Armageddon
It was like the world stopped spinning!
The trees stopped breathing,
and the birds stopped singing.
Everything was as it was at the beginning,
not a single form of life was to be found!
Treasure of love
Take my hand
To your love
Where we will be
Forever
In our souls
Will lead to
Our hearts
To the treasure
Of love
From the Inside Out (Hour 7)
FROM THE INSIDE OUT
Inside out, outside in.
Break my body, slam my brain,
to fit the golden ratio of beauty.
Two hours, three hours at the gym,
counting calories, watching Macros,
but a Mesomorph can never be an Ecto.
So fuck the scale and the number it shows.
Inside it’s programmed to weigh solid mass,
but outside it should simply say, “Fabulous”, regardless of our size.
Inside out, outside in,
Beauty is more than an algorithm, more than in the eye of the beholder.
Beauty is substance, beauty is essence, beauty is kindness.
From the inside out, we are beautiful.
— Saskia Lynge / Hour 7
Magic Question
Why am I here?
Why am I on the Earth?
Why is it me, my mother did give birth?
This is the Magic Question.
Ask sincerely, it answers itself.
Caverns at the Shoreline (Hour 11)
The caverns at the shoreline are lit by a bonfire’s light,
And the wind begins to pick up the distant sound of a violin.
The waves can be heard breaking deep within rocky chambers,
A girl twirls with curls of red, and lays her chin upon a small fiddle.
Her adoring eyes look over the strings as she draws the bow to make them sing.
The oceans tide speaks of a great distance,
And yet her song lulls me towards some distant shore,
To a time that I have forgotten, in a place that doesn’t age.
She gives call to dance around the fire, as pagan ancients,
Apart of nature, celebrating the new moon.
The birds of night roost nearby,
And upon the wind somewhere is the memory of girl I once knew.
Softly slipping between a dream,
Let my mind be carried by nightingale wing,
To find the source of this haunting reel
And dance beside the fire with the girl with red curls,
In a time that I have forgotten, in a place that doesn’t age.
And if I should never return from the enchantment of her strings,
Let my soul remain amongst the ocean fog
that rolls in through the early morning.
salvation
offered generously
by strangers
who have no reason
to save my life
other than
perhaps
their life was once
saved
and they want to
make an offering
to the ones who
kept them alive
we should all be so fortunate
to have a Rilke in our life
writing us letters in the forest
alone
applying the oxygen mask
paddles to our heart
8
There was a time, once
when I didn’t think I would ever turn on
an electronic device to write a
creative piece,
that I have thought of,
in my head in black and white,
instead of using paper
and a pen to write with.
I always preferred black ink over blue,
and squares over lines.
The line used is from the poem in the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower: once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
Prompt for Hour Twelve
Half Marathoners, this is your last prompt! Congratulations.
Full marathoners, after this you are halfway there!!!
Write a poem that contains no more than 100 words and no less than 90 words. If you repeatedly use the same word it only counts once. For example if the word umbrella was used 10 times in your poem you would only count it once.
The word count feature (bottom left of this text box) is your friend!
Dusk (poem 10)
The sun contemplates
how it will be remembered.
Shadows lie down the valley slope,
confusing light and dark.
A slice of black wing, just ahead of the wind,
a tantrum of fur, and blood
falls from the sky in fat drops like red
red ink, correcting mistakes written on the earth.
Last light spills down from lost summer
clouds on their way toward the sea,
washes down hills, fringed in brown-gold trees,
drowns over-eager shadows, huddled
beneath churches, their steeples in silhouette,
wearing graveyards like shawls.
Ancestors
Ancestors
This morning I asked Colleen,
“How do you write a poem?”
“Look it up online,” she said,
“Or ask Siri.”
I guess I’ll give it a try.
I remember when I felt so small
that everything around me was big.
I had to duck from the avalanche.
Their was no choice but to see the
future as a movie and passively watch.
I had no idea that a shell
surrounded me.
There were moments
when I pecked through to
rays of light that helped
wake me from sleep.
And some guides
came along the way.
Yet in time
I had to choose.
Maybe some choices that came before me
were my ancestors pecking through my veins
and telling me to find exuberance.
Because they never had that choice.