Posts Tagged #7×7 poems

Steam

steam rising Steam
On the surface, all so calm;
moon rising, breeze unspooling
winter after-dinner walk
belly full, heart content yet
beneath: dreams simmer in wait
deep, boiling, unseen, building
escaping, lost, to the night.steam

 

 

 

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Neurons

Like star charts inside my brain
extending to the edges
of me; electricity—
constellations conducting
current, leaping synaptic
gaps to link thought to action
in my dark interior

lights

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That voice

photo

McMicken Hall Spire

That voice

Sinking into my gut like
a spire into a low sky
it walks with me, or used to—
maybe that’s why I learned to
walk so fast, shins burning hot
uphill, it always beat me…
until I learned not to hear.

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marcescence

beech tree

American Beech, Burnet Woods, March 2015

Another 7×7 poem (seven lines, seven syllables per line.) This one inspired by endings—of seasons, of eras.

Marcescence
Sometimes we hold on too hard;
cling to what should be released—
old, winter-worn, transparent
from time and weather, rattled,
beaten, tattered— it’s hard to
let the familiar fall
away, let new growth emerge

Note: Marcescence is a botanical term that refers to trees that retain withered leaves over the winter. Beeches and some oaks are among the trees that cling to old dead leaves. Though there are several theories, there doesn’t seem to be agreement on why this happens. One school of thought is that beeches and other marcescent trees are still evolving from evergreen to deciduous, caught forever betwixt and between. (I’ve felt that way sometimes, too.)

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7 x 7 poems

photo of leavesI recently heard Pauletta Hansel, a wonderful Cincinnati poet, read some of her work. A series she read introduced me to a form I’d never heard of before: the 7 x 7, also known as a “49-er” by some. The form is simple, 7 syllables per line, 7 lines. I really loved how her 7x7s packed so much in a small package.

Playing with a very concise form is challenging. I’ve started a series using scientific words that I have been collecting for a while in my interesting-word junk drawer. (I knew I’d find a use for them.)
Here’s one:

phototropism

there’s a word for everything
that one means “grow toward light”
plants tend to keep life simple—
born with a mission, they sprout,
burst from their seeds knowing how
they might blossom, but not why—
no questions asked, they just grow

 

 

 

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