EIGHT
Poem EIGHT has been removed and now appears on chocolate is a verb, 26 August 2016.
Your pain is self inflicted…
Don’t be mad at anyone but yourself…
#TheDarkEra
Pennies from Heaven
If finding change is somehow a sign
I welcome every cent
For in my mind, the pennies
Help to prove you’re near
I always seem to find them
At my deepest, darkest moments
When angst and despair come creeping
To make me lose sight of the good
In my mind, when these pennies appear
You are instantly by my side
And for a brief few moments, I am not stressed
In fact, a smile forms, as I recall some memory with you
I hope I always find these pennies
I pray I live each memory they bring forth
As it helps to bridge the between our two worlds
May the pennies always lead me to remember
The precious memories I have with you
And even if for a few moments
May they allow me to chance to hold onto
This wonderful piece of my past
For while they come as a complete surprise
Every time I cross one’s path
The fact they bring your smile to mind
Is worth the steps I take
the young and the ruthless
I’m a girl who loves boys,
tall,dark and intelligently handsome.
But my heart isn’t a toy,
I’ll beat your face in and then some.
I’m single, young and secretly waiting for cupid.
But come in with that bullshit, I’m gonna slay you cause:
I’m.not.STUPID.
I don’t NEED a man, don’t get it twisted.
but if you’re on the right track, then hey, I’m interested. (I think.)
NYC Restaurants I / McSorley’s Old Ale House
We were here before you were born.
Fewer cobwebs. Someone dusted.
Sawdust on the floor.
Pot- bellied stove for cold winter nights.
Memorabilia, pictures, flags,
A Who’s Who and What’s What of Manhattan.
Where Abe Lincoln held Bible Study
And I first felt old when I didn’t get carded on my birthday.
We talked to the couple from D.C. who owned a restaurant,
And the first responder firemen.
The young couple from Brazil who loved American football and hated socialism.
The older couple who came into the City on Sundays.
The English teacher from Manhattan College,
Who we wanted to fix up with our son.
We heard a bagpipe concert in the afternoon.
Watched the Mets win Game 6 of the World Series.
2 Lights and 2 Darks…Again….Again….Again…
….Prompted singing Puttin’ On the Ritz in the Port Authority Bus Terminal,
Homeless audience parting like the Red Sea.
The best lamb sandwich I ever ate.
Crispy saltines, a plateful of cheddar and onions.
Mustard that will knock your socks off and make your nose run.
Friends meet. Strangers become friends.
2 Lights and 2 Darks…Again…Again…Again…
By Sue Storts
08/13/2016
Angst
We’re leaving the Great Park.
It’s a scorcher out there.
Her team just lost six to one.
She’s quiet on the tortuous zag from the fields.
I don’t think she feels responsible.
At 17, she’s philosophical, albeit a touch cynical and weary.
She carries her angst in her pocket.
“What is nihilism?” She asks the road ahead after a while.
“Lately, I’ve been thinking about how minuscule
we are, especially in light of the cosmos and
the improbable non-existence of other life, somewhere.”
I haven’t hydrated enough.
My head hurts slightly.
“Well, it’s sort of like nothing matters,
an extreme sort of skepticism,” I immediately regret saying.
Her eyes widen and the depths of velvet brown
endlessly recede, raw terror swallowed–stored in a gap.
“But it’s not just the life’s a bitch then you die philosophy.
There’s something freeing about understanding our
insignificance in the larger scheme of things and our utter
significance at the local level, where we live.
It doesn’t have to be about uselessness.
The randomness and chaos of our births and deaths–
some take comfort in the just-is-ness of it.”
She still stares out at the road ahead of us, but I hear
her thinking it over, this great question of being and nothing,
all tied in knots to her senior year of high school,
turning 18, the possibility, potential, and unknown…
she who has always tightroped the anxiety fine line.
At 65 mph, those last 5 minutes take us no closer to home.
Javier
There was a man in Acapulco,
Where the waves wash as high as the mountains.
And in the wet wind of June,
My foolish old heart wanted to kiss him.
His echo swirled around me like chocolate,
When his hand took mine, helping me
In and out, on and off.
Our words not saying what they meant.
Late one evening, against a cold wall
The truth escaped his lips.
Two girls and a boy. And a wife.
Just a car, a man, and my imagination.
In My Front Yard
|
I step outside upon the grassy lawn, Brilliant colors spread over the horizion, The yellow sun shines brightly, The dusty hot day winds down,
|
Night
Darkest night was upon my heart their was know.
More light.
Of the warmth of my heart my heart was frozen.
By the coldest darkness that cover my body.
Their were know more light covering my soul the light was covered.
By the darkness that capture my soul.
My soul scream for someone that could hear my soul.
Their wasn’t know one their to help my soul.
Out of the darkness my soul was in
Prompt for Hour Eight
The dreaded form prompt! This year I scheduled it a lot earlier in the marathon. This year the prompt has to do with my favorite form, the pantoum.
The pantoum is a form of poetry similar to a villanelle in that there are repeating lines throughout the poem. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next.
Now in case that all was a little much for you, here is a link to a pantoum generator Jacob made: http://jacobjans.com/pantoum.html
The key to writing a pantoum is to write about something that either obsesses you, or something that automatically requires some sort of repetition (ie cooking).
If you want to the repeated lines can include some new words, but they should still be recognizable.
Here are two good example pantoums:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/56284