Egress and Ingress
Smudge knew he was not an accomplished thief, too much lurching
In his movements - the blackouts didn’t help much either - once he had woken
Up feeling quite scaly covered with an old oil cloth that felt like a thick membrane
Covering his face making him want to sift the debris as quickly as he could
In search of a few fallen coppers that might buy him some asparagus
As stolen stale bread just felt prickly in his stomach
Watching the butcher slaughter his wares only made him tremble
He didn’t think he ever be able to take a blade and skewer something to death
Who ever his mother was he imagined she had a gentle soul
Off to the back alley the old craftsman - that’s where he’d huddle under
The rickety steps and fall asleep to the rhythmic pounding of the man
Who pounded pewter - would he ever eat off of a plate...
A gentle hand woke Smudge, this was new - mostly he’d always been roughed up
Searched for whatever he’d been able to find that was of any value -
“Boy, you might want a warmer bed, aye?”
The older boys’ face seemed to glow like an angel with the moon playing with his features
“You’ve come at a most opportune time for me...As I’m wanting to leave”
Smudge was gently scooped up and carried still half sleeping
Placed on a bed of straw inside a very small room - “You’ll be fed here too”
The whispered voice continued... “Just be honest and do your best”
With that the older boy backed away ...backed far far away into another life
JulesPaige/davh (April 30, 2012)
Process notes: I went looking for the new word list at Rosemarymint - it wasn’t up yet, so I used last weeks’ which fit quite well to continue the story of ‘Lackluster Lackey’ - enjoy.
http://julesgemsandstuff.blogspot.com/2012/04/lackluster-lackey-sunday-whirl-wordle.html
So some of the words fit better than others... and using a word for a name is an easy out...
as the saying goes; ‘It's’ all good.’
1) tremble 2) prickly 3) lurch 4) asparagus 5) blackout 6) copper 7) scaly
8) smudge 9) skewer 10) sift 11) membrane 12) slaughter
http://rosemarymint.wordpress.com/2012/04/23/monday-melting-week-14/
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Lackluster Lackey (Sunday Whirl Wordle #54)
Lackluster Lackey
His mother loved green emeralds, they reminded her of the sea
Though she only had but the one stone set in silver on a chain
Around her neck that seemed to bind her to her husband...
His father loved pewter, actually beating the metal from nuggets
Into usable plates, bowls and simple mugs - he was competent enough
To support his family, a craftsman without an artistic flair
They didn’t seem to require much, that pair - from what his eye
Could see, they loved to squander their earnings to accommodate him,
Their only adopted son - if used clothes, straw bed, and candy bits were enough
In the little shop on the lane, rooms above for living
With its’ back door leading to the rickety steps, down to the alley
Where at night the homeless often picked through their trash
Was he really all that selfish to not want that intractable life
He wanted to follow the migrating flocks...and be free of this time forgotten fife
Perhaps tomorrow he would find the courage to tell them he was leaving
On the next merchant ship to dock, they wouldn’t miss him would they?
If he could find them a replacement boy...like the one he’d spied stealing bread
Surely he’d want a warm bed and a chance to be molded
Into another replica of the working stiff, who rose at dawn
And fell into a dead man’s sleep after a hard day’s labor
After downing simple stew that seemed to drain hope of anything different...
JulesPaige/davh (4/29/2012)
Process notes: Perhaps this came from my own feelings about my current job? Waiting for that other door of opportunity to open wide and call my name :)
lane, alley, sea, eye, squander, accommodate, flocks, green, follow, pewter, beating, intractable Wordle #54 For the Sunday Whirl
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/29/wordle-54/
Though written a different word list this could be the second in this series
http://julesgemsandstuff.blogspot.com/2012/04/egress-and-ingress-for-monday-melting.html
His mother loved green emeralds, they reminded her of the sea
Though she only had but the one stone set in silver on a chain
Around her neck that seemed to bind her to her husband...
His father loved pewter, actually beating the metal from nuggets
Into usable plates, bowls and simple mugs - he was competent enough
To support his family, a craftsman without an artistic flair
They didn’t seem to require much, that pair - from what his eye
Could see, they loved to squander their earnings to accommodate him,
Their only adopted son - if used clothes, straw bed, and candy bits were enough
In the little shop on the lane, rooms above for living
With its’ back door leading to the rickety steps, down to the alley
Where at night the homeless often picked through their trash
Was he really all that selfish to not want that intractable life
He wanted to follow the migrating flocks...and be free of this time forgotten fife
Perhaps tomorrow he would find the courage to tell them he was leaving
On the next merchant ship to dock, they wouldn’t miss him would they?
