and raised
in Southern
Horses raced, girls laughed;
clinging bareback, flying.
Wave soaked salty copper skin.
Leaving the city, climbing up
the mountain where she rested, and wrote —
silken strands of water falling from streams.

Prompt: Margo’s Wordgathering for writing a poem about self – a creation myth of sorts.

And a big thank you to Poets United for featuring me on their Life of a Poet series of interviews.  Everything you ever wanted to know about me…and probably more.  😀



This poem comes a prompt from Margo and one of her Tuesday Tryout challenges last month:  

Today we are going to look at a relatively new form, the etheree. The etheree even sounds lovely doesn’t it? The form depends on a syllable count and can be easy or difficult depending. If you only worry about the syllables, the poem is easy. If you want to craft a good poem, you have to worry about line endings and making sure the end words are strong and not something like ‘a’. Then things can be a little trickier.
The poem is ten lines. The first line has one syllable, the second has two, the third has three, and on until the tenth line which has ten. Jim Wilson, whose blog on etherees I will give you a link to later, describes the process as an unfolding, which gave me the idea for my example etheree. As you read an etheree and each line increases by one syllable, the poem does give a feeling of unfolding or opening up.

and full of
bounce in her kid
goat limbs; she gathered
herself, sprung and scrambled
over the fence to freedom
to nibble on tender green weeds,
to scramble over granite boulders,
to reach the voices walking to the barn. 

Thanks for the award!  Check out other great poetry at the Poets Rally.