Hour Four – One Journey
One world, one journey:
The Path to Enlightenment;
The Road Less Travelled.
Judy Klemos
A Small Irish Iliad
Naoise tied a red string in her hair
And whispered her name.
Deirdre, with the voice of the forest;
Deirdre, with the litheness of the sparrow;
Deirdre, with the song of the three rivers;
May the music of your body beat
To the rhythm of those who came before us.
May our love, even in death, grow.
#4 Good Morning
“Good Morning” I Chirp
As I walk into work
“Is it?” you ask
To be honest
The answer is “No”
I would rather be on my Treasure Island
Where soft moonlight falls on me
After hours of toiling at your sweatshop
No Newbs Please, We’re SF
You can’t say sci-fi
If you want us to take you
Seriously
Don’t use time travel
Post-modern SF holds it
Unrealistic
Any fool can write,
But science fiction is a
Highly refined art
Prompt: Genre poetry
Form: Linked haikus
#4 – The secret in your bag
You got the secret in your bag
Your bag is in the middle of the road
Exactly in the middle of the crossroad
There is no cat in your bag
But nobody knows it
Nobody knows
The secret is in your bag
The secret of the cell division
Happening just there
In your bag of cells
The secret is in your bag
Don’t forget it too long
Just there on the crossroad
It will be crashed down
You don’t want to lose
The secret in your bag
The secret is nothing
But nobody knows
But you
That the secret that is nothing
Is in your bag in danger
Come on take it with you now
The secret in your bag
Will soon change your life
For the baggy secret
That you reward yourself with
Will be soon the best of your life
Listen to me Son don’t be fool
Your bag is in the middle of the road
Exactly in the middle of the crossroad
There is no cat in your bag
But nobody knows it
Nobody knows
The secret is in your bag
Scar (4)
While the bees buzzed and the trees sighed,
I was not yet created.
You were only ten
Moving in unknown terrain
Seeking their attention
Desperate to belong.
I was poised at the end of the tree thorn
Waiting to bestow upon your brow
The kiss of pain and blood
That will mark you for the rest of your life
Reminding you that you do
Not need their acceptance.
I, birthed by flesh torn without feeling or sound.
When you emerged from the forest with your prize
Crimson rivers along your nose
Comrades running to your aid, to
Repair the tear rent in the
Tapestry of your face.
I am still here, pale and shiny with age
A reminder of a time
When you sought approval from those
Unworthy of your presence.
I am here reminding you to
Approve of yourself.
#4
This is not a love poem to a person.
I have left many of them behind, and
none of them have chosen to stowaway
in my heart or mind or otherwise to be remembered.
This is not a love poem to the home
I left behind, with its noise of televisions
and radios and all that constant…
This is not a rant.
This isn’t even a letter, for it is not
meant to be sent, or read,
as the recipient would have no eyes.
This is a monologue of a
loner who is not lonely, but perhaps…
nostalgic, of the colours
left behind, in the third planet,
as we belong now to the red.
Inspired by the writing prompt, written having Mars One project in mind.
Rachel
She had eyes the colour of the Islay Sea.
Her hair silk and russet. Against the paleness of
her marked skin.There was strength
in her that burned…. a quasar. When she spoke
you listened. As if someone had whispered
into your soul. With that it grasped your heart
filling it with awe. A catalyst engulfing you
with desire to do a little more.Create
something beautiful. A woman who’s inner
light is Sirius. And unlike any other.
She is Osmium. Tá sí an bhean Is breá liom.