If he could find them a replacement boy...like the one he’d spied stealing bread
Surely he’d want a warm bed and a chance to be molded
Into another replica of the working stiff, who rose at dawn
And fell into a dead man’s sleep after a hard day’s labor
After downing simple stew that seemed to drain hope of anything different...
JulesPaige/davh (4/29/2012)
Process notes: Perhaps this came from my own feelings about my current job? Waiting for that other door of opportunity to open wide and call my name :)
lane, alley, sea, eye, squander, accommodate, flocks, green, follow, pewter, beating, intractable Wordle #54 For the Sunday Whirl
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/29/wordle-54/
Though written a different word list this could be the second in this series
http://julesgemsandstuff.blogspot.com/2012/04/egress-and-ingress-for-monday-melting.html
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Flowers for Leontien
Flowers for Leontien
My own favorite flower is the Spider Crysanthimum
I held on to the bouquet along with three white roses
On my wedding day...
An almost autumn wedding day
So close that I chose auburn gowns for my ‘maids’
The roses were to honor a grandfather
Who in his later years cultivated with tender care
Those plants and blooms requiring a gentle touch
He passed away just days before I was born
In the winter of his life, in the fall...
What strength can we find in the simple structure
Of the fleeting lace work of nature?
Hope, renewal, awakening...these are my gifts for Leontien...
JulesPaige/davh (April 28, 2012)
http://www.aruraljournal.com/p/flowers-for-leontien.html
Process notes: while visiting another friend I learned of and lend support as I am able, to:
Leontien...
My own favorite flower is the Spider Crysanthimum
I held on to the bouquet along with three white roses
On my wedding day...
An almost autumn wedding day
So close that I chose auburn gowns for my ‘maids’
The roses were to honor a grandfather
Who in his later years cultivated with tender care
Those plants and blooms requiring a gentle touch
He passed away just days before I was born
In the winter of his life, in the fall...
What strength can we find in the simple structure
Of the fleeting lace work of nature?
Hope, renewal, awakening...these are my gifts for Leontien...
JulesPaige/davh (April 28, 2012)
http://www.aruraljournal.com/p/flowers-for-leontien.html
Process notes: while visiting another friend I learned of and lend support as I am able, to:
Leontien...
Friday, April 27, 2012
Road Warrior
Road Warrior
Fluent in the abnormal droning of muttering
Cuss words under his breath
He found it hard to be all that shaken,
It was easy to spit onto the blank canvas of the shoulder
Of the roadway - the juice of his mouth creating abstract art
After a brief moment offering a blank stare
To what ever Motorcycle Gods there might be...
He began to hum as he retrieved some needed tools
As he waited for the engine to stop smoking -
The grind would come later, when he would have to explain
To Delores why he was late when he had promised to
Take the car instead of what he thought was his trusty steed...
JulesPaige/davh (April 27, 2012)
Process notes; written for
http://rosemarymint.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/thursday-melting/
hum, muttering, juice, spit, abnormal, smoking, fluent, grind, shaken, blank
Really sometimes these lists just take on a life of their own - I saw this challenge in two places and my muse just would not let me pass it by :)
Fluent in the abnormal droning of muttering
Cuss words under his breath
He found it hard to be all that shaken,
It was easy to spit onto the blank canvas of the shoulder
Of the roadway - the juice of his mouth creating abstract art
After a brief moment offering a blank stare
To what ever Motorcycle Gods there might be...
He began to hum as he retrieved some needed tools
As he waited for the engine to stop smoking -
The grind would come later, when he would have to explain
To Delores why he was late when he had promised to
Take the car instead of what he thought was his trusty steed...
JulesPaige/davh (April 27, 2012)
Process notes; written for
http://rosemarymint.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/thursday-melting/
hum, muttering, juice, spit, abnormal, smoking, fluent, grind, shaken, blank
Really sometimes these lists just take on a life of their own - I saw this challenge in two places and my muse just would not let me pass it by :)
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Sorcery
Sorcery
Pretending to be mute was hard enough...But it helped with survival,
And that is what mattered wasn’t it? Living for some greater purpose -
And ‘Here-Boy’ as he was simply known
Supposed it had all come down to this...
