As we grow
Call it in, I’m fallen!
Weave your new needle in,
To join the fragments torn apart,
To chase the rush waiting.
Call it in, I’m older!
The world grows old with me,
The paper-bark you strips away,
Still clinging desperately.
hour 15 poem
a few petals
left on the carpet
two cats
chasing each other
on the Wall sticker
(Hour 18) 3.30-4.30pm — #11 “Legs Eleven”
This was a poem which presented many choices. Yet, surprising myself, I went a different way than I thought. (One of those out of nowhere experiences.)
#11
Legs’s Eleven.
for the first time in a decade
i am remembering Harry Mulroney
nicknamed Legs because his were short
a fresh faced boy as he remains to me
though when i knew him, of course
i was about that young too
played cricket in the same team
as head-in-the-cloud teenagers
he was the wildly talented captain
whereas, i, was just wild
good friends, only semi-close in the way
boys often must stay, not best mates
yet we talked of renting a place
in the city, when we went there to study
two country kids planning for uni
most around us had no such goal
we’d talk about it for hours, at training
in the car to away games, making the idea safe
yet as he was a few years younger
i went before him & we slipped apart
another precious thing lost
for reasons i still don’t understand
#87. Dammit, one off the other call I really wanted 🙂
Life’s final journey
Life’s final journey
Today,
sky in darkness,
grieving the life’s final destination,
knowing the days of reckoning will be,
A warning!
Expecting the unexpected,
on final judgement vow,
we don’t know how,
When will it happen,
Now!
Beggars Can’t Be Choosers
Beggars can’t be choosers
When they’re manipulative users,
So while you’ve still got a choice
Don’t use your voice
To whine and plead –
Don’t beg,
Take the lead –
Go ahead
Make it happen,
Do what you need for your own satisfaction,
Then bask
In never having to ask
When everything you wanted is right within grasp –
It really is a simple task
To take off that pathetic mask,
And put in some real effort on your own behalf,
And stand back and admire the changing view
And have the last laugh at those who doubted you.
(c) Gemma Hinton 14/6/15
hour 14 poem
the Garden in full bloom
the tables empty
the smell of hot chocolate
filling the house
with No children
from the neighbour s party
birthdays
turn children
into adults
now and then
Two wrongs don’t make a right.
A Drifter and a traveler,
were always solider of fortune,
travelling on trail of time,
sinking in their experiences,
of burning and bruises,
of marks on skin which weren’t enough to bleed,
of fire which was still alive with air they breathe,
seeking their way out of hit,
They meet on a path,
they share little magic but they knew,
Two wrongs don’t make a right,
even if they want to…
Sixteen…
I need some time
some tiiime
some tiiimmme
(sometime)
She screamed into the night
from the corners of her mind
softly
so softly it hurt
hurt her heart
hurt her heart deep
(no time for sestina)
*weep*
Let Go, Or Be Dragged….A Zen Proverb
Daylight spills over the edges of the mountain.
It is morning and I have not slept yet.
Seems I should let go, or be dragged.
This pen pieces prose, or poems almost by rote.
I struggle to determine it’s value or valor.
Seems I should let go, or be dragged.
What part of my human brain is responsible
for this stubbornness to sleep before
this deed is done?
Seems I should let go or be dragged.