Prompt 11, Hour 11
Write a poem about or set in a place you have never been to. It could be a real concrete location, or something more metaphorical, imaginary or fictional – somewhere over the rainbow comes to mind.
10. THE FIREFLY
The cottage was scary looking and desolate,
at the edge of the forest.
The drone, also known as “Firefly” by its owner
hovered above.
Its owner waiting at the treeline,
scouting and surveiling the area.
The heat unusually, scorchingly oppressive.
“Okay, Firefly” he hoarsely whispered.
“Let’s see who is in the cottage” he said,
as he lowered the drone and zoomed in
on the high resolution camera.
“Oh my God” he exclaimed!
at the strange demonic, slimy porridge, alien sight.
Then…….
Beep! Beeep! Beep! Firefly fell to the ground!
Electromagnetic Pulse frying its motherboard
with a sizzling sound!
We will never know what really happened there,
as the owner and Firefly disappeared in thin air!
Aqua Poem 9 Themed
The girl began to wake up, and lethargy set in as soon as she began to slowly open her eyes. She noticed a strange treeline out the cottage window, nothing that was familiar. The wall was decorated with a few beautiful masks hanging up evently spaced, and there was a cold bowl of porridge on the table.
Suddenly, the heat crept into her face and took over her whole body, she began to feel her heart zoom and race, and felt so faint she sat down quickly. Like a firefly trapped in a bottle, she began to panic and light up all of her thoughts as quickly as they came in. She began to place them in order of importance. How did I get here? Am I in danger, what should I do? Soon after, the door began to make the sound of a key and a rattle as it began to open. Her fate may very well be on the other side.
Moonshadow Prompt (Hour 10)
The fears I run from in the day,
appear as gifts I chase in the night.
Losses are gains disguised in misfortune,
a holy change in perspective,
only revealed by the moon’s light.
I shouldn’t keep my eyes so dependent on the sun
for what is obvious, what demands my attention,
doesn’t speak for the essence beneath my skin.
Mid-day’s brightest light
only shimmers on what is most prominent,
what I want to be seen,
simultaneously deepening the contrast
of what is not so easy to guess.
In the dark my shadow is limitless.
Warrior
I should have seen them coming
I heard them howling for hours
Their steamy breath tickling my ears
I wasn’t afraid
Per se
I was a witch and I had the means to end them
I could take down two hellhounds at a time
Using my blades
Earth
And
Fire
I could have swung them
Landing them right between
Those ugly mutts’ eyes
But I wondered
With all that I’ve done
All the people I’ve hurt
All the creatures I tormented
Should I fight?
Should I wave my hands
To ensure my survival?
Maybe I should accept what was coming for me
Maybe I should let fate have her way
Their paws slammed into the ground behind me
Shaking the very foundations
I flinched
Foamy drool dripped onto my shoulder
If I was going to fight
I would have to move
But if I wanted to lay down…
Our motherland
We shout our anthem as if we have conviction in our hearts we are all jokers
We mock the Anthem disobeying our leaders and also failing our duties as citizens
We bring disgrace to our motherland as the tears cascades from her eyes
She’s filled with so much pain so many of her citizens are caught doing illegal things and all her tears are in vain
Even the rich exploit from the poor making them poorer they have no conscience and because of that they can’t sleep at night
It’s said that there’s no sleep for the wicked and truly since he has stained his hands there is no peace for the wicked
They fret at night because of the robbers and like chickens they beg that their lives be spared but did they spare the lives of the people they took to enrich themselves
And like Pharisees after doing wrong things we come to church to beg for mercy or to squander money to get God’s grace we are all clowns and this world is our stage the only thing that differs is time by time the clowns and the audience switch places
The question we ask ourselves is who will be performing next and what will his performance be like how will he wow his audience
Let the show begin and a loud applause is being heard.
Emoji poem
Oh Captain, My Guide,
Our fear like a wave
Caught our dear ship, will we be saved?
Is this our end, as the wind beats the stern,
Will this be one more mooring we are earn?
All our former victories matter not now,
Will the anchor hold, can we make it somehow?
Or will we hear the bell, the final bell toll?
As the ladies we love wait for us to reach home?
The watching ones waiting as hours click by,
We will keep fighting so they will not cry.
Hour 10 (2020)
Angelic confidence in times of doubt
optimism in the face of defeat.
The philosophizing of naivety; or maybe the true strength of our humanity
to perceive reality as we choose and draw consequence from it
even when the tides of external interference wash over us and threaten to
collapse our entire psyche; that there can and must be hope
Shadows, cast
The way a shadow is cast
by the moon
differs from that
of the sun or
back alley streetlight
for all of the romance
the moon
the sun
have to offer
true love oft times
lurks in the
noir of relationships
where black
and white
seamlessly shift to
shades of gray and
back again
without seeming rhyme
nor reason
Until the ultimate
denouement
when all is illuminated
in ever-varying
shades of darkness
masquerading
as moonlight
and clarity
of dawn
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2020
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
A Season to Stand – Prompt 7, 7th Hour
7th Hour
A Season to Stand -Prompt 7
Counsel of the suffering, the winds of change are upon us,
Blowing against the climate of discontent and disparity,
Adversities growing to heights as tall as the high-minded privileged,
And as low as the mucky seed of divisiveness and raging white supremacy and anarchist.
The burning Sun reveals the decaying carcasses of hate and greed.
This is the season that winter rains cannot even cleanse nor moisten the harden hearts of man,
Young and old march together in protest on a quest where we have fought before,
Screaming in unbelief on police cars, they stand crying; people dying in the street,
Faces masked in defeat from a Season that has no reason – where is an opened door?
Who will rise up and face the dark clouds that have been accumulating?
Who will take a stand
And shops are closed and the old and the youth ponder together where do we go from here,
Grandmas is dying and no one knows that 2-years old Fatima is already dead.
No one is listening to what the doctor said…
This Season has the seeds of solution, but who is willing to stop this contamination of mind –
How can the ground produce fruit, with so many fires to put out; so much pollution.
I saw Falcons fly to my neighborhood seeking refuge instinctively,
Discerning the maddening crowd.
Little food to eat, like us, are forced to retreat, quarantined,
While protest does not bring the deluge of,
Water needed to quench the centuries of inequalities that wrap around America like chains.
People of many heritages sing in the street, “I Sing America Too!. Dejavu!
Tanks and rubber bullets can’t feel the hearts of men -” they can’t breathe!”
POTUS sits and seethes.
This is the Season to Stand! “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few!”
Some seasons come in like a Lion and go out like a lamb.
We the people of the United States must
Not ignore the times or the season,
It is incumbent upon us all to get close enough to the fire to put it
out!