After years of watching the cruel wizard take and take, deceiving peasants,
Courtiers, and kings...Here-Boy had been left alone with the Master’s books.
And especially the eldest that held the deepest secrets...
The One that he’d read over the old transformers shoulders
The body that was most often bent and huddled when not presented in some
Masked form of youth, agility and effervescent cunning.
Here-Boy didn’t even know if he was really an orphan or if he had just been
‘Pressed’ into service for the role he was about to play...
Which if caught would most certainly be the last thing he would ever do, he thought...
There on the center table was the oldest spell book, surely it had to have been stolen
From its’ rightful owner because it was truly the only thing of real beauty that existed
Within the dank and damp tower walls of this fortress
Slowly Here-Boy approached the book - For he felt that he had been personally invited...
More than once perhaps hundreds of times in preparation for this moment
Gifted with careful instructions as the pages gracefully turned themselves
To give him guidance and encouragement over his seemly lengthy internment
This silver full lit blue moon provided all the necessary light for gently bathing
The parchment pages - And with the wizard gone to charm the riches from
Another kingdom, supposedly the old man would not be able to return fast enough to stop
Here-Boy’s utterances’ that would destroy every evil twisted scheme torn from this book
It seemed the gilded eye within the pyramid that adorned the cover winked just before
Turning to almost the very middle of the book where the hint of a hidden page seemed
Unfold with its’ elegant script just waiting for Here-Boy and his virgin voice to softly sing
And repeat the spell until each and every word turned into a bird and flew out the window...
JulesPaige/davh
April 25, 2012 written for Douglas Robersons’ prompt:
http://writingourwayhome.ning.com/group/poetryfromart/forum/topics/poetry-from-art-15-4-12
Process notes: the last verse, well actually the last line was the first thing I thought of when I saw Douglas' artwork. And thus another story-poem is borne...
Pretending to be mute was hard enough...But it helped with survival,
And that is what mattered wasn’t it? Living for some greater purpose -
And ‘Here-Boy’ as he was simply known
Supposed it had all come down to this...
After years of watching the cruel wizard take and take, deceiving peasants,
Courtiers, and kings...Here-Boy had been left alone with the Master’s books.
And especially the eldest that held the deepest secrets...
The One that he’d read over the old transformers shoulders
The body that was most often bent and huddled when not presented in some
Masked form of youth, agility and effervescent cunning.
Here-Boy didn’t even know if he was really an orphan or if he had just been
‘Pressed’ into service for the role he was about to play...
Which if caught would most certainly be the last thing he would ever do, he thought...
There on the center table was the oldest spell book, surely it had to have been stolen
From its’ rightful owner because it was truly the only thing of real beauty that existed
Within the dank and damp tower walls of this fortress
Slowly Here-Boy approached the book - For he felt that he had been personally invited...
More than once perhaps hundreds of times in preparation for this moment
Gifted with careful instructions as the pages gracefully turned themselves
To give him guidance and encouragement over his seemly lengthy internment
This silver full lit blue moon provided all the necessary light for gently bathing
The parchment pages - And with the wizard gone to charm the riches from
Another kingdom, supposedly the old man would not be able to return fast enough to stop
Here-Boy’s utterances’ that would destroy every evil twisted scheme torn from this book
It seemed the gilded eye within the pyramid that adorned the cover winked just before
Turning to almost the very middle of the book where the hint of a hidden page seemed
Unfold with its’ elegant script just waiting for Here-Boy and his virgin voice to softly sing
And repeat the spell until each and every word turned into a bird and flew out the window...
JulesPaige/davh
April 25, 2012 written for Douglas Robersons’ prompt:
http://writingourwayhome.ning.com/group/poetryfromart/forum/topics/poetry-from-art-15-4-12
Process notes: the last verse, well actually the last line was the first thing I thought of when I saw Douglas' artwork. And thus another story-poem is borne...
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Dotted i's and Crossed T's
Dotted i’s and Crossed T’s
Humankind
So many variations on the same theme...
Human, kind?
