drip… drip, drip… drip it whispers to me from the window sill “remember you’re warm and dryâ€
tap… tap… tapping above me it follows me from my tent at a campsite to the deserts of Africa a drought ridden country like Zimbabwe splat… splat on the pillow beside me hotel staff is embarrassed but I know it just wants me to listen
freedom and fame programmed at birth taught to desire, but not self worth put down for buckling under the heat “suck it up, it gets tough on the streetâ€
spark of anger ignites a flame drawing desire to a mesmerizing game to stand apart from the common mire to fit in with the trendy hot fire
forging a world where losers are cool idols imprisoned for breaking the rules heroes demanding, lewd, and crude success is loud arrogance with a ‘tude
heat of the fire brings life to a void perishable warmth flares up annoyed how long will it last before feeling the burn numb propaganda bombards every turn
hey sister, look at your duplicity equal “party†rights say “humiliate me†do you really believe you can piss on a wall light up so you can see how far you can fall
Upon entrance, worries are bereft of purpose; Outside agendas left floating on the surface. Dispositions are altered by coral castles, Spires of finger leathers, and twirling sponge tassels.
Hanging anemone gardens sway in the breeze; Hovering barracuda loiter as they please. An octopus lurks at a secret tunnel’s door. Through purple fan forests, stealthy stingrays soar.
Everyone takes notice of me as I swim near, Accepting this newcomer, not fleeing in fear. Keeping a safe distance for curiosity, Observing me study them, as they study me.
Weightless drifting through a palace of fluid bliss; Mankind’s Garden of Eden must have been like this.
One year ago today, my mom passed away. She had Alzheimers. She once asked me, "Why live an entire lifetime of memories only to lose them all in the end?" I wrote these poems not long after her passing. I'm posting them today in memory of her. Miss ya, mom.
left behind
the news of your passing leaves them silent but there’s no one left to preach to so a stranger gives your eulogy left behind forgotten because of years spent in memory’s effusion
life’s elemental scream fades to a whispered prayer of confusion a final exhalation that no one hears
January Moon
shadowy fingers of night sky unveil a swollen moon with memories no longer to be recalled their mother is gone
sharp angled barren branches hint at this January moon’s frigidity whose white hot passion casts shadows on spray painted concrete where I live
It seems to me that people are generally drawn to poetry that rhymes, so I rewrote the above poems to make the rhyming one below. Which do you prefer?
January Moon Rhyme
Night’s shadowy fingers unveil A moon swollen with memories Clouded recollection is impaled, On the spires of winter stark trees.
News of your passing lingers, Silencing those who knew you. Your eulogy is given by a stranger; There’s no one left to preach to.
Left behind, moon light raids Years spent in memory’s effusion, Your intrinsic scream fades To a whispered prayer of confusion.
Final exhalation, this January moon Hints at abysmal frigidity, White hot quiescence carves a rune That no one will ever see.
Shadows cast, their tales forgotten, On dark empty streets of your begotten.
This is for Friday Byways with Barbara, a poetry group, and "Weekword", a weekly blogging challenge that I discovered on Mary's blog. The Haiku was inspired by hers. She went into a wonderfully in depth discussion of how difficult it is to attain simplicity. My photo probably doesn't seem simple, but for me, it represents the simple peacefulness I felt while taking it. That day at the arboretum, it was so quiet that it seemed like even the turtles were hibernating; like earlier that morning they squinted a sleepy eye at the gray clouded sky and said, "Yup, today is a good day to go back to bed." In contrast, below is complexity in winter colors.
Winter’s veneer hue cloaks complexity within strives for clarity
You can find many other poems on "Winter" by clicking on "Friday Byways" above, and blog posts on "Simplicity" by clicking on "Weekword" above.
Coins dropped into a hand of rotting flesh Character spent
An old hag strikes a deal with a luminescent daughter Pale and delicate retaining white linen that repels murky water… and wispy dark hair that opposes ivory skin
Preservation paid for she slips away Constitution bared and bled left standing alone in murky water holding the putrefying jawbone of an attacking dog
Camaraderie gawks concludes and criticizes standing safely on dry decaying continents of dragons and voodoo masks
They’re happy I’ll be staying Preserved for decadent perishing There’s no turning back She took the dinghy with her
