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A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
That is one of my favorite tunes. Lately I’ve listened to a violin cover of it. Wonderful poem. |
Reserve this when dry eyes need to eek out a tear only one eye can fully produce knowing some have saved me, if just from myself and a metaphorical blade leaned into close Without, I'm within in some other world asea when storms rage outside my asymmetry. I was balanced by them, buoyed and came right back straight for that honed steel, because it's been the only thing to motivate me...that or... Along the way, experience, words working forth and back, some splashing up on me, liquifying dry heart, soul, brain seeking some sort of refrain, melody that could put it right but then eyes always turn back toward the tempest night I've stood above an abyss to scream and find no echo, nothing of me but tormented myself, like returning nightmare, perpetually. I'm not a crossmaker or a heartbreaker but a soul silent split right down the middle the metaphor repeatedly goes, dissection and day after day, night after night, no life, no resurrection My only value is what I gave to another and they rob my security in anonymity, mocked, shunned and cast aside a cleaved man How could I hate or resent but feel the same pain over again and decide that this is what I'm made for, facing your edge Be forewarned, there's no blood left in me to drain and no sport, you'll see. [Visit the entry for more...] |
And making a note or setting an alarm wouldn’t work. I hate the imposition of schedule, for some reason. In fact, I’m doing ten less important different things than what I put off. I’ve learned not to be hard on myself. I now adequately defend my condition (that I’m working on still in therapy and with constant self-analysis with google). You’re Angel of the Morning now. |
I identify. I'm awake at 1:30AM doing something that could just as easily be done tomorrow or next week. But I'm so flighty I'm afraid I'll forget. |
Added, ‘What’s the line limit, Kenneth? Rather, 53.’ For actuarial Porpoises, and adding that, too. |
My farts are just as good. |
I love it so much! Thank you for sharing it! It's genius. |
Week 47 PPC ▼ what’s the rush? wordsmith p r o c r a s t i n a t i n g scrambled 5.30.23 Brevette: a 3 word poem described here: "Invalid Post" Week 46 PPC ▼ Notice It takes more effort not to notice Above a rising meadow, Monarch's wings float. Bumbles bounce on the slow-reacting long, green necks necks sprouting. A spectrum of wild color serenaded on the edge of towering pine. Nature still calls me. Early birds flee gray eyes, flit from bough to branch to pale sky. Senses acutely inhale sweet bounty of aroma, true memory of recollected childhood, with her tight rein on a small hand selflessly lead through joy shared. Rustle of tossed dry leaves, their brothers jittered on jutted branches, swayed. You hear, smell, but can't taste, feel or see anymore, life you had, life she brought, sent when she passed through the grass, beyond boughs and spiraling leaves, above Monarchs. Higher, a calling no winging bird could ever hear. Heavy clouds roam, deep-bluing. Eyes blur to witness that sealed vault. A child's outstretched, empty hand can never reach -- touch her offering to aid a wandering soul as guide. 5.30.23 free verse prompt word: wings "Invalid Post" Week 44 PPC ▼ Sprung Green top pierced by a slow sun inspecting, perpetual tunnel of time breathes beneath frozen earth, releasing captors new eyes, flocks of wildflower regeneration. Warmth grows for nested, speck’d babes, abandoned from their gathering mother’s eye, hungrily chirp and cluster since hatch, after the last snow melt, cracking open Spring time on the sloping lawn. Arrival, renewed rejoicing, sprung from its long dormant, cold quarantine. 5.30.23 Prompt: shape poetry "Invalid Post" Week 45 PPC ▼ White Weight Tight-packed beneath snow burden, preserved from tread of oaf boots, silent renewal awaits, solid underground. Their mysteries hidden, lost since frost. Memory hunches under white weight. Blanketed, put to bed by Mother. Frozen dreams beneath a roaming moon unending, before spring eruption. Flat bodies resurrect. Small, green missile silos softly spear the hard spaces, take aim. Their cold captor, conceding. Bright faith, greet my smile; bathe in ever eternal light, as a faded promise of love. Though, I still don’t know, within renewal, how to count down these thinning seasons. Perhaps, view through window pane, intervals, flowing tides of time across and beyond my lawn to the other side. My dry eyes slow go blind, don't follow, because bliss ignorance, cover an unexpectant. 5.15.23 free verse prompt: plants "Invalid Post" Week 43 PPC ▼ not really sure how to feel about it something in the way you move..." Invalid Photo #1067248 Summers Eternal ending our charade ocean bay waves scent spray floral array washes train of summer dress you mask your presence challenge a fool soul as sand sucks down eager toes play such elegant waste contrasts your beauty strip to flesh and wash your sin a world we have been needs no arrangement our bare flesh vexes the sun brown, nimble we run no care for their clothes yellow, purple fade in black what language we lack sipping Mohitos beneath you in white moon glow flowers in waves flow slumber at our feet wear my love for you all days with each new array bounty of blooms laid adore eternal our days 5.1.23 summer never stays new colors coming lounge lingering memory lounge = couch ? Wave Haiku, building ocean/wave theme on 5-5-7 syllable stanzas with an echoing rhyme from third line to first line of next verse, linking as long as poem desires to go, until last three lines rhyme with end word of preceeding stanza’s third line. Nature/Romance intertwine with the poem's theme until natural end, when all words come ashore. ~ Created by Brian K. Compton, borrowing from the Anglosaxonized Haiku in a restructured 17 syllable wave/crest stanza form. Original Wave Haiku poem, “Summer Eternal,'' launched new form. picture prompt "Invalid Post" |
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