Ever

Take flight / spirit / spiral
To the gods / to the essence

Place the lessons / in yourself
Find the passions / in yourself

Ever cycling / never flitting
Take flight / spirit / spiral

And then / spirit / spiral home

/ / /

This poem was written using twelve words from Wordle 358 at The Sunday Whirl.

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Dealing

The teacher / thinking of retirement
Dealt out the test / like playing cards
Everyone got the same / but it wasn’t fair
Because the children had been dealt / different hands
By their mothers / and fathers / and lack thereof

/ / /

This poem was written to the deal poem prompt all the way back on the Day 10 challenge in April at Poetic Asides.

Battle Wounds

The soldier makes his way / along the trail
His battle is for survival / of his colony and queen

Starvation is the enemy / until the foe
Unleashes their chemical weapons / and he is lost
The trail is gone to him / and he is alone

To be cut off / from his kind
Is the deepest wound / not to be of service
As his colony is being attacked / and destroyed

/ / /

This poem was written to the “Battle (blank)” prompt all the way back on the Day 9 challenge in April at Poetic Asides. This poem was also inspired by the Day Nine prompt at NaPoWriMo.

Family

Father casts a spell / that starts the morning
The aroma of coffee brewing / and the kitchen light on

Son casts his spell / bringing noise
His good morning to the father / who grunts in reply

Dog casts her spell / bringing joy
Her gentle licks / and wagging tail
Bringing son / and father / into full waking
Now they are a family again

/ / /

This poem was written to the family poem prompt all the way back on the Day 8 challenge in April at Poetic Asides. This poem was also inspired by the Day Eight prompt at NaPoWriMo.

The Tower has Called

The Tower has Called

Heed their Call:
Tower over others

Treat yourself to a Shot, honey
Take a breath, shoot
Breathe, honey, breathe

Tell the truth, do no Harm

We’ve seen your Tell
We’re calling your Bluff

Standing on the Bluff
The Tower in the distance
The sound of a Fiddle
Alone, late at night

Take the Pass
Alone, late at night

Pass on your Fiddle
Before it’s too late

They’re calling from the Bluff

Heed their Call:
It’s okay to Bluff

They’re calling from the Pass

Heed their Call:
Pass it on

/ / /

This poem was written using the twelve words from Wordle 356 at The Sunday Whirl.

Shell out some money

Shell out some money
For a limbo contest
See how low you can go

The children are nowhere to be seen
Nor can you hear their rattles
Their laughter

Slide through the ring of spectators
Snapping images on their phones
Pit yourself against yourself

The children are safe
No blades are in their reach
No pills to be swallowed

The spectators gasp at your prowess
After the contest, slip some money to the concierge
To make sure your sheets are turned down

That same night, not in a hotel
Their children go to sleep on cots
No arms folded around them for comfort

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the twelve words of Wordle 357 at The Sunday Whirl.

lounging in nowstalgia

i never get carded anymore
too much gray at my temples
and in my beard

moving as I am towards the grave
as we all are

whatever machines we drive

or which ride us
grind us down so gradually
we don’t notice

we are no longer grooving
to the hip music
we were never groovy really

with our cassette mixtapes
and eight-tracks
so uncool

now we are
in the groove the rut
we said we’d never fill

yet so much happier
lounging on the couch
our sagging butts

on leather cushions
binge-watching Netflix
and sipping pinot noir

asking your spouse
to turn up the volume
because our hearing is going

or playing cards
hearts preferably
with friends

than going out to some
bar or club or lounge
sitting on stools or chairs

with tight plastic cushions
some symbol of youth
with our uncushioned butts

grinding hips
with your love
or your lust

the volume of the music
so loud
you must lean in close

colliding beautifully
on the dance floor
thus couching your love

to the beats
of the drum
machine

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the baker’s dozen of words of Wordle 278 at The Sunday Whirl.

no sense of time

no sense of time
weekday? weekend?
no structure of school
how many days
was it?
     my mom remembers

the boys that teased me
that first night
older? younger?
just bullies?
     or was it the place?

that girl
who died
was it cancer?
what kind was it?
     her parents remember

were there windows
in all the rooms?
i can’t see them
     fear of heights or
     other fears?

my eighth birthday
i don’t remember what presents I got
or asked for
or the kind of cake
     probably wished
     to be home

how many days
in isolation?
i called it solitary confinement
like Hilts and Ives
in the cooler
     had I seen The Great Escape
     with my dad yet?
     he would remember

/ / /

This poem comes from Impromptu #8 by Harold Abramowitz at The Found Poetry Review:

Write something you cannot remember: a memory of something – a story, an anecdote, a song, another poem, a recipe, an episode of a television program, anything, that you only partially or imperfectly remember. Write multiple versions, at least 6, of this memory.

Walking Meditation

Walking meditation
The rhythm of my feet and my arms
I realize I am whistling

Noticing my thoughts
But not trying to think them
Wondering who I am
Trying not to think that

Then the other voices come in
How will you save your soul?
Can you find nirvana?

Remind myself I’m meditating
The rhythm of my feet and my arms
Was I whistling again?

Coming back to my thoughts
But not trying to think them
Being in who I am
This body that is not my body

Then the other voices come in
How will you save your soul?
Can you find nirvana?

Then it happens
I’m not thinking
I’m just moving
And not whistling

Then the other voices come in
How will you save your soul?
Can you find nirvana?

Remind myself I’m meditating
The rhythm of my feet and my arms
I was definitely whistling

/ / /

This poem is in response to Impromptu 5 by Sarah Blake at The Found Poetry Review: Pick a song that you find dynamic. Track its moves. Try to replicate that movement with a poem.

The song I chose was “The Walker” by Fitz and The Tantrums.

While I’m keeping up with my ELJ Write Now: 30/30 Project poem, I’m also trying to write a poem a day this month. I worked on some poems yesterday, but since it was my wedding anniversary, I did not get very much written or posted yesterday. Trying to get caught up today.