Bags of bones, mostly water, mostly standing up right
While looking upside down - judging, comparing, so few seem satisfied
Human, unkind
Bag of bones, mostly water...salty water from eyes that leak
From too much of one thing or another - extremes, streaming, dreaming
Humanity the collective, the whole
Exploding population, expanding into space
Effervescent bubbles of thoughts forever seeking grace
Macro, micro, communities
Collections of accented communications
Some attempting to be good stewards of all the earth bound ‘lings’
Time revolves will ‘man’ resolve
All the bitter with the sweet?
It all depends on who you ask,
Those just passing by in fancy cars,
Those walking to and fro or
Those whose heads are held high with confidence or
Those who will barely lift their heads to see where their feet fall, to
Those actually living in the street...
~~~
There on the park bench, she sat
Tossing popcorn to the pigeons
While the world continued to pass her by
Once an artist, drawing words - unrecognizable
Compared to the photo on the dust jacket of the last published book...
She still had enough marbles to smile
At the babies in their strollers and sigh when they smiled back
They seemed to understand each other in their brief exchanged glances
As long as there was life perhaps for humankind there remained some chances...
JP/davh April 25, 2012 Written for; the prompt word Humankind: http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/prompt-103-its-post-your-poems-day/
Late but here none the less; process notes... I am not the woman on the bench...have not been published yet. And while it is one view, I did not mean 'her' to be homeless, just perhaps forgotten. I let the muse direct the flow and that is what happened in this case.
Humankind
So many variations on the same theme...
Human, kind?
Bags of bones, mostly water, mostly standing up right
While looking upside down - judging, comparing, so few seem satisfied
Human, unkind
Bag of bones, mostly water...salty water from eyes that leak
From too much of one thing or another - extremes, streaming, dreaming
Humanity the collective, the whole
Exploding population, expanding into space
Effervescent bubbles of thoughts forever seeking grace
Macro, micro, communities
Collections of accented communications
Some attempting to be good stewards of all the earth bound ‘lings’
Time revolves will ‘man’ resolve
All the bitter with the sweet?
It all depends on who you ask,
Those just passing by in fancy cars,
Those walking to and fro or
Those whose heads are held high with confidence or
Those who will barely lift their heads to see where their feet fall, to
Those actually living in the street...
~~~
There on the park bench, she sat
Tossing popcorn to the pigeons
While the world continued to pass her by
Once an artist, drawing words - unrecognizable
Compared to the photo on the dust jacket of the last published book...
She still had enough marbles to smile
At the babies in their strollers and sigh when they smiled back
They seemed to understand each other in their brief exchanged glances
As long as there was life perhaps for humankind there remained some chances...
JP/davh April 25, 2012 Written for; the prompt word Humankind: http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/prompt-103-its-post-your-poems-day/
Late but here none the less; process notes... I am not the woman on the bench...have not been published yet. And while it is one view, I did not mean 'her' to be homeless, just perhaps forgotten. I let the muse direct the flow and that is what happened in this case.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Sugar and Spice...
Sugar and Spice...
Ginger often got lost in the abstract views
on the other side of the bay window
in the library of the Victoria home
where she often spent the weekends with her Grandmother.
She would shimmy up onto the window seat
and fold herself like a thin decorated piece of origami paper
becoming an ethereal wisp of a girl -
like the fairy folk, princesses or other heroines
that were shelved in the closed books filling
the exquisitely carved dark cases that lined almost every wall.
This windswept wet spring afternoon was not ideal for seeking
the rainbows that could form from
the spangling crystals of the main chandler.
It was a fine one though for allowing daydreams to turn
the twirling maple seeds into a flock of petite dragons
whose sweet fermented breath could light birthday candles
on the cakes of lords and ladies dressed
in the fine pastels of birthing seasonal colors.
Her aches of missing home would vanish
with the cacophony of crashing thunder
which created a fitting coda to her time in this room
as she would jump with a start
and search through the maze of the house
to find comfort in the older woman’s waiting arms...
JP/davh (April 22, 2012)
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/22/anniversary-wordle/
Happy #52nd Wordle!! Find the words and others’ fine contributions at the Sunday Whirl!
Process notes: The wind in my maples, just before the rain late yesterday afternoon, actually created the power to knock off groups of seeds at a lazy pace that looked more like little tan dragons flying than helicopters twirling and that was the inspiration for ‘Sugar and Spice...’.
