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 |   GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
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A second attempt at "Give It 100!"  , since the first one ("100" ) turned out pretty well even though I didn't complete it within 100 days.  ![Merit Badge in Mythology
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*^*Salute*^**^*Balloonb*^* YAY!!Congratulations on your fabulous challenge of writing 100 poems is less than your 100 days!! An amazing feat so you deserve a trip to Mount Olympus for a treat! You can walk in the hall of champions. *^*Trophyg*^* Wonderful expressions! Keep on shining. *^*Starstruck*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Mythology-1105.gif) These are just rough sketches and ideas that are barely a little more rounded-out...they're not perfect but they're gonna be good enough to share here at least. Your comments, support, and words of encouragement will be greatly appreciated!  Best Poetry Collection |
8-16-17 You don't even have an army to get you off the tarmac. A face like herpes walking controls your legs and your phone rules your fingers like democracy itself watching self-inflicted wounds... suicide by 1,000+ tweets lapped up only by those who'd do the same if they could. But all I see are smiles and the dumbest looks surrounded by white hair and dead eyes echoing cassette-fed soliloquies blaming everyone but the real culprits...themselves. Have another. Here, have another. Here, have another...the bones in your back break. Here, have another...white terrorism fuels an economy. Here, have another...dance, I say, dance, boy. Here, have another...failing, failing, failing fake news. Here, have another...so tired of winning. Here, have another. Here, have another. Here, have another...make mine a double and maybe it'll all be over with faster. |
8-16-17 I've got bones that pop like I ain't worthy of the fat they support or the muscles that are fading with each pill I take for this thing or that thing or this thing caused by that thing. My body is a junkyard symphony; a cultural institution about to have its funding slashed again, faster than you can say " washboard solo arpeggio", let alone play one. Ligaments twang like violin strings plucked too often. Knuckles the reminder of snapped drumstick ends, fraying. Hips out of tune with my spine's weary metronome, and the conductor shows up when he wants... when he can get out of bed. Yet everyone wants a song! Some, because they think you can and have no idea. Some, because they know you can't and want to see your pain. Some, because they know you can't yet will convince you you can, so they can say your effort is good enough to keep you alive and nothing more. Yes, everyone wants a song! But no one wants to know what goes into the crafting and the performance. They don't want the soul; they only want the show. |
8-17-17 I'm gonna make you sound debilitated. Full of virtues I can't spell (if I need to look it up, chances are you won't understand it either), I'm determined to get right. Determined to make right. Do you need a voucher atlas to tell you where to get free? Null and void; avoid...signs point you everywhere but where you need to get right. You need to make right. Soft and loyal, soft and royal. (null) Crowned foal. Loose soil. (void) Raking coals to burn on, the brighter to get right. Brighter to make right. Seven is your secret (null) screwdriver like a key in a (void) car theft headed for a crash course to get right. Cause course to make right. I'm flying calmly into a storm full of overwhelms and unknowns. I'm a child in your new school determined to get right. Determined to make right. |
8-19-17 Jerk me off like a stranger. Show me that finishing move. Touch it, then don't. Keep doing it until I say HEY *sploosh* man, this isn't right and I can only let you get away with so much before I pop like your balloon. I'm a thousand skeins of knots and you're just anxiously dying to untie them all, aren't you? I don't think, and I don't think you want to find out what happens when you keep tuggin'. *sploosh* |
8-20-17 Only you could've worn those faces. I've cataloged many in my pages. I'm glad to see that ability passed on. The sole reminder the past isn't gone. I know you wish we had more to say; to laugh, to analyze, to commiserate. There's not much in the way, but what's there to deliberate? Maybe I don't know where to begin, or I'm afraid that it'll have to end. Everything in between I know'll be fluid. We've got miles of material to use. This longing can't be my own. We know ourselves too well for unknowns. There can be openness within restraint, so what's there to deliberate? I didn't wanna be the future you saw. You learned better than I taught. Life's rich with subtle reminders that time drains faster than what binds us. No need to feel so uncertain or wonder if approaches are worth it. I'm sure we've got much more to say, but what's left to deliberate? |
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Probably not...how I write them and how they sound in my head is dramatically different than how they sound coming out of my mouth 
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Thank you, Mona!
