Hour 1: Elements of Unsaid Thoughts

Oh how my inner being shakes,
Like how the earth trembles in earthquakes.
Inside me beating so loud and fast
Are unsaid thoughts I cannot cast.

My feelings sweep me like a gale,
And I am moved deep within.
But forceful wind did not let me fail
To close my heart and hide what’s in.

Afire eyes at full radiance,
Too bright to stare, even to glance.
But through those eyes are boiling tears,
Waiting to be unleashed but full of fears.

When will I have to keep these thoughts?
These clouds are getting heavy, ready to rain.
Will I just reserve my shots,
And endure this undesirable pain?

Prompt Four

Prompt Four:

Two Thumbs

The coffee shop teems with people –
a ruck of millennials.
Thumbs flying, heads bent;
gaps in the line-up.

Gaps in the line-up –
but nobody cares; they have time.
My coffee break dissipates,
like the mud in my cup.

Like the mud in my cup,
there’s a sluggishness to the conversations
once they reach the till; a moment of re-orientation
to the present world.

To the present world
I say, ‘hang on’ – these sophists
will find their way, or the future boasts babies
with two thumbs per hand.

#4 Colorless

There is a vase of dried flowers and peppers

Sitting behind my computer as I type

Bought long ago at a farmer’s market

In the deepest hues of reds and yellows

Colors frozen in time.

But they are long past faded now

The red peppers have not aged well

Sick and gasping for air

Even dead flowers have dreams

Of being sustained in their after-lives

But I have failed them.

The Embracing Of Shadows

Where water lays down her life

to the pulling air,

where stone succumbs to

the laughing river,

where the oxygen yields to

the latent life of wood afire,

where the micobes’ anthems

unrivet my still body:

 

This is where I will give over

my burden of Being –

Not in light, but in the embracing

of shadows.

May this be the

Going-Back Bridge to

the mystery

of the Mystery.

 

J. Pratt-Walter (c) 2017

Acquaintanceships by Night and by Day

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have been lost in the depths of a vast universe,
Lost beyond the reaches of his highest height –
And whence his words rippled from kindly to terse –

Where were you? Where were all of you who feel cause to judge
Whilst I searched the covens of all space and time,
Whilst I sloughed off all that you all begrudge,
Whilst I delved into depths of my heart and mind?

I have become one with the night,
Taking fireflies and monsters to become my friends,
Learning from cats to see with a feline’s sight
That my soul and my heart could see my paths’ ends –

And where were you? Were you shielding rays
As family, friends, children from far and wide
Came to embrace you in light of day
Whilst you did hold to your ego’s pride?

I have become acquainted with the night,
With the darkness of my soul, and with others’ too
That I may face with a whole heart my fright,
That I may learn to forgive and to love even you

Who judge. Where were you when my soul was alone?
Did you come to my aide? Did you reason to give?
Or did you only miss what was given, well-known?
Did you think to reach out, give me reason to live?

I have become one with the night and the day
Breaking reasons, unfettered by common restraints,
That I may find reason to live well, as I may;
That I may find life without common complaints –

And where, pray tell: Where do your judgements lead us
Whist I, on my own – my heart oft torn asunder,
My life and my mind leaving you in nonplus?
I find myself, day and night, filled naught but with wonder —

For I have become acquainted well with the night,
And I break, at last, into dawning of days;
And I find I shan’t run, though my wings take to flight
As I find myself, now, understanding your ways.

(First line borrowed from “Acquainted with the Night” by Robert Frost, http://www.poetryoutloud.org/poems-and-performance/poems/detail/47548 )

 

Asmodeus

Asmodeus
VCS

He sat alone
Under the heat of a thousand suns
Under the desert
Where he had been thrown
Hunched with his arms
Hugging his warty, broken legs
He had turned to stone
Buried under dunes of sand
from the long, long ago

There had been a mighty king
Who had had a mighty ring
Given to him by the angels themselves
To make a temple to rule the world
And to rule the self

Asmodeus had come
He of the stone
Walking like a man
He couldn’t hide his limp
he could only give it to another
For a time and time
To give him the semblance
Of one who was what he liked to call
A hell of a ‘Smooth Operator’

‘Let me help you build your temple,’
He said to the King with the furrowed brow
The stones had ceased to fit together
The beams were broken
The edifice falling around him
What was mighty was now dying

‘Leave me be, I need no help unless you are a magician!’
The man with the hidden limp
Didn’t bother to answer; because he was no magician
He was a creature of fell magic himself
He did not want the shrewd King to scent his deception

With the stolen nimbleness of a hind
He leapt onto cypress pillars
‘Ah ha!’ Asmodeus exclaimed, his eyes twinkling

The King thought to himself,
‘His eyes are as bright as the sky over an oasis,
He’s a magician, there is no doubt and my problems are ended!’