Ginger often got lost in the abstract views
on the other side of the bay window
in the library of the Victoria home
where she often spent the weekends with her Grandmother.
She would shimmy up onto the window seat
and fold herself like a thin decorated piece of origami paper
becoming an ethereal wisp of a girl -
like the fairy folk, princesses or other heroines
that were shelved in the closed books filling
the exquisitely carved dark cases that lined almost every wall.
This windswept wet spring afternoon was not ideal for seeking
the rainbows that could form from
the spangling crystals of the main chandler.
It was a fine one though for allowing daydreams to turn
the twirling maple seeds into a flock of petite dragons
whose sweet fermented breath could light birthday candles
on the cakes of lords and ladies dressed
in the fine pastels of birthing seasonal colors.
Her aches of missing home would vanish
with the cacophony of crashing thunder
which created a fitting coda to her time in this room
as she would jump with a start
and search through the maze of the house
to find comfort in the older woman’s waiting arms...
JP/davh (April 22, 2012)
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/22/anniversary-wordle/
Happy #52nd Wordle!! Find the words and others’ fine contributions at the Sunday Whirl!
Process notes: The wind in my maples, just before the rain late yesterday afternoon, actually created the power to knock off groups of seeds at a lazy pace that looked more like little tan dragons flying than helicopters twirling and that was the inspiration for ‘Sugar and Spice...’.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
The Reign of Uncertainty
The Reign of Uncertainty
There hovers a dark spirit
Over the unswept floor
And across the mantle of the
Doorless door
Who has the sacred sage
To cleanse and bless
What appears to be
A very fine mess
Of putting folks incharge
Who really have no clue
Of how to use the materials at hand
And to build with cohesive glue
A united staff willing to work together -
Instead in this sinking ship
It appears every ‘man’ is for ‘himself’
As those who should do not get the ‘pink-slip’
But are just shuffled around
To bring their destructive self
To each and every crevice
And every stock-able shelf
Who has the sacred sage
To cleanse and bless
What appears to be
A very fine mess
At the end of my humble little shift
I shake my head in disbelief
Wash my hands and quickly retreat
And heave a heavy sigh of relief
JP/davh
Process notes: A different ‘Spirit’ - The ‘new’ boss is a negative ball of wax.
There hovers a dark spirit
Over the unswept floor
And across the mantle of the
Doorless door
Who has the sacred sage
To cleanse and bless
What appears to be
A very fine mess
Of putting folks incharge
Who really have no clue
Of how to use the materials at hand
And to build with cohesive glue
A united staff willing to work together -
Instead in this sinking ship
It appears every ‘man’ is for ‘himself’
As those who should do not get the ‘pink-slip’
But are just shuffled around
To bring their destructive self
To each and every crevice
And every stock-able shelf
Who has the sacred sage
To cleanse and bless
What appears to be
A very fine mess
At the end of my humble little shift
I shake my head in disbelief
Wash my hands and quickly retreat
And heave a heavy sigh of relief
JP/davh
Process notes: A different ‘Spirit’ - The ‘new’ boss is a negative ball of wax.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Hot Cross Buns?
Hot Cross Buns?
At first glance things appear ‘normal’
But you can only hold your breath for so long
And then an unexpected exchange of words
Delivered with forceful energy and a flair for the dramatic,
Take the sweet beginnings of the day and stokes
The embers of uncertainty into full flames...
What tricks are the fates playing?
No one is any richer, and the pawns just feel another push
As managers are moved around to different store locations
The different members of our staff have to be flexible
There really is no choice, blend or leave.
So much for learning
The confectionery side of this new job
Stuck with the crusty job of bagging baked breads
For a little extra dough...
The door of opportunity plays hide and seek
Yet the fermentation of an idea blooms...
And I’ll rise to the occasion
Even if I have to wait a month or two,
I shall attempt patience
Knowing that eventually I can and will take leave
Of both the negative pith and unsavory wry
JP/ davh April 14, 2012
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/15/wordle-52-a-bakers-dozen/
For Wordle #52 appropriately enough a bakers’ dozen: sweet, richer, dramatic, forceful, tricks, push, glance, exchange, breath, flexible, blend
Process notes: Another list just falls into place - after not being at work for three days I walk in to be greeted with the news that the manager who hired me is transferring to another store. I am so looking forward to the day when I can say ‘I’m outta here’ as well. Maybe by the end of the summer I will have found something that I can like and live with or just ‘retire.’ But as my Hubby says, it’s the same old soup all over - just stirred with a different spoon.
