Baby Girl
Stuck in the middle of things,
Overhearing it,
I just want to be a kid.
Playground Days
Everything was simpler
when worries consisted of who to
play four square with on the playground
Life was easier, when nights were
spent watching Yugioh in bed, while
munching on fruit snacks
The most complex part of fourth grade
was creating a new dance with
a fleeting “best friend”
Now, I still play games, only electronically
I still watch anime, less frequently
and I only dance with my headphones on
in an otherwise empty room
But life is full.
It’s packed to the brim with responsibilities
and appointments, rarely a moment to spare
but it is also full of
purpose
emotion
potential
and I reach higher every day
Prompt 27/Rust
Everyday, we find reason to drive past the trainyard
where the river runs along the north of the city.
Under JMW Turner clouds, the lazy cluster of rusted cars
huddles in plain sight; Dylan’s idiot wind takes no pity
on the overgrowth of dandelions taking residence at their cavernous doors.
Yellow yellow
A yellow jacket swarm swimming
in the birch-beech copse, corpulent
corpse clears us all from its mind.
A feebly fumbling fellow fawns
over such luck, lacking decorum,
lackadaisical, limber and lithe
and lonesome. Loathesome fellow he
in that yellow jacket feral
and frightening and fit for the feast.
Beastly brethren on stolen
stingers strive for less than each
could earn. Earth eats the rest,
restless and resilient and ripe.
Hour 23 THE WRONG ONE
Who makes decisions
About mountain tops above
Trees yet below God
pantoum #3 into hour 23
Pantoum #3 hour 23
lost words- ancient symbols
hag stones, wave through the veil
light breaking, heart beating
night retreating, birds tweeting
hag stones, wave through the veil
all the magic, begins within
night retreating, birds tweeting
lost, in a moment of art
all the magic, begins within
candles burning through out the night
lost, in a moment of art
moments captured, never shared
candles burning through out the night
lost words- ancient symbols
moments captured, never shared
light breaking, heart beating
Amanda Potter©: 2019 Poetry Marathon
Land of Haven and Fated Death
Land of Haven and Fated Death
Virginia Carraway Stark
Spades played on spades
Dominoes crash
On the square by the sea
Where white means death
Beauty is a tomb
And creation is a cruel fate
They say nothing is impossible
Is it merely a cruel riddle to mean
That nothing can be excluded
From this world of crushing pain?
Waves and wind
Three chosen to prove that all is safe
A haven amidst the spade and crashing dominoes
Crossed golden swords
Laughable pointless, a golden sword
But less funny, if it runs you through
Their metal is strong enough to pierce flesh the once
Three is two
The swords scrape the fat into a copper pot
Where saffron and roses are mingled
With honey over the heat
To make an exotic delight
And then there was only one
Golden doors closed
White porcelain tiles cover the walls,
Edged with elegant scrolling blue
High above head height
Over seeing all
The beaten copper pot
Would have been big enough to hold
All three girls whole
But not all was wanted
From the ancient man who stirs the pot
With the ancient stirring spoon
The mountains block the world from one side
The sea on the other
And only one last girl
Singing with all her heart
Is left to prove this is a haven
Heavy lights hang overhead
From spider’s webs
That tremble at her song
Nothing is left for her
When the last delicate line of silk
Is destined to fail
Her song crushed
Along with her beauty
In the tomb built for a queen
Spades on spades
20. The Messenger XX
Newly exposed, new exhibitions
Big installations, drawings, poems, photos, sceneries
Mt poetry is fully naked expressed
And shown all over the world
The funny story they tell is
That I am even a celebrity on Mars
It’s me who started that funny myth joke
Aliens all come to my openings
Are collecting my installations
They love to have in their living room, just above their sofa
How does it look?, an Alien’s living room
It looks like one of my installations
David Bowie is an Angel
Whispering in Alien’s ears
What to do to celebrate
My poetry next Christmas
Nature, nurture, not
Those from more rural locales
find urban approaches
to all things nature
peculiar
Nurturing of lawns
cajoling green lushness
only to immediately cut it
once it gets too high, too lush
symmetric containment of flowers
pride in set aside green spaces
massive cement bowls
adorning boulevards
transformation of
rural America to urban for
those who have grown on the land
find the city more nurture than nature
contrived in it’s simplistic
approach to bringing
the real to those
unaccustomed
bring the country
to the big city – people
nature and you’ll observe
neither in their natural habitat
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd