'm a narcissistic son-of-bitch and I really love it. Who needs Shakespeare?--that circumlocutious old windbag; this is poetry! 

 

To say the least I truly enjoyed his reactions. 

 

 

Sun, Set, 'N' Sea

 

 

 

Sun, Set, 'N' Sea

Colored Pencil and Ink.  A slight variation I did on a work I admired.

A Memory that Inspired

step in faith

A Poem by Judy Ponceby

over

hand hand

step       by step

crossing this wretched foot bridge

large          g ap  s                   loom

don't look down

down

down 

towards the scrabbling masses 

reaching  up 

up 

  up

to 

tear you from your perch

head up

hands on the rope

your feet walking in faith.

only then,

 will you reach 

your 

heart's 

desire.

© 2011 Judy Ponceby

Author's Note

When I was four or five, I watched my father walk across a rickety old foot bridge with missing slats across a huge ravine. This memory has been replaying itself in my head quite a lot of late and this is what came of it in my writing.

Sad memories...

Shades of the Heart

 

 

To believe, to leave
In need of reprieve.
This worn, torn heart
beats slow, so slow.
Long past the point
that it could care.
Cared to share
with one once loved.
And now I don't
deceive. I must feel,
and I must grieve
The loss of cherished
memories past.
And feel the aching
as it's breaking
Once more forlorn
the weight's been borne
And slips the harness
to stop the transgress
For peace, for comfort
To heal, to feel....

A Bit of Zentangly Watercolor Penciling

Verdigogh Zentangle with Embellishment

This was done with Black Sharpie Ink and Derwent Watercolor Pencil with the "Help" of my cat Dodie.  She is a Calico and appears to find herself quite artistic, what with chewing on the paintbrush tip, walking on the drawing and attempting to drink the water for the paint pencils. 

Grieving

Grief

Raw feelings of heartache spill from my eyes.

Keening cries fall from parted lips.

Body-wracking tremors of sorrow grip me.

Unable to move.
Unable to embrace.
Frozen in time.
Frozen in place.

Sifting my memories for sights, sounds and scents.
Of one cherished, one held so dear.

And, finding these shreds, these threads of memory,
able to fashion a ragged bandage for a shattered heart.