Six thirty-five AM
6:35 Am
Eyes blurring
Limbs hurting
Mind fuzzy
Brain drifting
Will power
…. fading
Maybe I should give in
And let sleep in
Poem 12 – Worker Bee
Stuck, trapped, gasping for breath,
Slave to a system waiting for death,
Alone in this life everyone’s the same,
Wasting the years for someone else’s name.
Forty hours a week until you drop dead,
Destroys the imaginations inside your head,
Born a worker bee forever enslaved,
Barely a tear shed at your grave.
Fall for the line that this is your life,
You chose the story, you chose the wife,
The lies that surround us keep us in line,
An obeying servant by natural design.
But your mind is free, let it wonder at night,
Escape the prison when out goes the light,
Push your head above water or else you’ll drown,
And don’t let the bastards grind you down.
Unique word count – 95
Hour twenty three
Write a poem about someone or something you miss. The fact that you miss this person or thing can be mentioned in the poem or it can be left out.
Grandmother
By Patricia Harris
The stories you told
Grew imagination.
Love came
Unconditionally.
My mind focuses on the
Moments spent
Learning to read
Learning more about
Life’s stories.
In the night,
I wonder if all my stories
Will come together
To be your pride
In what you left behind.
Lady Slumber
Bleary eyed I sit a-typing
plagued as every writer before me
has been with the writing
sitting up when sleep beckons
in her ghostly form
her sweet smile curves upward
and I am reminded of the cool
relief of her embrace and how
it feels to sink into
the mistiness of her fragrant form
to refill the need
of the mind
to seek the land
where stories are born
deep in our dreams
we swim the ether and course the waves
to wake in the warm sand of morning
the sun shining in our eyes
the keyboard at hand once again
the stories
the words
pouring forth
fresh baked from that special place
I need to go
As lady sleep is calling calling
I find myself faling falling
In the morning the words will come again
The words sitting in my head
All waiting to pour themselves out
As though they write themselves
Hold me now, sweet lady
I am ready for slumber
no more will I linger in the world
of the real
sweet lady calls me
willing I go
#21
Fracturing of the mind
Oh how poetic
Mass of chaos
Blowing in the breeze
Seems like everything is lost
So much pressure to endure
Out of touch with time
Need to break free
Fly away in pieces
progress
“Every peak is a crater. This is the law of volcanoes, making them eternally and visibly female.” – Adrienne Rich
for every
emotion to hit its peak
it is
required to first be a
valley a moon’s crater
to achieve this
we must travel to the depths where it is
the frigid cold like the
underside of the pillow the law
of progress the reality of
sleeping amongst volcanoes
we are tired heroes in the making
trudging the depths of them
the valleys chiseled in the face of the moon eternally
reliably and
without question our progress is visibly
goddess warrior female
new
“No one who survives to speak new language, has avoided this: the cutting away of an old force that held her rooted to an old ground / the pitch of utter loneliness…” – Adrienne Rich
if i always knew how to say no
i wouldn’t always have to be the one
the lonely one who
survives
if we work together to
learn to speak
our worlds would be new
this crafting of a new language
that a survivor has
when denial of reality can’t be avoided
the pain this
utter maw of pain the
darkness cutting
through stripping away
the truth of
our experience an
eternal longing these old
wounds have this force
to be understood that
propels us to be held
by a greater Her
a god if you will that is rooted
like a mighty tree to
all that is right and true an
ache that is worn down old
grooves permeating the ground
of our spirit the
axis of a universe that will sway and pitch
to deliver us safely and free of
doubt the utter
truth of a woman’s loneliness
I Survived!
Every year I make the same two meme’s for everyone who participated in the poetry marathon and half marathon. This year I added a third meme, just because I thought it was funny.
for katie in virginia
loud children gather outside
the local ice cream shop
where you used to get heaping scoops of pink
ice cream covered in blankets of rainbow sprinkles
this scene is still visible
every night till 11pm in the summer
but it would seem to me that they are all traitors
the children and their tired parents
the ice cream scoopers and the nervous teenager
at the cash register
traitors all of them
to carry on with this sweet sugar soaked life
when you’re not here
we should have hit the collective pause button
when you drove away to virginia
or rather your departure should have caused the whole
system to collapse
freeze up
like a computer that needs to reboot
and yet
loud children
on bikes
ice cream cones
melting on sidewalks
me alone in the car wondering
if i’m going to brave the crowds
you in virginia
24
24 poems
In as many hours
I feel asleep
But
24 complete
Task is done
I won over
My self doubt
Gratitude