by Rhoda Tripp |
Categories:
boyfriend, cute love, marriage, true love,
I'm going to dub this poetry form Fem Bogstaver which in Danish means "five letters." If there is a real name for this, please let me know.
I was given a challenge on Instagram by a fellow poet to write something that uses ONLY five letter words, and I enjoyed writing it immensely. I'd like to challenge you all here to do the same. If you can make it rhyme, bonus points, but it has to make some sense.
See my contest with prizes!
Photo credit to cdn.images.express.co.uk
by Diana Bosa |
Categories:
absence, blue, fantasy, heartbroken, love, myth, sad love,
I become a real
mermaid by your side, but just
like in that danish
fairy-tale, I shed
no tear when I cry; make no
sound when my heart is
broken; smile when I
dance on razorblades of your
human love; cease to
exist by turning
to sea foam when the love of
yours toward me is no more.
by Felicia Jarvis |
Categories:
animal, forgiveness, love, mother, mum, my child,
Hurry, hurry, hurry
Funny bunny plays
Windy sunny field
Muddy small silly
Feels guilt
Feels sorry
Mummy still loves
Muddy funny bunny
18th December 2017
Fem Bogstaver (Danish) - Poetry Contest for Money
Sponsored by Rhoda Tripp
by John Gondolf |
Categories:
break up, love,
Filly calls early, phone rings
“Hello Honey,” sweet voice sings
Filly tells Fella, feels alone
Hurry about, avers using phone.
Filly needs, sweet touch today.
Fella comes later, Filly waits
Loves sweet dance, sated mates
Filly happy, rouge robin sings
Fella upset, Filly wants rings.
Money tight, Fella needs delay.
Fella pleas, again needs pause
Filly feels, Fella hasn’t cause
Fella angry, Filly dumps Fella
Fella walks, avers “adios bella.”
Sated mates allay loves decay.
December 17, 2017
Contest: Fem Bogstaver (Danish)
Sponsor: Rhoda Tripp
by Eric Ashford |
Categories:
poetry,
At the deep end of night
when all that can be seen is the digital clock
and the light under the corridor door,
we slip out of our personas -
a fumbled attempt at drowsy love-play;
the plethora of giant pillows
hiding us from ourselves.
The hotel elevator takes us further
into a story we have already written.
Day 3 blurs, sight-seeing
pictures long poured
from the concrete mixer of time.
The machinery of a life
rusts absent-mindedly somewhere else.
Morning arrives in untidy disarray.
The vacation puts on your holiday face and pants,
the pants offer to go get Danish
and a yoghurt from the breakfast bar
while your partner
paints her features a deeper shade of alien hue.
by Eric Ashford |
Categories:
poetry,
Black coffee for sunny mornings and hangovers,
or with the rich cream of a female ungulate caregiver.
A quick Danish for the tardy to arrive,
crispy bacon for first responders.
Duck fat in the skillet fry’s anything better -
let’s it slide off a plate.
Wipe tongues with Oolong,
Be sure to keep a store of nuts and berries.
Chocolates and red wine restores blasé taste buds.
Keep writing love menus.