Penelope Connor — ink girl poet
The pear tree overhead
drips honey gold
as the retreating sun
caresses its leaves.
The day fades to
the sound of your voice,
and shadows chase light
from the sky.
Our conversation
drips honey gold
as Cheshire cat moon
parts the clouds.
Her light fills the night
while you whisper
goodnight wishes
in my ear.
Across the way,
two little girls
are giggling
at the magic of
fireflies in the gray.
Isn’t everyone
chasing light,
after all?
—–
AUDIO FILE:
My fingers are smudged in color
–reds, golds, greens and blues
–like I’ve dipped my hands into
endless galaxies and wiped
a thousand stars upon my skirt.
My head is spinning with
the gravity of a dozen planets,
and I lean into the tidal pull
of at least that many moons.
When they rise across the sky–
will you raise your voice and
howl at them with me, while
a thousand shooting stars
light up the night, exploding
in the atmosphere of my flesh?
—–
AUDIO FILE:
Some nights I wake
from dreams of flight.
I’m trying to find you.
My shoulders ache,
and the sound in my head
is of feathers clawing
at a sky made of stone.
—–
AUDIO FILE:
It’s the hour before the darkness fades
—the hour when silence yawns hungry,
wakes me from sleep, begs to be filled.
It’s not the witching hour, but the watching
as I gaze upon you while you sleep–
counting breaths and twitching fingers,
wondering what dreams spin in your head.
It’s the hour when words burst the dam,
spill out on the floor– the hour when I am
frantically mopping with sheets of paper
–to catch poetic lines before ink dries.
It’s the hour for conversation between
longing and regret, hope and fear.
–the fourth hour of the morning,
and my soul refuses to let me sleep.
—–
AUDIO FILE:
(for Christal, on your birthday)
There’s something fierce, inside my head.
It keeps me restless in my bed.
My mind is dangling by a thread —
a monster clamors to be fed.
My skin is crawling, flushed and red.
a hunger cries, inside my head —
it sears my thoughts, like white hot lead.
It calls all night, like books unread.
I need to be consumed and bled,
to slake my thirst — don’t be misled!
It’s fierce — this urge, inside my head.
I’ve trembled, and my needs I’ve pled–
I’ve longed for you, here in my bed.
I wake and ache, alone instead.
Come find me here, as I have said —
and meet this beast, inside my head.
—–
POETIC FORM: QUATERN
16 lines broken up into 4 quatrains (or 4-line stanzas). Each line is comprised of 8 syllables. 1st line is the refrain (R). In the 2nd stanza, the refrain appears in the 2nd line; in the 3rd stanza, the 3rd line; in the 4th stanza, the 4th (and final) line. There are no rules for rhyming or iambics.
AUDIO FILE:
Full Moon Tonight by The Dark Silhouette
I woke missing you,
the moon’s face in my window.
Did she let you sleep?
Or were you awake, like me —
thinking of the way we kiss?
—
I could not find sleep.
Staring into the darkness,
the moon tapping on
my window, in the wee hours.
I imagined you with me.
—–
POETIC FORM:
The somonka is a Japanese form. In fact, it’s basically two tankas written as two love letters to each other (one tanka per love letter). This form usually demands two authors, but it is possible to have a poet take on two personas. Click here for a refresher on the tanka.
AUDIO FILE:
You are not the wind–
tugging at my clothes,
teasing my hair, always
leaving town in a rush.
You are not the soil–
cold beneath my feet,
hard against the winter,
impatient for the spring.
You are not the tide–
dragging sand dunes
from the shore, only to
push them back again.
You are the night sky–
your deep, dark eyes
filled with stars, holding
a moon in your arms.
—–
AUDIO FILE:
Listen to Untying Knots by Penelope Connor #np on #SoundCloud
Pen's Ink 
