Hour 8, Prompt 8 – Emoji Poem
Tiger, tiger, fire blast!
Pine tree, milky way, tree pine
Where is the ghost hand that I saw
Hands up, shout! There is no escape.
Poetic Prayer
Beside a river of words
Poets paddling past
I watch in wonder
All the words
We plop and plunder
Stanzas swiftly sinking
On the paper we
Continue inking
Will they ever see
the light of day?
This Poetess can pray
With courage
Come what may
Hour 8: The one with the emojis
Kitty Kitty, Firecracker, Flashbang
Three nicknames you gave me
As we climbed trees
In search of stars
In search of meaning
As my feet dangle and swing
Above the forest floor
I think of you
And the ghost you’ve become
We’re you ever really real?
Sometime I feel like jumping
From this tree branch
So I could become a ghost too.
Maybe then, I could see you again.
My grip on this branch is firm
But I’m not afraid of dying
I just wish I could press rewind
And start over with you here
Climbing trees
In search of stars
And finding meaning.
Aqua poem 8
Her soul is asleep at last,
light and dark are things of the past,
the moon is full and all is still
finally she has given up are will
to breathe to move to want
the mind is a terrible thing to haunt,
emptinessis suddenly here
There is nothing left to fear
By Aqua PMC
Villanelle
Many people are binded within these sheets,
Open the covers and you shall know all:
Their life journey, to each other, they meet.
This small young boy has long lived on the streets,
Raised himself not long after he could crawl.
Many people are binded within these sheets.
Disposition kind, a smile of sweet,
She worked hard on the farm, you may recall.
Their life journey, to each other, they meet.
Though he may have shiny spoons and fine seats,
His compassion could never be so tall.
Many people are binded within these sheets.
The right of words she writes: it shall repeat!
But she can’t escape the deep fertile walls.
Their life journey, to each other, they meet.
Only four of them, this poem completes,
But there is no more room to be installed.
Many people are binded within these sheets;
Their life journey, to each other, they meet.
4:00 PM Poem
Elizabeth Wingert
This poem is based off the characters of book I wrote.
Heart of Glass
Perception, Love, is only half of everything.
Tomorrow, I want to be filled with laughter and with joy,
To flit through realms of nonexistent things and see a bit of soul
To find my way to monies that only exist without meaning
Where truth is bound in energies moving towards a common goal
Tomorrow, I want to be surrounded by pixies and by trolls,
By elves and halflings killing things that never can grow old
While sneaking peeks between the realms into another world
Where flowers grow abundantly next to crashing waterfalls
Tomorrow, I want to slip behind the scenes and know a little more,
To fill my mind with in-betweens, touch what’s known scantly
To walk with yet-another man upon another ocean’s shore
Or dream of it, and hope that dream may, one day, come to be
Today, my heart is crushed into a wide beach of sand
Upon which my mind crashes in waves, over and again
In some attempt to cleanse what’s become so many tiny grains
Perhaps I should fuse another heart, since none of this was planned….
Perception, Love, is only half of everything.
Poem 7 – Hour 7 – Seasons of Life!
SEASONS OF LIFE!
everyone is born to follow an order
this order begins from birth to death
every season turns into a new border
where we have to act until the last breath
season of childhood is precious than all
ah! But it has to meet autumn fall
this fall is the promise of a new spring
young age is like a butterfly on the swing
finally, it dwells in the den of winter
that vanishes, our existence like a tinter
Love Poem
Love poem
I wrote you a love poem
stuck it in a book
you were reading
you read the poem
used to mark the spot to
continue reading the book.
Sometimes love means
never having to dog-ear.
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2020
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Emoijs
From https://www.themarysue.com/emoji-poetr/
Translation for the poem on the left-side of the page:
The balls are on the green,
the cure for all ills is playing ball,
so even behind the eight-ball,
stay on target, in the running,
to be a king with diamonds sparkling,
perky like fresh-brewed coffee,
dressed to the nines, in all weather,
wearing top hats and tails, or
the highest of very-high heels,
sipping martinis (or is it wine).
So swallow the right pills,
staying right-on target,
walking through towns
in the rainy weather.
7:00 a.m What is the waiting?
Like an extra button in the shirt never to use
she felt being a burden in family as an abuse
smeared by mum shouting and rattling pots
and daddy’s sweat dripping drop by drop.
Against grey colours of her day by day picture
she was waiting for the betterment (in any kind of any rapture).
Waiting is like a slowly pouring sticky caramel cream
to decorate the dessert … to wait is a self esteem!