Eighth
Slime
My grandson loves to play with slime,
It’s never been a friend of mine.
It’s gooey, sticky and yucky,
The color of it is very mucky.
He loves it though I don’t see why,
He even tried to make some,
My oh my!
Pantoum Of Adoration
He is truly my medieval knight;
I seek him again this life.
Maybe it’s a memory?
Or perhaps a book I read.
I seek him again this life.
He existed then, he must now!
Or only lives in a book I read.
How can I find him in reality?
He existed then . . .
The Universe knows my heart.
Show where to find him in reality.
I can feel his breathe upon my neck.
The Universe knows my heart.
And shall always lead me there…
Where his breathe is upon my face,
His lips upon my mouth.
Lead me there,
Put me in his strong arms.
His lips to my mouth draw me in…
And we become as one, again.
Angst, My Love
I know you don’t like him
think he’s no good for me
and I can do better
but I just can’t help myself
each time I get near him
there’s something about him
that just draws me in
I get so wrapped up in
everything about him
the way he walks, talks, smells
the funny little looks he
throws my way
and when we’re alone together
the way he knows how to push
every last one of my little buttons
I get to the point where I just
scream out loud
I can’t help myself
And when he’s done with me
oh, such feelings of sweet relief
Sometimes I feel silly
knowing how I act when he’s around
knowing how I could do so much better
but then lower myself to his
tricks and traps
Each time I promise myself
I won’t go to him
that I can be stronger without him
be a better person to steer clear
In the end
I can’t imagine my life without him
Still, if anyone asks
I deny we’re seeing each other
spending any time together
I know he sees other people
it doesn’t bother me
because I know he’ll always come back to me
And I’ll always take him in.
[Prompt: Angst – without being cliche using love or death. Well, lots of cliche, but not in a typical way when writing about angst.]
Lottery Owl
dear owl
please stop you midnight celebrations
some of us have to work in the morning
Books
“But where exactly do these people come from?” I ask
“Are they real or does the creator wear masks?”
I vow to find the truth as I plough
Through books and books as I sow
“But where exactly do these characters live?” I ask
I am certain the creator is betraying his task
Oh but I must find out how these emotions grow
And please, how does black on white glow?
Yes, I am certain he has some betrayal hidden
For those who could create, is it not forbidden?
And those emotions that play and surround me
Until I am immersed and can no longer breathe
But I was so certain it was forbidden to create like this
Yet they do seem to bask in a certain bliss
Should I join and become on
4 pm
Found Poetry: from Look Homeward Angel
at times she would feel
great love clustered about the
slumbering children
she tried to cry, but
her fury wove a pattern
of chaos daily
what rooted instinct
saved every desire for him?
eliza was damned.
Disappearing Stars
Megalomaniac vs. another Megalomaniac
GMO vs. non-GMO
Conservation vs. Development
Artisan vs. Factory made
Citizen vs. Immigrant
Protestors vs. Police
Safety vs. Freedom
Hate vs. Love
Most of this frustrates me
Some of it angers me
All of it worries me
However
The thing that really keeps me up at night
Is the darkening sky
Has anyone else noticed?
I remember how it used to sparkle
So bright
So vivid
Full of detailed constellations
Mapping mythological tales
and fantastic adventures.
Some of them seem to be getting further away
fading, blurring, shrinking
Some just disappear
Up in the mountains, I can sometimes see them better
Closer, still matching my memories.
But in the city, they start hiding again.
How will we get them back?
What will happen when they all decide to leave?
When the night sky no longer twinkles, and the planets turn dark
Will it all signal the end?
Perhaps, I need a visit to the eye doctor.
Memories
the feel of coral colored rose petals
Upon the soles of feet
the smell of lavender on skin
Silkiness of jojoba oil in hair
henna adorned hands
essence of silver
garments of fine threads
Royalty Remembered
HOUR FIVE: Technology
myPhone
sluggish eyes drooping
waning fast
blinded by the bright moving frame
i can’t imagine a world
without my head hurting
from so much focus on a screen.