Funeral Singers Prompt #8 Poem #8 by Ingrid
We are…
brief little sparks searching for the light
We are…
friends and family joined together in the same plight.
We are…
Funeral Singers singing our way home.
#8 Front Porch Strummin’
Front Porch Strummin’
He strums the guitar
Picking a simple tune.
With our eyes closed,
We tap our feet to the rhythm
On the wooden front porch.
We all feel the beat and nod our heads.
The high, raspy voice floats on a melody
A butterfly visiting flowers.
Others follow this pied piper
In a song of life.
Cindy Herndon
Driving Alone
Here I go driving past the crooked creek
We’d throw stones in its pockets and try to pick them up again,
only a wish away from desperation
It’s today that I’m reminded of you
Don’t know where I’m going
and even though it’s not been long
I seem to have gone far
The hills play hide and seek with me,
falling and appearing again,
teasing my rusted, vintage car
I guess I should turn back soon
I said those words before,
when you were in the passenger seat,
lost and speechless
but I knew the muted words you spoke
The days are weathered now,
jaded and tattered
so I drive
I’m going to the nowhere
where we might have ended up
A cuppa (Prompt 8)
There is a coffee shop I frequent
everything but the coffee a cliché
old building, exposed brick
plants, hand-lettered signs
roasting their own blends
alchemy of ‘house-made’ syrups –
lattes you long for, unsure why
depending on barista, music mix
runs the gamut from eclectic to
this one wasn’t until recently
lyrical angst served hot or iced
guitars heavier than the espresso
pay more for the coffee
chalk it up as a cover charge
On days when the clientele
is more plugged in
students, gig-economy nomads
filling table-for-two pews
deep in laptop, tablet hymnals
reverence punctuated by
staccato frother woosh
surprisingly on key and on beat
with whatever song is playing
I can only wonder
as I sit with my coffee,
notepad, pen if
even in my enlightened age
and stage in life I am
considered something of a
coffee house luddite
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2023
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Sunlight Revealing Truths
cw: allusions to abuse/cycles of abuse, all metaphorical though
It was impossible to predict
when hands would be gentle or cruel.
Sometimes, hands would feed it
its self-imposed diet of poetry;
and other times, those same hands
would try to starve it
and eat its heart.
The canary knew to never take for granted
when the hands were gentle –
and to also, never assume
that the hands would be cruel.
Sometimes they weren’t.
The day after the curtains were opened,
the canary thought
maybe
it was not supposed to be like that at all.
Hour 8–Symphonic Sorrow Alights Relief
Symphonic sorrow
sounds of grief
emerges a solo
possibilities of Hope
Coaxing
subtle light
a duo arises
aww,
moments of relief
this poem was inspired by Max Richter’s “On the Nature of Daylight” symphonic instrumental
“Astrophile”
If there is a miracle that I know,
Is the fact that the mystery of the universe is yet to be resolved.
Questions keep knocking on our door,
And every answer leads to more.
The vastness of the universe expands beyond our imagination.
There is no limitation, only our way of thoughts.
Our doubts and fears only boxed us to death,
And we’ll never know what’s going to happen next.
Each star consists of planet that can be a home of advance humans,
Or entities that we never know,
They might be just lurking, hiding to a no show,
What else can we see?
Only the universe can guarantee.
#POETRYMARATHON2023 #HOUR08 #24HRSCATEGORY
A Thousand Suns
A Thousand Suns (Poem 7)
The brilliance of a thousand suns reflects from all that I have done.
The hummingbirds upon a limb, the maples planted one by one.
Metal shovels dug the pond before we built our home
Blueberry patch in lower 40, whose fruit supports my roam
I try to touch spirits with those that I see, hoping it says that they’re second to none.
The brilliance of a thousand suns reflects from all that I have done.
A little thing that may not seem like much
But trying to help another can be sprinkling pixie dust.
Once I had plans for all that I did in logic that my mind had spun
And the thoughts and the details felt shot from a gun
The brilliance of a thousand suns reflects from all that I have done.
With results leaving me feeling like I’ve been stunned
I ponder the life that till now I’ve lived
Knowing my spirit is sometimes contrived
I search for a countenance that I hope is finespun because
The brilliance of a thousand suns reflects from all that I have done.
HOUR 8: THANKS JIMMY
Come Monday
We know what you’ll be sipping
And what you’ll be munching
And where
Come Monday
I’ll be getting a brand new tattoo
It’ll be a real beauty
And it’s your damn fault
“Life” Guards
for Joe Curry & Brandon Cullen
”Lifeguards in every sense.” Carol Gussoff, CBS New York
One lifeguard bench at Robert Moses State Beach connects two twenty-four year olds.
A bond closer than any of us imagine.
They share a love of gym workouts,
surfing, and working together
for five years.
One life saved without a single drop of water.
A true sacrifice in giving
one lifeguard to another.
A kidney transplant enables
their continuation in saving lives.
This contribution gives the term “lifeguard” a true meaning,
long after a beach season ends.