Tag Archives: seasons

Sonnet of Pain


Confession time? When I wrote this, I kind of forgot how the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet was supposed to go. It’s ababcdcdefefgg, rather than abbacddceffegg- oops? I think I got it confused with the Petrarchan kind too, abbaabbacdecde. Messy, messy brain. Don’t even get me started on Spenserian sonnets. Jeez. 14 lines, 140 syllables, way too many ways to organize that nonsense.

Sonnet of Pain

Pain in my joints comes and goes like the tide
It swells and jabs at me, icy and burning
There is no relief with seasons changing
No calm sanctuary where I can hide.
A symphony of suffering for me
The rising and falling of storm-tossed waves
No blissful unconsciousness for me saves
From thundering blistering agony.
The crescendo builds, the water rises
Kettledrums in my bones and in my blood
I cannot keep my head above the flood
When all my joints are trapped in vises.
The symphony ends, the waters recede,
But pain never stops as soon as I need.

(C) Bridget Noonan, 2011, 2012.

The transition from autumn to winter was hard here. It went from mild to omg-wtf-it’sfreezing. This came out of that.

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Afternoon in Winter


Afternoon in Winter

Winter: the season for hibernation,
Slowing the heartbeat and metabolism;
A time of early darkness and forgetting.

A torpid season for creatures —
Pudgy black squirrel scrabbles leadenly,
So small when projected against the grim sky.

It seems much easier to forget when
Cold death blankets what lived, and
Ice shrouds windows and walkways.

Now is the time to reflect on the weeks
And the seasons  which have passed me by,
Most of which I would prefer to
Forget.

© Bridget Noonan, 2009, 2012.

This was a weird poem that I had intended to be from the point of view of a tree in the winter, but I cut or changed pretty much all the parts that referenced it, so now I sound like I need a hug.

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Battle-Cry


I love finding these gems hidden in my notebooks. Enjoy!

Battle-Cry

I am no one’s wife
I am no one’s mother
I am a woman
Independent and true.

I am someone’s daughter
I am someone’s sister
I am a goddess
Patient and strong.

I am the leaves and the trees
I am the ocean, the breeze
I am rooted in the earth
Boundless and lush.

I am the bear in the cave
I am the bird in the nest
I am one with all things
Loyal and fierce.

I ebb with the tides
I change with the seasons
I grow, I die, and I am reborn
And I will never be silenced.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

Rather belated edit, upon reflection on the topic:
I’m not exactly a wilting flower when it comes to equitable treatment regardless of race, sex, gender, species (with the possible exception of mosquitoes, because they’re bloodsucking terrors), social class, differences in ability whether mental physical or whatever, religion… Whatever you choose, or chose you, is yours, and I celebrate it -so long as you aren’t denying others their right to express themselves as well, or causing harm.

In the case of this poem, I guess you could say “I celebrate myself, and sing myself”, in the words of Whitman. It’s no secret that I love being a woman, and that I revere nature’s beauty.
I guess this came from a desire for women to speak, to yell, to raise their voices high in celebration of who we are, and what that means to us.
We are more than pretty faces, or shapely bodies, or the babies we bear, or the clothes that we wear.

Never having been a man, or a boy, I don’t know their experience of our culture as it stands now; I can’t comment accurately on the male condition. I know how difficult it is for a woman to get paid the same amount as a man for the exact same work. I know how hard it is to be taken seriously because ‘you don’t understand how the world works’. I also know how few people realize that sexual assault happens to men as well as women. It is a constant battle for us as humans to fly free from the restrictions of what is acceptable and what we have put up with for far too long.

So I guess I’m asking you to make little changes to your day. I’m asking you to remind yourself that you are worthy of love, and that you are valuable as yourself. I’m asking you to think harder, to speak out when you see injustice, and to reach out to others. After all, your thoughts become your words. Your words become your actions. Your actions become your habits. Your habits become your character. I’m not so sure about destiny or fate, but certainly who you are shapes what comes your way.

And fuck ‘the way the world works’. I don’t accept that, so I’m changing myself in order to change this world.

Who’s with me?

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Haiku time!


I wish I knew how
to coax out a good haiku
but they won’t bloom here.

Yes, it’s that time again- time for a series of haiku poems. You know you love it.

seasons

1.
if I could stop now
our summer would never end
but time continues

2.
autumn brings colour
heralds the death of the year
and the end of us

3.
snow falls softly now
returns me to a blank slate
winter at its best

4.
fresh green shoots spring forth
from their mother’s warm embrace
I begin again.

© Bridget Noonan, 2012.

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Friends are Awesome


I’m in such a wonderful mood today! Buzzing with the energy of spring, I think. That, and sitting the patio of my favourite pub with a great friend, nachos and a pint of beer is the best way to dine- we don’t have to do the dishes! 😛

Onto the reason you came here: poetry! This is just something I scribbled down.

untitled or happiness or to be decided when it’s finished

Time is a fickle beast,
Making fools of us all.
At one instant, time leaps forward
And others, it slows to a dreary crawl.
But always the company of friends
Brings wonder and joy to the time we have.
An hour of laughter can mean more
Than a week alone. Home may be where
The heart lives, but love is best found
With a good book, or great companions.

© Bridget Noonan, 2011.

I’m still fixing some other Fibonacci poems, but they’ll be up here before too long. And that bout-rime is still giving me headaches. Plus my novel, but I made a breakthrough with that earlier today, so it will hopefully be much easier from now on.

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the Seasons Personified


Okay, so it’s not technically Wednesday anymore; I’m okay with that. I’m still posting a response to the Three Word Wednesday http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2011/04/3ww-ccxxxvi.html prompt.

The Seasons Personified

the last time I saw Spring
we had a tickle war and
she laughed and squealed
until she vomited violets
all over my lawn.

still, that’s better than
Winter’s cold tragic embrace;
evidently, he  hasn’t forgiven me
for hiding snowballs
in my freezer to scare Summer.

Autumn and I get along best,
I find, because neither of us
is deluded enough to think
that our time together is anything
more than an illusion.

©Â Bridget Noonan, 2011

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