Hood
I like to listen while I sleep,
and tap along to the beat.
In my head it feels so good,
to slip out under the hood.
blue
I was born before the color blue,
she hadn’t been missed yet,
have you?
I grew up
under a sky
that held light and dark
like others hold or release their breath
I swam in an ocean
and fished in its depths
and stood on its beaches
as it kissed my toes
I grew up to become a poet
shaping what I saw with words
spoken into the moon
and that’s when I noticed
blue
shared her with you
a sapphire gem of cerulean proportions
who wouldn’t be contained in just one poem
or just one sky
or just one ocean
or just one word,
would you?
Hour 10 – The Colour Purple
There’s a whole generation
Of women, of a certain age,
Who took the poem about
Wearing purple when you’re old
A little too seriously.
The liberation of being able
To dress in a less demure fashion
Is muted, when every woman
On the bus or in the doctor’s
Wears purple pants or coats
Or both. It’s so extreme at times
That they’re difficult to distinguish;
A sea of mauves and lilacs,
Heady with talcum powder and Halls
Bursts from the bus to the pavements.
Any waiting grandchild might not
find their Grammy in the purple waves.
When I am old, I shall wear
Whatever I please, which is,
I think, what the original poem
Was saying, quite clearly.
Childhood Bullies
fragile and important time
when emotional abuse starts
constant negative messages arise
different parenting styles hinder
let motivation start your senses
evoke your rights from beginning
aesthetic mentality of movement
never disregard what is lost
boys taught be masculine
girl’s feminine quality is crying
fight for ones right to be heard
bullies rip apart self-esteem
social abuse effects one’s core
lack of human contact is deadly
home but not without help
world survives without a bully
Arachnidn’t
Those of us of a certain age
went to school with a
‘daddy long legs’
some tall, gangly, dude we
assumed would be great at
basketball, hanging stars
on Christmas trees
had I been married to a
‘black widow’
I would not be here to
wax poetic strands
even so, it is a tangled web
the world has woven
around spindly creatures
with an affinity for
waterspouts, dark corners
though to their credit
they were doing world wide webs
before the web was cool.
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2017
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Prompt ten HEY!
I have been tainted
By the colors
Yes, tainted not painted
That would be preferred
That could be removed
But you stole ink
It wasn’t yours
Poured it down my throat
Till all the color
Bled black
Black
Tainted
In stolen words
I would prefer to be painted
An imperfect rainbow would do
Even a shade of grey
But tainted
And bled from a black heart
That was the extent of it
Prompt 8
I knew It
This was it, Certainly
No matter what he was or Wasn’t
This was Love
But
He only wanted me, not We
His ego, my shoulders Carried
Love and duty are not one in The
Same
His touches left Scars
Bruises and Contusions And
Sometimes
I miss the way That
He thought this pain Is
The best way to be Close
Enough
Beau Taplin’s Close Enough
10: Blue
Blue-black crows
veer above slate-blue roofs,
over smoke-blue smokestacks
in the sea-blue sky.
Bluebirds blab
among the blue moons and bluebells
in this blue-blood state
of blue laws and blue flu.
Denimblue slackers,
azure poseurs.
Navyblue sailors
cursing a blue streak.
Flowers violetblue,
pansyblue, lupineblue.
Let me sing my deep new true-blue song
to you, O baby, misty midnight blue.
Blue
Pale skin, midnight blue ink stains my fingernails from cleaning my pen.
The prep to start, take my pen apart, the nib, the barrel, the cap. all flushed with water, fading from midnight to sky
ink will stain my nails for a few days, my badge of honour
A new cartridge of ink is primed and the pen is reborn
The blood flowing from the pen is the same hue as the veins in my pale skin
Ink or blood, my pen shares them