Poem 23: The Terror
In the winter of 1849
– or so we think –
the wooden bones of The Terror
were finally broken.
Encroaching ice claimed
this stubborn blight
on a wild frozen sea
without remorse.
Those still seeking its shelter
were doomed to walk
stark glacial landscapes
ravenous and afraid.
What we have left of them
are rusted rifles, stone cairns
and bones gnawed
in desperation.
Hour 12. Captain’s Log (A sonnet)
Leafing through the pages of the Captain’s log
of meandering voyages through sea and sand
in the dusk’s fading hours relaxing inland
looking for glimmering light through dense fog.
Assessing the gains and losses of time,
skirmishes won and tough battles lost,
straggling at last through the winning post,
realized in the end that life was a mime.
Agonies endless had been many a score,
ecstasies have been not less but more.
Countless have I shed bushels of tears,
have been haunted by numerous endless fears.
Yet , happily do I set down this song
counting seconds ticking till the final GONG !
Hour 24 – Close – Text Prompt
Close to the end, Daybreak in sight
I’ve made it through day and harrowing night
And while it was a journey I come away from
I made it not alone, but with all of you.
While the sun yet rises I hear sleep call my name
And I know that after this things won’t be the same
We laughed, we cried, we empathized, we grew
And learned new things we previously never knew
We entered strangers, we made new bonds,
Some may prove weak while others strong
And while we entered in different boats,
We stand united, and far more close.
Sleep (Hour 24)
Sleep, dear, sleep when this marathon is over,
and flag off yet another one
as you plumb the depths of slumber.
May you find succor
in the womb of the subconscious.
Release your tiredness
into the stream of refreshing.
You shall yet awake
to the refreshing dews of life
when you come up
from the stream of sleep.
Poem 22: Country roads
Once this land was swathed
in forests dark and knowing
Every acre was crawling with life
from soil to treetop
Now you marvel at quaint country roads
spotting a thrush or a lone fox
Without knowing what is lost,
and may never be regained.
Sleep
Sleep,
how I long for it
I’ve fallen prisoner to writing poems these last 3 hours
dosing off repeatedly
not sure what I posted
these last 3
Poem : Daisy-dotted umbrella
waiting for you on a cramped balcony
fills me with fear
what do I have to offer you,
but cheap plastic chairs?
Your text was a curt ‘maybe’
but still I hope
Will I see your umbrella, dotted with daisies,
or does the rain keep you away?
Hour 23 (2022)
In my quietest hours
when I feel the loneliness
settle heavily in my chest,
grief is there, haunting me.
Sometimes it stays
longer than it is welcome.
And other times I miss it
when my chest feels so empty
that I cannot seem to breathe.
So many days,
I don’t want to breathe.
But I do.
I have no other choice,
because grief is a ghost
and so are you.
I am here
I am here- are you ready for me
I am here,
still and ready
Calm and accepting.
On the outside,
While, storms rage deep within,
They’re busy gathering my rage and inspiration
to fuel my expression.
My fearless motivation.
My cowardly courage.
All in the name of
owning all that I am.
Purely,
unabashedly,
unapologetically
Me.
Welcome to my world,
my whirlwind of emotions,
where the words keep flowing,
while my heart continually feels strongly about everything.
I am inspired,
ready as ever,
to unleash my thoughts onto paper.
Is the world ready for me?