Hello everyone! I am glad to be back amongst you. Bren, thank you for the words which entertained me on my flight home. ViV, almost, sort of, two Italian sonnets! They need work.
My first go at the words was turning hokey, so I left them and came back. I looked at the allusive properties of several of the words and that started me. This topic is hard to do and sound fresh, but I had fun in two directions. I have used all the wordle words in their original form, and I have used them all a second time in whatever form I needed. I also tried to work a double sonnet, as I have long promised ViV I would one day try the form again. I managed the fourteen lines and I am close to the eight and four division of an Italian sonnet. The poems are not iambic except here and there and there is no rhyme scheme. I do have the syllables running between nine and ten. I will keep working at it.
Happy Hour on the Red Planet
Martini, on the rocks:
The room was charged with anger. She saw
an aura, red like Mars, settle on her
husband’s shoulders. Her face mirrored her
confused thoughts. The accident at the toll
booth had been nothing she couldn’t handle.
The driver of the sedan wasn’t looking
for trouble, agreed they should settle,
did not ask for more than seemed fair for
a dented bumper. She did not understand
her husband’s anger, this time, watched from
her seat, as he poured bourbon over ice,
as the muscles of his face tightened,
heard his words buzz in her ears: me… ask…
trouble… sacrificed plenty — heard nothing.
Stirred, not shaken:
After he charged from the room, she moved
to the bar and poured a finger of scotch —
What had they called it when they courted?
A libation. She looked it up once: a drink
poured in sacrifice to the gods. She found
out soon enough, but not in time, that these
libations invoked in him one god. Once,
his temper had been nothing she couldn’t
handle. She knew how to settle troubled
Mars with Venus, but the years exacted
a toll. Asking little, she had sacrificed
plenty. Her confusion lay in whether
she felt ready to walk out the door. If
she could, let him whistle for her.
A nod to Gwendolyn Brooks whose sonnet on this topic, I love, and whose last line I adapted. Come on over to The Sunday Whirl and read how others used the words charged, trouble, accident, mars, libation, sacrificed, toll, confused, plenty, handle, ask, settle.