Asmodeus, his black hair, shining in the sun
Produced a copper wedge
All carbuncled in green barnacles
‘Here’s the problem, a curse was laid on your temple.’

He tossed the wedge to the King who dropped it when it burned his hands
and scored a sigil into his index finger.

‘Let the building re-commence!’ Ordered the demon Asmodeus

And so it was that the demon won the confidence of the king
whose angelic ring could control the world of any spirit
and the canny king didn’t suspect a thing!

Asmodeus gave his name as a lie and became the confidant of the king
Who believed him sent from God
Rather than the devil’s plaything
Until one day the king had to go away
And his most prized possession he gave to the one he trusted most
The King of Demons: Asmodeus

When the canny king returned to his throne he found it occupied
By the demon man with hair of black and eyes of blue
His ring on his hand, His robes on his shoulders
His wives attending him like he was their beloved
And Asmodeus used his hellish powers to throw the king
a thousand leagues
laughing in glee
and eating the king’s own figs

A thousand leagues was not far enough to throw the canny king
Who walked over the blazing sand and through the wastelands
Until he returned to the lands
That had once been under his command
His eyes blazed with glints of red
From the alembic flames he had been tortured in
He walked into his throne room in begger’s rags
But no one stopped him, one look froze them in place

Asmodeus had grown fat on the king’s throne
He drooled wine and his eyes drooped with sleepy disconcern
He did not recognize the man before him as the rightful king
Until the man in rags walked to him and sliced off his finger
The only way to get it off the now bloated member
The canny king stamped Asmodeus between the eyes
With the Pentalpha sigil and his demise

Now the demon was no longer lord
He was subject and bound as the other hoards
To obey the will of the king
The true son of the true king before him

‘Go forth into the desert and dig a tomb in the sand.
Dig until you can dig no more
Then never move again.’

The demon staggered from the hall and his
Shroud of glamour fell from the eyes of all
And they shook their heads and rubbed their eyes
As they watched Asmodeus’s tail leave the hall,
his legs limping, his bulk bursting his scaly skin
He walked far into the desert
To dig his own grave
With his taloned hands
At the King’s command

And sat and listened to the winds howling above him
until his ears filled with sand
And his lungs along with them
Then he ceased to think or move
And turned to stone
Under the dunes

And that was how he was found
more than a thousand years later
By an alchemist who would quickly become greater
Thanks to the power
Of the stone demon
Who whispered wisdom in his ear
Exactly as much as he needed to hear
Until Asmodeus was free once more

Plodding and evil
The canny king was gone
His temple long since with him
But between the demons eyes
The burned sigil
And frozen stone joints
Still bite into him.

prompt four

Emergency Room Wait

 

My friend is ill

911 brought screaming sirens

To their door

I followed with his in my car

 

My friend is ill

His wife wept all way

His meds, his pills, hers

Clasped to her breast in a canvas bag

 

My friend is ill

I gave his wife my sweater

I left her there in the

cold emergency room, to wait with him

 

My friend is ill

I told her to call when ready

to come home. Since the day our son

died in an emergency room, I cannot wait in one.

The Mighty Storm

The mighty storm blew in, turning day into night.
The house shook as the wind raged, showing off its might.
I ran as the alarm screamed, my heart filled with dread.
I knew my time was up when the funnel appeared overhead.
Then a single ray of light shone through the eye of the storm.
Calming the winds even as the funnel continued to form.
I ran again, finding shelter, and somehow I survived.
In the aftermath, I gave prayers of thanks, as I shook and cried.

WPA – Word Players Anonymous

Don’t know why there seems such a fuss
Surely there’s a twelve-step program for us
Playing with words is much more than fun
A ‘Player’ can’t stop once they’ve begun

Delicious words spill from our fingers
Uplifting, teasing, or maybe just zingers
It’s raucous, exhilarating writing a pun
No, a ‘Player’ can’t stop once they’ve begun

When feeling munificent his words can be healing
When his rhyme is perhaps great, it’s fodder for stealing
But rest ye assured, word police are watching all words under the sun
Because unscrupulous ‘Players’ can’t stop, once they’ve begun

So with all this in mind and so many words in our head
Whatever your oeuvre, be hopeful instead
That you never grow weary of words having fun
And with pride be a ‘Player’– don’t stop you’ve begun

By Kathleen J Kidder at 11:47 on 8/5/2017