WWP Prompt #56: Dancing with Pikus

The prompt this week from We Write Poems, is to have fun with Pikus.  This is a form that is easy, fast and fun.  A piku is a cross between a haiku and the first three numbers in pi.  The piku has three lines.  Three syllables, one syllable, and four syllables.  You write one, choose a word or two to change with rhyme and mix it up.

Windy Pikus
The wind waves
and dance through trees.

The wind waves
and curl at sea.

The wind waves
sheets in the breeze.



Ribbons of honey drench my toast,
Melting into butter and crumb;
Satisfying sweetness fills my soul.

Dipping deep into the honey jar,
Sunshine yellow, full of dripping gold;
Ribbons of honey drench my toast.

The morning sun spills across the table
Warming my skin.  I am
Melting into butter and crumb.

Bird songs fill the stillness.  I take
A long sip from my coffee mug and
Satisfying sweetness fills my soul.

The Flame Flares Up

Wednesday afternoon, I was scheduled to fly to Dallas for a meeting.  My flight was delayed.  A few hours later, it was cancelled.  Dallas was experiencing thunderstorms and lightening strikes so the airport shut down.  The next flight available was the following morning, out of Palm Springs.  The airline put me in a cab and sent me off to Palm Springs.  They paid for the cab.  I was on my own for a hotel that night.  I wasn’t unhappy.  There are worse places to spend the night than Palm Springs.  I used my Blackberry to find a hotel and made a reservation.  Then I called my husband and asked him to meet me at my hotel.  The cab ride was an hour – I had plenty of time to make arrangements.   Brett said he would start the two hour drive from our home to Palm Springs as soon as he finished the evening barn chores.

I arrived at the hotel at 7:00.  It was small, hidden behind vines, and old.  It felt as though I was stepping back in time to the roaring 20s.  I followed a path of wide stones to my room.  The walkway meandered past the pool, under an Spanish archway, and then through a garden.   The fragrance of jasmine hung heavy in the air.  It was quiet – no traffic noise, no voices, just an occasional bird call.  The room was  Morocco meets old Hollywood.  There was a full bar complete with martini glasses and a shaker.  Whiskey, vodka, tequila, rum, mixers.   I opened the doors to the balcony and a warm breeze filled the room.  The anticipation of an unplanned night with Brett brought back memories of past furtive hotel rendezvous’.  I was filled with the old excitement and impatience for his arrival.
We ate a late dinner, poolside.  The breeze was still warm as it washed us with the scent of jasmine and threatened to blow out the small candle lighting our table.  The wine was cool and crisp with just an edge of sweetness.   The meal was perfectly prepared.
Before daybreak the next morning, Brett dropped me off at the airport and drove back home.  As my plane climbed into the sky, I thought about the power of romance and about the happiness of a new memory created with an old flame – a flame that still burns true and bright.

Tuesday Tryouts: The Cento

The Tuesday Tryout for this week is a cento poem.  This is a new form for me.  Margo provided some good direction and also referenced We Write Poems for further explanation.  Both are proposing the cento form this week.  Basically, you pick an author you like.  Then you take one or two lines from poems that they have written (at least five different poems); shooting for 10-15 lines.  Then the fun begins.  You mix up the lines, without changing the words, and make a new poem.  Here’s my shot at it.

Poet: Mary Oliver

Poems (in no paticular order): Rain 3; Peonies; Field Near London, Alabama; Gannets; Alligator Poem; Poppies; Water Snake

He lifted up
his chary face
and looked at me
with his gravel eyes.
Who was that motionless muddy man?
Life is real
and pain is real
but death is an imposter.

Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying.
For hours in my trembling hands they glittered
like fire.
The grass rises thick and clean, it
shines like the sea.


Shampoo mingled with
  a rush of relief
    as I listened to the news;
Brett stood at the shower door
  his blue eyes
    bright with tears.
Raw grief followed relief.
A day of tumbling tears –
  remembering the pain
    and the fear
       and the loss.
Firemen and police
  climbing the stairs
    into smoke, fire
My policeman husband
  would have willingly gone.
I can’t imagine.
But I do.

 This poem has been submitted to the Thursday Poet’s Rally

And it won an award!  From the Promising Poets’ Poetry Cafe Wow!!  Thanks!   And, check out my nomination for the award, JP’s Poetry.