- Author
- 04/14/2016
- 747 Words
- 2,124 Views
- 16 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 - 20. NaPoWriMo 2016 Week Two
Days 8-14: all errors are mine. Thanks to Val, AC and Tim for prompts and help.
APRIL 8
The river gently called today
a conversation to begin;
insistent in her quiet way,
my ear's attention tried to win.
She varies so capriciously,
now frowning dark and raging white,
then speaking right judiciously,
or gossiping into the night.
I knew we had to talk, although
the topic brought no comfort near.
I listened to her rhythms slow
and knew she'd spoken to my fear.
Tomorrow I will bring my friend
to meet her in her greening dress.
Together we may start or end,
perhaps a passion to profess;
But not before we've heard her sing
her ancient haunting melody;
So in our hearts, its echoing
confirms our souls' fidelity.
APRIL 9
Explain
to foolish e
why π is far more famed;
irrationally beautiful,
it smiles.
Abstruse,
perplexing e, geometry
can't comprehend your scope;
fame favors π.
Poor e.
APRIL 10
Furious faceoff;
frantic, ferocious fight for
fast, fleeting foray.
Persistent passing
patiently prepares precise
picture-perfect point.
Delayed decisions
deflate dogged, determined
dirty defenders.
APRIL 11
A flibberdigibbet passed me by,
I asked for the skinny, he asked me why;
'twas then I let out a curmudgeonly sigh,
and all when the sun climbed high.
My clodhopper colleague went off his way,
for no information could he parlay ,
to a crotchety greybeard at rest on the hay,
and all on a summer's day.
I ought to be glad I knew nothing of use;
a kerfuffle in town put him in the cayuse,
where the bamboozled deputy said "what the deuce!"
when a man he tried to seduce.
That night at the jail, a hullaballoo!
There was shouting and yelling; shots fired, too,
for my scalawag friend slipped away from their view -
they say he showed up in Peru.
APRIL 12
You spoke aloud a single word;
it flew about, a frightened bird
within a room, without release.
It was too late, for I had heard.
My startled heart would have no peace,
its loud tattoo refused to cease.
Your solitary word appalled,
I feared its urgent song's reprise.
And yet your word held me enthralled,
I knew it was your soul that called
to penetrate my windowed lair
where safely I remained installed.
No refuge could continue there,
you forced me venture out to dare,
to tame the feathered thing that flew
and with its wings disturbed the air.
That single word was life anew;
I pray you'll have no cause to rue
the moment when my spirit stirred,
for I can't help but love you, too.
APRIL 13
I heard friend Flicker drilling on his tree,
And thinking in that moment did I find
myself in an epistolary mind.
What message could I write in timpani?
What note or composition could unwind
from man to bird in morning's clearest light?
What wisdom, mirth or solace could I write
my feathered correspondent, soon entwined
in avian embraces made in flight?
If I could write a word he'd understand,
I'd thank him for his vernal thought so grand
it made me shudder, thinking in delight -
So much that I will tell it to you now,
my lips devising lyrics on your brow.
note: a Flicker is a species of woodpecker common in eastern North America.
APRIL 14
Out in the marsh reeds, winter thinking snow;
sitting in a duck blind as the waters flow,
thinking lonely thoughts while the frigid breezes blow;
where did the soft, kind summer mornings go?
Out in the marsh reeds, decoys on the lake,
thinking how you're gone, my heart begins to break.
Fleeing from the bed, where sleepless I awake,
why am I hunting helpless duck and drake?
Out in the marsh reeds, under leaden sky,
hearing now the flocks come, overhead they fly,
Raising now the shotguns, muzzles lifted high;
I cannot do this, cowering, I cry.
Out in the marsh reeds, none will hear me fire.
Barrel pointed inwards, conscience screaming, 'liar!'
Pushing trigger gently, I'd land in the mire.
Who would retrieve me, light my funeral pyre?
Out in the marsh reeds, sitting cold and numb;
weeping that I've lost you, feeling overcome
momentary madness, almost I succumb;
Now empty moments' endlessness I plumb.
i>Comment, rant, review; I'd love to hear from you. Your responses will be noted by a poet so devoted.
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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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