At first glance things appear ‘normal’
But you can only hold your breath for so long
And then an unexpected exchange of words
Delivered with forceful energy and a flair for the dramatic,
Take the sweet beginnings of the day and stokes
The embers of uncertainty into full flames...
What tricks are the fates playing?
No one is any richer, and the pawns just feel another push
As managers are moved around to different store locations
The different members of our staff have to be flexible
There really is no choice, blend or leave.
So much for learning
The confectionery side of this new job
Stuck with the crusty job of bagging baked breads
For a little extra dough...
The door of opportunity plays hide and seek
Yet the fermentation of an idea blooms...
And I’ll rise to the occasion
Even if I have to wait a month or two,
I shall attempt patience
Knowing that eventually I can and will take leave
Of both the negative pith and unsavory wry
JP/ davh April 14, 2012
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/15/wordle-52-a-bakers-dozen/
For Wordle #52 appropriately enough a bakers’ dozen: sweet, richer, dramatic, forceful, tricks, push, glance, exchange, breath, flexible, blend
Process notes: Another list just falls into place - after not being at work for three days I walk in to be greeted with the news that the manager who hired me is transferring to another store. I am so looking forward to the day when I can say ‘I’m outta here’ as well. Maybe by the end of the summer I will have found something that I can like and live with or just ‘retire.’ But as my Hubby says, it’s the same old soup all over - just stirred with a different spoon.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Lamentation
Lamentation...
I know you...silently creeping
For seemingly no reason you present yourself
That part of me I bury deep
Seeping in forward in my dreams as I sleep
That emotion of remembrance
The one that is neither right or wrong
Just is, as the day begins with dawn
Providing no answers to me, your pawn
There the briefest of memories...
The lost mothers’ touch
The fathers unspoken words
Unlike some lost lambs I shall never be able to herd
The could have been opportunities that slipped away
The feeling of flight in the sky - that was not taken
During that most wonderful vacation
That was a once in a lifetime celebration
Do we dare name those strings that pull at our hearts
Of the losses shared and private...
I can only offer to those who will ask
That hugs I can share when we drop grief’s mask...
JP/davh (April 12, 2012)
Process Notes: For the prompt that wasn’t...That became a prompt for me...for Mary
Please visit the inspiration at:
http://inthecornerofmyeye.blogspot.com/2012/04/grief.html
I know you...silently creeping
For seemingly no reason you present yourself
That part of me I bury deep
Seeping in forward in my dreams as I sleep
That emotion of remembrance
The one that is neither right or wrong
Just is, as the day begins with dawn
Providing no answers to me, your pawn
There the briefest of memories...
The lost mothers’ touch
The fathers unspoken words
Unlike some lost lambs I shall never be able to herd
The could have been opportunities that slipped away
The feeling of flight in the sky - that was not taken
During that most wonderful vacation
That was a once in a lifetime celebration
Do we dare name those strings that pull at our hearts
Of the losses shared and private...
I can only offer to those who will ask
That hugs I can share when we drop grief’s mask...
JP/davh (April 12, 2012)
Process Notes: For the prompt that wasn’t...That became a prompt for me...for Mary
Please visit the inspiration at:
http://inthecornerofmyeye.blogspot.com/2012/04/grief.html
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
My Life as Pie
...My Life as Pie...
I suppose along with the burnt crust of experience
At this point I’d have to happily state I am that pie
That is full of cream, banana, coconut...doesn’t matter
I’m in your face!
I am hopefully making you laugh most of the time
If we did not share laughter would we drown in each others tears?
Laughter is supposed to make you live longer
Life is good.
I’ve got good family relationships - for the most part
Our home and family cars are paid for
I get to share my dreams with those who will listen
I’m in your face!
I have the everyday problems of every ‘middle-man’
News that’s downright frightening, climate that can’t make up its mind
Prejudice, pompous and rude people...I’d like to think - “They’ll get theirs”
Life is good.
I enjoy learning, I saved up my pennies from working hard
And got myself a gift, a new laptop computer, which I’m learning
To deal with the differences from the desktop which is faultering
I’m in your face!
