- Author
- 04/21/2016
- 709 Words
- 1,271 Views
- 13 Comments
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Occasional Poetry - 21. NaPoWriMo Week 3
em>I claim each and every error as my own. Thanks to Val for prompts, Tim for encouragement, and AC for inspiration.
APRIL 15
The trouble with my mirror's that
it always makes me look too fat.
Reflecting on my own behind,
the mirror is just too unkind.
It does no justice to my face,
my dear, I look so commonplace!
Another of its gross misdeeds,
it thinks my hairline now recedes.
The mirror says it's being fair,
that it just shows me what is there;
but I don't see its honesty,
describing me immodestly
as being shaped just like a pear!
It's going to drive me to despair.
Oh, mirror can't you just one day
forget the physics to obey?
I don't need gorgeous, grand or cute,
I need to look good in this suit.
APRIL 16
I call upon that love so deep
to bless and hold you as you weep;
and may such love that broad and high
dry every tear, hear every sigh.
I pray the love that has no end
your hurt and sadness to attend;
and not in some amorphous way,
but by each face throughout the day.
I bid the love that lights the stars
to bind your wounds and fade your scars;
and may that love made manifest
keep watch with you and give you rest.
APRIL 17
Pollen, like rumor, drifts airborne, unseen.
Its news irritates, accumulates, intensifies
in subtle ranks or trapped in corners.
Green gossiped buds release messages maddening to the eyes,
running them red with tears.
Branches collect tales to make hearers allergic to further detail,
and every mouth an open flower,
decked in choicest, colorful, fecund story.
Warm breeze, exhaled,
carries all aloft.
Unnumbered wild bees are far too few to fertilize every situation.
And later, the chatty, whispering trees release
whole clouds of irresponsible speculation.
APRIL 18
I quietly lived my life alone
when a song broke out within my soul.
The melody cracked my silent stone
to release the stream that made me whole.
No popular background music this,
not the stuff of bank or airport bar.
Its quality pierced the ear with bliss,
like the velvet night pierced by a star.
I understood stillness, single, one,
but the music went on unceasing.
You entered my walls, now I am done;
and my spirit its hymns releasing.
APRIL 19
Now the desolation of the inward spirit,
now the empty, silent halls;
now all planning, thinking, waiting, has no merit,
useless echo on the walls.
Once prepared and keen to fight the noble battle,
once made ready, full of hope,
once full confident of lance and shield and saddle,
now all strewn upon the slope.
Here the blooms wave cheerful in the bleak destruction,
Here a face in grey repose,
Here the youth lies victim of the last seduction,
Once who sniffed a crimson rose.
Tell me what the reason was that killed my lover?
Tell me why he marched to die?
Tell me who decided on this field, no other,
here the meadow he should lie?
Who can know the processes of thought,
that with so much so very little bought?
APRIL 20
Sunlight on sunglasses,
Fresh cut green scented grasses,
Great place for passes.
Easy laughter smiles
Amusement happily whiles
As midday beguiles.
Later, sun may frown;
Together, evening may crown
Fields made out of down.
APRIL 21
Today I saw my God edge near my chair;
his movement subtle caught my weary eye.
I wondered what the deity did there;
was this the dreadful moment I must die?
I looked at God, and he gazed calmly back;
what ploy divine did he have up his sleeve?
He was no fearsome angel white or black,
but just a simple man, a touch naive.
They say that when you die, your sorry life
replays within your mind all in a trice.
I know my own unwound in howling strife,
yet God moved closer still, it felt so nice.
I died then in your arms, and yet survive;
for by your kiss I'm never more alive.
em>Please leave a review if anything moves you...thank you.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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