TEN (decasyllabic quatrain)
I was ten and this year was so boring
To write of it would leave us both snoring.
Outside my window, the rain is pouring.
I hope soon to feel the thunder roaring.
(Hour 10) 07.30-08.30am. PROMPT, Use at least 5, possibly all ten words
10 hjours in
nought remains of night, noteven a moonbeam.
coughing wearily wishing i still drank coffee
even my dog’s twitching paws tell me to hush
he snores tauntingly through my mental fog.
my caffeineless brain tips whiskey in my canteen
something sweet’s happening— oh good golly damn
instead of becoming more fleet, it sets concrete.
i need more wood to stoke the mental fir(e)
i’ve burnt the books, now start on the shelf.
all i want is for my head & pillow to dock.
NB tired typo deliberately left in title, haha
“Your Song” (Poem #10)
A song written from the heart
A song written at all
A song
The words put to a melody
A melody that cannot be explained
The music that causes feelings to explode within
How can anyone simply listen to a song
Music is the expression of creation
The sky and all its colors
The land and all its mystery
Love and hate
Difference and connection
All put together to form
Written out to describe
Put to a melody to heighten the intensity
Our bodies feel it
Our minds overwhelmed by it
A song written from the heart
Is a song made just for you
Its made to hold you
Its written to describe you
It is “Your Song”
Release
Unwind the chords that have bound you
My love
String them from your mouth
And tie them to your heart
To hear the sound resonate
The sound
Of your soul breaking free
The crash, swish, and clatter
Ringing against your ribs
Tearing from your lips
Howling into the world
The liberation of a voice
Finding itself in pain
Echoing in beauty
Feeling the muse
Her fingers light as they strum
The reverberating thrum
The ever-present rhythm
The lingering hum
Damn, it’s Christmas again!
Hush, an urban prophecy says the following:
when the first moonbeam will light the concrete
in the sacred evening of Christmas Eve,
everyone will have his own fir tree and will smile.
Stories for babies, put it back on the shelf!
Don’t disturb us with your lack of trust! To continue,
it will be fog at the docks, but all
will be on the cliff to praise the Lord!
And afterwards they’ll go home and drink
a boiling coffee in order to wait for Santa.
And the canteen will be full and even
poor fellows will feast and sing Hallelujah!
Hour 10 – Kindling
While everyone was sleeping
We sat by the June bonfire
Scaring off the darkness
And watched it play out
a scene of elephants marching
And a queen perched high
Wooing her loyal subjects
In the campground
So manicured we couldn’t even find
A stick for kindling
the fire died down
We crept away
Through a tunnel of fog and fir
Leaning into the night
The birds on the lake hushed as we passed
On the way to the dock
Where we sat kicking our feet in
Midnight water
Where you asked me what the lake said
You stopped walking
To pull down a moonbeam
To light my face
Damn.
Lazy Water Poem
I’ve never met water that I didn’t love
A calm morning ocean
Pouring rain from above
We are three fourths water
But I think I may be more
I am always drawn to any shore
The smallest stream
Or the widest river
A mountain stream that sends shivers
From the freezing cold flow
I love a pool in the summer
And I love a good hot bath
I could be part fish
Or shark when I’m inclined
I can’t get enough of the waters of the world
Each beautiful and unique in their design
Hour 10
thank you everyone,
Who is in my life
it’s all by your grace
Life is beautiful
Even more so
For those
who live with
honor, glory ,
authenticity
and deligence
they live majestically
they die gloriously
the road isn’t easy
One is tested
several storms
come
And they rise above
Gloriously
they live majestically
they die gloriously
Portrait
white oak in redwood
stippled heart in mixed media
touch of realism
spot of whimsy
strong limbs reach out
from canvas, acrylic
branches with watercolor
leaves touch my face
I lean into the strong trunk
oil pastel stains
the nape of my neck
I become one
with the art of you
Hour 9
I Know This Much Is True
I am surrounded by lies and liars.
My social security number has not, in fact, been frozen,
and I cannot lose weight by giving up bananas.
The president will not help me buy a home.
The government responsible is exactly who you think it is,
and not the one on the news.
Don’t be tiresome! And don’t be greedy.
I can’t get sculpted abs or better orgasms
by the end of this week. There are no aliens here.
And if he doesn’t love me today, then this trick
will not bring him ’round to it. Believe me,
I tried.
We are not amused.
My soul is not at risk, nor my job or savings.
There is no “Agenda.”
I have heard the Good News, and honestly,
I have heard better. This God of theirs
holds too many bizzare opinions about my behavior.
Keep it to yourself, if you please.
I have seen enough, heard enough,
I know this much is true:
the arc of the crows’ flight as they wing toward their roost
calling to each other as the sun sets: “come home, come home”
is the geometry of Diogenes’s lantern.
There is no such honesty in Man.