But hopefully even after you’ve tasted and wiped away the cream
You will see that I’m just like you, mostly - yes we are different
That’s what make us interesting, the degrees of burnt crust
Life is good.
I’m not always a clown, tossing or receiving...
I’ve got a pile of odd socks and my kitchen sink - It always seems
To have something in it - so along with my populous dust bunnies...
me...I’m in your face!
Written for the prompt at:
http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2012/04/11/prompt-101-its-post-your-poems-day/
Process notes: I took a more personal approach to this prompt. Enjoy!
I suppose along with the burnt crust of experience
At this point I’d have to happily state I am that pie
That is full of cream, banana, coconut...doesn’t matter
I’m in your face!
I am hopefully making you laugh most of the time
If we did not share laughter would we drown in each others tears?
Laughter is supposed to make you live longer
Life is good.
I’ve got good family relationships - for the most part
Our home and family cars are paid for
I get to share my dreams with those who will listen
I’m in your face!
I have the everyday problems of every ‘middle-man’
News that’s downright frightening, climate that can’t make up its mind
Prejudice, pompous and rude people...I’d like to think - “They’ll get theirs”
Life is good.
I enjoy learning, I saved up my pennies from working hard
And got myself a gift, a new laptop computer, which I’m learning
To deal with the differences from the desktop which is faultering
I’m in your face!
But hopefully even after you’ve tasted and wiped away the cream
You will see that I’m just like you, mostly - yes we are different
That’s what make us interesting, the degrees of burnt crust
Life is good.
I’m not always a clown, tossing or receiving...
I’ve got a pile of odd socks and my kitchen sink - It always seems
To have something in it - so along with my populous dust bunnies...
me...I’m in your face!
Written for the prompt at:
http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2012/04/11/prompt-101-its-post-your-poems-day/
Process notes: I took a more personal approach to this prompt. Enjoy!
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
An acrosTic: NEW
New
Neat little,rows of letters on a new machine
Experimenting with the key board
Wiggling my fingers to and fro
Noticing that without a traditional mouse
Everything works differeintly
Wondering if I’ll ever get the hang of it
Nerves jumble, I mumble a few experlitives
Exasperated, but still plodding on
Working my way through different placements
Needing a how to guide - though I’m not sure
Entirely if it would help my addled brain meander or
Wander back onto the right track
Now wondering if I should have gotten that
External ‘critter’ at the same time instead of
Waiting....there’s always something new...
JP/davh (an acrosTic)
April 9, 2012An
Neat little,rows of letters on a new machine
Experimenting with the key board
Wiggling my fingers to and fro
Noticing that without a traditional mouse
Everything works differeintly
Wondering if I’ll ever get the hang of it
Nerves jumble, I mumble a few experlitives
Exasperated, but still plodding on
Working my way through different placements
Needing a how to guide - though I’m not sure
Entirely if it would help my addled brain meander or
Wander back onto the right track
Now wondering if I should have gotten that
External ‘critter’ at the same time instead of
Waiting....there’s always something new...
JP/davh (an acrosTic)
April 9, 2012An
Monday, April 9, 2012
Feather Light Touch?
Feather Light Touch?
Mourning Doves sing songs
Sorrows for dusk ending the day
Yet joy seeps into the marrow of my bones
The black night sky is broken by
Constellations telling staggering tales
One story after another
Of man's addiction to explaining everything
Orion pulls taut his bow but
Draws no blood upon the bears
Of Ursa Major and Minor
Buried in those same stars
Perhaps is my destiny
I hope for many more years with my mate
Heartsongs in my dreams
Easing the dawn into morning...
JP/davh
Process Notes: this is the third piece for http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/08/wordle-51/ words being; marrow destiny mate, adddiction, staggering, story, broken, buried, songs, dusk, sorrows and blood.
Most pieces from this list have triggered ‘darker’ responses and the ‘gauntlet’ was issued to write a piece that was if not downright chipper at least ‘lighter’ - I think this piece accomplishes that.
I tried not to be influenced by others writings so I have yet to read those pieces that were stated as being ‘happier.’ I tried writing haiku, using several words in one verse, but I gave up after I could not contain everything I wanted to express. I wrote it long-hand on a yellow lined pad, next to my ‘Mate’ while he watched the last bits of some home improvement show. And even read it (a thing which is not often done) to him - considering he was partly my inspiration. Enjoy.
