http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2013/03/13/prompt-146
Damned Either Way
Frustration rears it’s ugly head
Along with Rage, Disgust and
All manner of nasty heads upon the
Demon body - their mouths almost mute
Their forked tongues hissing wildly
Their snake like eyes dare and double dare.
Emotions to boil over...
On the desk is a scrawled note
Stating a litany of dissatisfactions -
Waiting to be neatly scripted,
But really they will not be pleasantly read
Straightforward, sideways or even upside down
The debate to fold it off and mail it -
Keeps me awake...
How long does one have to take
Being insulted, bruised and battered -
Forgiveness is supposed to relieve stress.
And yet the scales of justice remain unbalanced.
Where are the angels, the guardians,
While my bruised ego prevents sleep.
Be gone demon!
© JP/davh
WWP 146 ahha or arg, a moment?
Not all ah ha moments are 'splendorific'. Sometimes they just are. While not totally resolved,
I am attempting to pick up the pieces and move forward, without spreading ill winds.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
WWP 145: Guiding Zephyr
http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2013/03/06/prompt-145-its-post-your-poems-day/
Guiding Zephyr...
Wind came out of Mother’s mouth today
not soft and gentle like ocean breezes,
but horridly steamy and foul like the whiff of dead skunk.
Wind came out of Father’s mouth hail bent on destruction
wanting to retaliate, I imagined him holding his fists balled -
yet wanting tornado like action to sweep her away
Wind came out of my mouth as a sigh
as I remained hidden behind the door of my room
wanting Dorothy’s fate - to be lifted, and landing in Oz
Wind whispered a plan in my ear... it was time, now
to leave their 'whether' to themselves - brute forces
creating damage - they could clean up after themselves
Wind guided me out the window, the basement one -
level with the ground - I took the screen away,
removed the glass paneled louvers and crawled out.
Wind jiggled the change in my coat pocket and
guided me to the bus station, barely ruffling the
fake fur that surrounded the hood of my jacket
Wind sang me lullabies as I rode away in the darkness
suspecting I would return, but knowing that when I did, little
would change - but at least for the moment, I slept in quiet.
© JP/davh
Perhaps it is the rue of the dysfunctional family that it provides fodder for poetic angst.
This piece is semi-autobiographical. One can go home again...but it is never quite the same.
So we take a step forward, move on and create new homes...
Guiding Zephyr...
Wind came out of Mother’s mouth today
not soft and gentle like ocean breezes,
but horridly steamy and foul like the whiff of dead skunk.
Wind came out of Father’s mouth hail bent on destruction
wanting to retaliate, I imagined him holding his fists balled -
yet wanting tornado like action to sweep her away
Wind came out of my mouth as a sigh
as I remained hidden behind the door of my room
wanting Dorothy’s fate - to be lifted, and landing in Oz
Wind whispered a plan in my ear... it was time, now
to leave their 'whether' to themselves - brute forces
creating damage - they could clean up after themselves
Wind guided me out the window, the basement one -
level with the ground - I took the screen away,
removed the glass paneled louvers and crawled out.
Wind jiggled the change in my coat pocket and
guided me to the bus station, barely ruffling the
fake fur that surrounded the hood of my jacket
Wind sang me lullabies as I rode away in the darkness
suspecting I would return, but knowing that when I did, little
would change - but at least for the moment, I slept in quiet.
© JP/davh
Perhaps it is the rue of the dysfunctional family that it provides fodder for poetic angst.
This piece is semi-autobiographical. One can go home again...but it is never quite the same.
So we take a step forward, move on and create new homes...
Monday, March 4, 2013
At Least for Today
At Least for Today
She wants a different chair -
Only blind in one eye,
Toting an oxygen tank -
Doesn’t like cold weather,
But she does like being close to family.
She wants a different chair
Other than the one she slumps in
That resides within her studio apartment
Where the kitchenette is hardly used.
And there is no room for entertaining.
She wants a different chair
Other than the electric scooter
That takes up too much space -
That she rides down halls to dinner,
And won’t take out of the building.
She wants a different chair
On the weekends, her weekdays
Are already long enough -
Since she barely moves anymore because
She chooses to limit her participation...
She wants a different chair
Not the one near the community puzzle
Not the one in the craft room -
Not the one in the exercise room -
Since they moved it off of her floor.
She wants a different chair
But still in a familiar surrounding, in her daughters’ home
Home where she’ll sit until dinner or sometimes her sons’
home, but the seven steps up, make her winded.
Or a non-booth of a restaurant will do, too.
She wants a different chair
So we attempt to accommodate her,
When she calls twice in the same day
To confirm the same weekend routines...
Because she wants a different chair.
© JP/davh
She wants a different chair -
Only blind in one eye,
Toting an oxygen tank -
Doesn’t like cold weather,
But she does like being close to family.
She wants a different chair
Other than the one she slumps in
That resides within her studio apartment
Where the kitchenette is hardly used.
And there is no room for entertaining.
She wants a different chair
Other than the electric scooter
That takes up too much space -
That she rides down halls to dinner,
And won’t take out of the building.
She wants a different chair
On the weekends, her weekdays
Are already long enough -
Since she barely moves anymore because
She chooses to limit her participation...
