Lark
How do you get to the center of the moment?
Is it on the in-breath?
Or on a lark?
I’ve never ridden a bird before
but I do like to fly
What Is Love- Poem 10 Prompt 10 by Ingrid
What is LOVE?
How does it
take shape-
GROW?
It is interesting that LOVE and GROW have the same number of letters. Can we only love someone who allows us to grow and, can we only be loved by someone who we allow to grow?
Is love and growth interchangeable?
Acrophobia (2023 Poem Six)
Acrophobia
Fear of heights be damned, the Earth is flat, that’s easy enough to prove
If only I could walk up to the edge, but I can’t bring myself to move
I don’t need to take a photo just to make you see
The edge is over there on the horizon, it’s as plain as day to me
I know the edge must have a high lip holding all the water, just like a baking tin
Logic says it must be high enough to keep all the things and people contained within
Some say there is no edge, that Antarctic ice sheets go on to infinity
Clearly, once it melts it would all simply pour out, including all the sea
There must be dirt, mountains, beaches, oceans, and icebergs right up to the wall
If there was nothing to make the edge, clearly all earthly things would start to fall
It’s probably made of iron ore, or something magnetic and strong, you see
To bring a compass needle bearing north, and for the likes of thee
(Prompt: The earth is actually flat, you look over the edge and what do you see? Describe it. Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form a flat-earther.)
meadow
Before we continue: I don’t know if
this was a memory or a dream.
Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither
Nevertheless, this meadow has been a part
of me since I was quite young.
A long stretch of green grass spotted
with honeysuckles, whose fragrance lingered on
my clothes long after I left
Mountains marked the edge of the meadow
boulders jutted through the grass like knives.
It scared me, just a little, to see something imposing
over the peace of the greenery.
But to this day, almost thirty years later,
I still see the meadow,
in my dreams, and
in my memories
Regrets
HOUR 7
REGRETS
When I was a teenager,
my widowed mother and I
were best friends.
She was my confidante,
(it shocked my friends)
and I was hers.
Some made me uncomfortable,
but I would listen,
and I grew up fast.
She prayed for a good husband for me
Yet when I did, a crack appeared.
I confided in my husband now.
The crack widened into a rift
and turned into a crevice.
She and I tried to repair
the relationship and failed.
My mother grew sick,
I was terrified of regrets
And tried hard to change.
But each time
ugly, mean, unforgivable
thoughts occurred.
Yet I tried and thought I succeeded.
The second of her passing,
a lifetime of anger towards her
was forgotten.
What remains are my actions.
I wanted no regrets,
but I do.
It is not what my mother and I
were to each other,
it is what we were not.
Hour 10: What is Love?
Version 1:
My heart has never had a home,
Feeling lost on this planet as if
This body was invited too late in history to
Dance with this soul.
My heart has always awakened to the
Hollow echoes of longing to be
Somewhere else entirely,
Somewhere on an island of purposeful isolation
Where I choose my own existence,
Never needing to rely on anything but the tides to keep me afloat.
My heart has never understood how to break away
From a practical reality where nothing ever goes right
And follow its whispering cries that life transcends
Everything that is even remotely known to us.
My heart has never felt safe, always questioning
The cryptic miracle of existence as if understanding it
Would make it any less of an absurd phenomenon.
My heart has always been afraid
That it will forever feel out of place,
Blind to the idea that someone or something
Could feel more like home than home does.
That music traveling through shivers down my skin
Keeps me more grounded than my own thoughts ever could.
Each page of a book invites me into hundreds of dwellings
Where I will always be taken in,
As if I have never left.
Poetry makes me fall in love with fantasies that
Will one day become mine.
Traveling the world leaves crumbs of my soul
In every city I have ever been a part of,
Welding me into the landscape of everywhere,
Making my home a part of everything;
The stars and grass and air and that which is in between
Becoming me, where my own skin has become my home.
And love becomes myself.
Version 2:
What is love, if not an experiment
Released by the government to test
Our patience?
Homo
A calloused brain, exhausted eyes
cracking fingers making tools
a few strange notions:
symptoms of interfacing will the grand
all-encompassing WHAT?
harder to do when we lost our view of the stars,
replaced now by car headlights,
heatless flame
pacing around cages
tenants in a zoo
with games and the few remaining books
but mostly pacing,
and fidgeting,
and wailing,
and staring in the mirror
Love
Heart Breaking
Chest tightening
Butterflies fluttering
Shallow breath
Hyperventilating
Sweaty palms
Constant thoughts
I can’t stop any of this
Hour 10
The bull grazing on the grassy knoll
Enjoying the minutes of the day
Looking beyond its immediate location
Wondering what may come from walking to the other side
Hour 10 – What is Grammy Love?
Every move you make
Every dance you shake
Every smile you give
Every day you live
I’ll be loving you
Every time you cry
When life goes awry
Every stint you’re mean
Whether dirty or clean
I’ll be loving you
Every time
Every day
Every season
Every life
Every being
I’ll be loving you
I’ll be loving you
Inspired by Sting’s “I’ll Be Watching You”.