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.

A sense is a feeling

Touch is a true sense / a feeling
Taste is a true sense / frozen lemonade / on a hot day / at Disneyland

But can we say that / of sight
We don’t feel the photons / hitting rods and cones
We don’t feel the molecules / of lemongrass / in our nostrils
We don’t feel the soundwaves / of Thelonious Monk / on Relaxin’ with Lee

But don’t tell me Starry Night does not move you
Or that the smell of chocolate chip cookies / baking
Doesn’t take you back / to your childhood
And / well / Monk’s touch on the piano / isn’t sublime

A thought is a sense / a memory is a sense
A dream is a sense / as is a nightmare
We have more senses / than we know / what to do with
How could we limit / ourselves to just five

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the day seven prompt at Poetic Asides to write a senses poem.

Ham Salad

You are neither ham / nor are you salad
At yet, you are no imposter / I don’t feel jilted
You are delicious
Which is more than I can say / for other imposters
Who do leave me feeling disappointed / and angry
They paint this picture postcard / view of themselves
But reality is not a postcard / or a poem
They impose this view of themselves / on me
But it does not hold / as an image / or a poem
It is a sham / unlike you / ham salad sandwich
You are delicious

/ / /

This poem was written to the day five prompt at Poetic Asides to write a food poem. I was also inspired by the craft resource from day five at NaPoWriMo: Some Thoughts on the Integrity of the Single Line in Poetry by Alberto Rios.

Impulse to Circle

What is the impulse to escape? Where do we move to?
Do we move as if dancing? As if singing?
Or is the sad truth that we don’t move at all?

After we retire, how do we light our way?
Down which corridors do we linger?
Will we reminisce in public spaces?

How ingracious of me to decide
everything for us.
Despite your longings, everything
you said to the contrary.

You evoke brilliant points
and scholarly arguments,
to which I am accustomed,
until you part from me.

And I am sorry, humbled,
for all those years;
and then I walk upwards,
continually resolving to listen.


/ / /

This poem was written to the day five prompt at NaPoWriMo, reacting “both to photography and to words in a language not your own.” I used the photograph below, and the poem was “Que exíguo impulso se move e não esquecemos?” by Rui Cóias.

marcus-puschmann-black-and-white-photograph-4

Delana. “Moving Monochrome: 7 Black-&-White Photographers.” WebUrbanist, 10 July 2013, weburbanist.com/2008/11/13/black-and-white-monochrome-photographers-and-photographs/.

“Rui Cóias.” [Que Exíguo Impulso Se Move e Não Esquecemos?] (Rui Cóias) · Lyrikline.org, http://www.lyrikline.org/en/poems/que-exiguo-impulso-se-move-e-nao-esquecemos-13574#.WtFycdPwau5.

Intelligence

What is nowadays common
is nonsense over sense.
What was still is.
Moving forward is not
on the agenda, so
it is time for the not common.

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the day five “intelligence” prompt at Poetic Asides. It is a golden shovel based on a Voltaire quote: “Common sense is not so common.”