She wants a different chair
Not the one near the community puzzle
Not the one in the craft room -
Not the one in the exercise room -
Since they moved it off of her floor.
She wants a different chair
But still in a familiar surrounding, in her daughters’ home
Home where she’ll sit until dinner or sometimes her sons’
home, but the seven steps up, make her winded.
Or a non-booth of a restaurant will do, too.
She wants a different chair
So we attempt to accommodate her,
When she calls twice in the same day
To confirm the same weekend routines...
Because she wants a different chair.
© JP/davh
Sunday, March 3, 2013
SW Wordle 98: Order Up! (non-story)
blue, blessed, deserves, first, gasps, instant,
slap, snare, dust, unbalance, ride, wings
Order Up!
The unbalance of
the snare in
an instant
SLAP!
The *dust* of *blue* insect
>< wings... took a ride. ><
An old trap in the abandoned
hermit’s cabin - their new refuge.
At least the eldest knew some survival skills.
What blessed animal deserves such actions? - First
the younger children let out huge gasps...but then the
cooked rabbit stew in their bellies, that tasted just fine.
(c) JP/davh
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
WWP 144: A renga...conversation
http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2013/02/27/prompt-144-its-post-your-poems-day/
A renga...conversation
are they mine can I
~~~
do I have one muse or am
~~~
how can I choose one
(c) JP/davh
*a person who has the gift of poetic thought, imagination, and creation, together with eloquence of expression.
+Some American Japanese style haiku still use the system of counting seventeen syllables to pen a thought.
A renga...conversation
are they mine can I
the ramblings that are scrawled across a page
say I own them much less that
captured thoughts acting like little flashes of lightning
I have borrowed them?~~~
do I have one muse or am
crayon, pencil, pen, printed or either ink flowing from my fingers
I the script of many voices?~~~
how can I choose one
the second definition of *poet takes seventeen words
word to define me, other
+haiku is only one style I employ to get my ‘points’ across
than one word; poet?(c) JP/davh
*a person who has the gift of poetic thought, imagination, and creation, together with eloquence of expression.
+Some American Japanese style haiku still use the system of counting seventeen syllables to pen a thought.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
SW 97: Winged Messenger
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2013/02/24/wordle-97/
discipline, pieces, stealing, heroic, moment, fly,
prophets, limits, gazing, patience, tears, sublime
Winged Messenger
gazing prophets with discipline
shed heroic tears as they
salt the sublime puzzle pieces
with patience - they are held
trapped, and rapt in their silence of
repeated rote prayers humbled in
knowing that one of their number
will be infected before the dawn’s rising,
then in the briefest of blind moments
the death of night comes stealing -
a message of limits dictated by the gods
delivered by the bite of a single fly...
(c) JP/davh
discipline, pieces, stealing, heroic, moment, fly,
prophets, limits, gazing, patience, tears, sublime
Winged Messenger
gazing prophets with discipline
shed heroic tears as they
salt the sublime puzzle pieces
with patience - they are held
trapped, and rapt in their silence of
repeated rote prayers humbled in
knowing that one of their number
will be infected before the dawn’s rising,
then in the briefest of blind moments
the death of night comes stealing -
a message of limits dictated by the gods
delivered by the bite of a single fly...
(c) JP/davh
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
WWP 143 & WG'Broken': Tomboy Trial
WWP The First Kiss
http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2013/02/20/prompt-143-its-post-your-poems-day/
Tomboy Trial
I wasn’t ready
that’s what I remember
kind of a role reversal
he even carved our initials
in a heart in a tree - poor tree.
I wasn’t ready
for what he said
declaring I was to be the first
in this forest under that tree
the carved heart - poor heart.
I wasn’t ready
didn’t quite trust that I was the first
I knew I wouldn’t be the last
perhaps he collected carved hearts?
Or just girls hearts...poor girls.
I wasn’t ready
So I said no - later, years later I found out
That mystery boy/man married and divorced
While I moved on, ready for solidarity -
thought I’d easily forget - poor him.
I wasn’t ready
for the haunting...the not ever knowing
what could have been...in forested house
at the end of a dirt road - by the cold lake
I just know I don’t ever have to say; poor me.
This also fits Margo’s Tuesday Tryouts:
http://margoroby.wordpress.com/2013/02/19/tuesday-tryouts-broken/
(c) JP/davh
http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2013/02/20/prompt-143-its-post-your-poems-day/
Tomboy Trial
I wasn’t ready
that’s what I remember
kind of a role reversal
he even carved our initials
in a heart in a tree - poor tree.
I wasn’t ready
for what he said
declaring I was to be the first
in this forest under that tree
the carved heart - poor heart.
I wasn’t ready
didn’t quite trust that I was the first
I knew I wouldn’t be the last
perhaps he collected carved hearts?
Or just girls hearts...poor girls.
I wasn’t ready
So I said no - later, years later I found out
That mystery boy/man married and divorced
While I moved on, ready for solidarity -
thought I’d easily forget - poor him.
I wasn’t ready
for the haunting...the not ever knowing
what could have been...in forested house
at the end of a dirt road - by the cold lake
I just know I don’t ever have to say; poor me.
This also fits Margo’s Tuesday Tryouts:
http://margoroby.wordpress.com/2013/02/19/tuesday-tryouts-broken/
(c) JP/davh
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