#TankaTuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 280, 7/12/22, #SpecificForm: Lanturne or Lanterne
A lanterne is a cinquain form of poetry, in which the first line has one syllable and each subsequent line increases in length by one syllable, except for the final line that concludes the poem with one syllable (1-2-3-4-1). Its name derives from the lantern shape that appears when the poem is aligned to the center of the page.
I have always been a fan of Anita’s writing, her wonderful books, and her incredible poetry, so this is what I am posting today.
This week has left me drained, I have been so busy, what with catching up on all the chores that didn’t get done thanks to me being on retreat, locked in my office. And I have managed to get a lot more writing done too, as the muse decided to hang around and nag me. Not complaining, mind you, but couldn’t think of a better way to end the week.
I heard the music as I entered the room, but all that was there…
… was a faint outline, a mist of what used to be. An orchestra so fine, I sat to listen, thinking it a shame if they should ever find their way home through the veil. Music like that should never be lost. Would that I could bring young musicians in to learn, without fear of the ghosts.
As the thought vanished, I realised as a music teacher, I might be the only one who can hear them. Would they stay for me, let me teach this music on their behalf?
The music built to a crescendo which I took to mean yes.
The next day, I moved the music class to the new room. I asked the class to sit and listen. Three students said they could hear an orchestra; one they could listen to for days. That was good enough for me.
So long ago, loving hands touched these old ivory keys. The day you left me roses, your favourite piece of music. I placed my hands where yours had been, Knowing I would never see you again. Those beautiful roses faded, your memory still sharp, Keeping the pain of lost love alive Time can be so cruel when memory, I wish, had faded alongside the roses…
When I was seven, my mother bought me a black velvet dress for my birthday. It had a white collar with white cuffs on the small puff sleeves.
I felt like a princess, and couldn’t stop rubbing my hands over it. Mother told me to stop doing it, as I would ruin it.
My stepfather Joe said he would take me and my brothers to the park. As we left the house, my mother said not to give me any ice cream.
We played on the swings for a bit and then Joe brought my brother’s some ice cream.
I walked away, wondering if he would do as he was told. I didn’t go far, for I hoped I knew better than that and I was right. Joe handed me an ice cream, telling me to please be careful.
I said I would, but what child can eat an ice cream without getting it down themselves? Not me anyway. I kept rubbing at it, making it worse. The velvet was sticking up where I had rubbed it and there was no way to hide it.
All the way home, I wished Joe would run away with us, but he told me not to worry. He would say it was his fault, which in a way it was for buying it for me. I know that’s an unkind thought, but when we got home before he could say a word, mother ripped the dress from my body, leaving her nail marks on my back because the fabric was too hard to tear.
Joe got both barrels of her temper until I thought his ears would swell and drop off.
This memory has returned, because my daughter who lives next door, was playing a song I haven’t heard for a long time. It was one of my favourites, called Black Velvet.
It’s a funny old life isn’t it, the way old memories come back?
You read about families where everyone is happy and life is wonderful.
That wasn’t my family.
My mother coped patiently with a drunken, obsessive gambler of a husband and a daughter with an insatiable sexual appetite. I loved my father, but he kept us one step away from the poor house. Loving my sister was harder, basically because she hated me and constantly brought trouble to the door.
Me? I couldn’t wait to grow up and live my own life.
Then everything changed. Unbelievably, Dad won a guest house in a card game and suddenly we were off to a new life in Cornwall. A beautiful place, steeped in legend and mystery. Would trouble leave us alone now, or was it merely biding its time?
Trailer:
Trailer:
You will probably wonder at my unlikely choice of video, but the words of the song really echo the essence of Anita’s book. At least, I think so.