Mourning Doves sing songs
Sorrows for dusk ending the day
Yet joy seeps into the marrow of my bones
The black night sky is broken by
Constellations telling staggering tales
One story after another
Of man's addiction to explaining everything
Orion pulls taut his bow but
Draws no blood upon the bears
Of Ursa Major and Minor
Buried in those same stars
Perhaps is my destiny
I hope for many more years with my mate
Heartsongs in my dreams
Easing the dawn into morning...
JP/davh
Process Notes: this is the third piece for http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/08/wordle-51/ words being; marrow destiny mate, adddiction, staggering, story, broken, buried, songs, dusk, sorrows and blood.
Most pieces from this list have triggered ‘darker’ responses and the ‘gauntlet’ was issued to write a piece that was if not downright chipper at least ‘lighter’ - I think this piece accomplishes that.
I tried not to be influenced by others writings so I have yet to read those pieces that were stated as being ‘happier.’ I tried writing haiku, using several words in one verse, but I gave up after I could not contain everything I wanted to express. I wrote it long-hand on a yellow lined pad, next to my ‘Mate’ while he watched the last bits of some home improvement show. And even read it (a thing which is not often done) to him - considering he was partly my inspiration. Enjoy.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Story
Story
songs
dusk broken
blood, marrow, additctions
staggering sorrows buried, mate
destiny
JP/davh
Process notes: stuck on the Elfje form ...with adding the title all the Wordles for number 51 are used. I’ll add the link tomorrow when the Sunday Whirl goes up.
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/08/wordle-51/
You can find more and about Elfje here: http://simplyelfje.wordpress.com/
I felt that I might have ‘cheated’ by only using the twelve words... so I came up with this addition...flash fiction, perhaps?
Destiny
Jack. There seems to always be someone named Jack. Quite ornery when indulging in his addictions. Cruel to the depths of his marrow. We knew the only way to save ourselves was to catch him while he was staggering. He’d just caused us too much sorrow. Ripping us from our island home in the middle of the night after putting bullet holes in our parents head. There was just too much blood for us ever to forget that awful sight. Abuse to our bodies was the least we would have to cope with. We’d heard of Jack wanting to make slaves of anything he could find that was weaker than himself. So we took it upon ourselves to fulfill the end of his destiny. After a ‘swell’ night at the beach an another day playing Jack’s games, knowing that surviving another day would only bring us more grief at possibly strangers hands off island, I came up with a plan and executed it. We sang songs to distract the bastard. And then with a broken piece of driftwood I killed him. My brother and me, we buried him with our bare hands, finishing just before dusk. He won’t hurt no one no more - and if anyone asks that is the story we’ll tell ‘if’ we are ever asked, - I shake his body to reality and ask; “Right, Mate!”
songs
dusk broken
blood, marrow, additctions
staggering sorrows buried, mate
destiny
JP/davh
Process notes: stuck on the Elfje form ...with adding the title all the Wordles for number 51 are used. I’ll add the link tomorrow when the Sunday Whirl goes up.
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/04/08/wordle-51/
You can find more and about Elfje here: http://simplyelfje.wordpress.com/
I felt that I might have ‘cheated’ by only using the twelve words... so I came up with this addition...flash fiction, perhaps?
Destiny
Jack. There seems to always be someone named Jack. Quite ornery when indulging in his addictions. Cruel to the depths of his marrow. We knew the only way to save ourselves was to catch him while he was staggering. He’d just caused us too much sorrow. Ripping us from our island home in the middle of the night after putting bullet holes in our parents head. There was just too much blood for us ever to forget that awful sight. Abuse to our bodies was the least we would have to cope with. We’d heard of Jack wanting to make slaves of anything he could find that was weaker than himself. So we took it upon ourselves to fulfill the end of his destiny. After a ‘swell’ night at the beach an another day playing Jack’s games, knowing that surviving another day would only bring us more grief at possibly strangers hands off island, I came up with a plan and executed it. We sang songs to distract the bastard. And then with a broken piece of driftwood I killed him. My brother and me, we buried him with our bare hands, finishing just before dusk. He won’t hurt no one no more - and if anyone asks that is the story we’ll tell ‘if’ we are ever asked, - I shake his body to reality and ask; “Right, Mate!”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)