Bury the Truth

She was an artist,
her paints composed of
concealer
foundation
face powder
rouge
lipstick
eye shadow
eyeliner
eyebrow powder;

but when makeup would not suffice,
she borrowed truths.

"I slammed my hand in the car door."
"I tripped over the laundry basket."
"I was in such a rush I  didn't realize I'd
closed the door & BAM!"
"My heal broke and I couldn't catch
myself in time."

words came easily;
she'd never known anything else.
but they were her truths to bear -
hers, not her daughters;
& so the first time
her daughter felt the sting
of those truths,
she made sure it was the last -

burying the truths
beneath the lush pink roses.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 30. "For today’s prompt, take the phrase 'Bury the (blank),' replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."

Alas, it is day 30!  While there were definitely moments I struggled, I knew I would make it to the end.  It definitely feels good.  Hopefully with the end of this challenge, I will not crawl back into hibernation mode.  I'm not sure I'll maintain the insane pace of this past month, but hopefully I will find inspiration to continue to write.

Paradox (What's on Your List?)

At first I thought,
a list of what nobody knows
would stay perpetually empty
for to add something to the list
you'd first need to know about it,
but once known it no longer belongs
on such a list.

At second thought
the list had far more potential;
all there is to do is ask questions,
to delve beyond the obvious.
There are plenty of things that we
know we don't know.

The fun part
(along with simply contriving such a list
like "is there such a thing as a Sasquatch?"
or "are we, as Seuss depicted, simply a Who?")
is getting to cross them off.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 29. "For today’s prompt, write a what nobody knows poem."

Atomic Neurons

90% (if not more)
of the thought particles
pinging around in my head
are anti-matter or
at least they should be, but I
give them weight
allowing them to matter.
If I keep splitting atoms
I'm bound to ex-PLO-de.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 28. "Here’s the final 'Two for Tuesday' prompt of the month: Write a matter poem. Matter is what things are made of. Write an anti-matter poem. The opposite of a matter poem."

Objects in the Mirror Are Not as They Appear

3 friends ride beside me
on this journey through life -
anxiety, depression, & paranoia.
each take their turn up front;
I cringe with each "shotgun."

At times all is peaceful,
eyes focused up ahead -
hope, possibilities, promise & happiness.
but it's all so fleeting,
passing by without care.

Inevitably,
one of them takes control.
& suddenly it's like passing an accident;
everything just slows down
& I can't help but stare.

If only that was all,
but there are three of them -
anxiety, depression, & paranoia -
all seeking attention,
blurring what lies ahead.

The biggest problem are
the side and rear mirrors -
perpetually playing every transgression -
constantly there in my
peripheral vision.

With each new incident,
the reel repeats itself;
hope, possibilities, promise & happiness
diminish because I
can't help except look back.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 27. "For today’s prompt, write a looking back poem."

Just three more days to go....  I'm amazed I haven't pulled all my hair out yet.
 

Addiction

You are my only vice.
Okay, "only" is a little dramatic;
I have other vices it's just...

*sigh*

you are the most troublesome
& tormenting of the lot.
Don't be dishearten;
while your radiance is pure torture,
the idea of giving you up
is laughable.

You see...

every blushing dawn I awake
without the taste of you,
only serves to remind me
I am flawed;

every lustrous moonbeam that shimmers
without the touch of you,
casts shadows about me that
I must negotiate;

every gust of wind I breathe
without the scent of you,
steals any hint of amazement until
I feel jaded.

What else is there for me to do,
but crave the taste, touch & scent
of you?

For without you, life
is a gnarled noiseless deafening
courtship with discontentment,

but with you, life
is a generous tranquil majestic
courtship with excitement;

for you
undress the worthless feelings
that impede me
& arouse a fearlessness
making me invulnerable.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 26. "For today’s prompt, take a word or two invented by William Shakespeare, make it the title of your poem, and write your poem."  While the title indeed is one of the "invented" words, I also include a handful of them throughout this piece; totaling, with the title, 30 words.

Again, trying to step outside of myself for a bit.  Sometimes when expelling evils it takes more of a toll than just letting them fester.  Or maybe it is simply the fact that if done time after time it wears, especially when not balanced with more uplifting (hopeful), even if fictional, thoughts.

On a side note, this piece feels as though it was meant to be read aloud.

Watching the Tides Turn

Across the sea of people he follows

an angel among mortals, pure as light;

she wades in and out of his vision,

his breath catching each time she disappears;

but such a tale could only end in woes.

Still he feels the flame within him ignite;

his eyes unable to tear away from

this angel among mortals, pure as light.

His heart beats out the rhythm of a drum

as she wades in and out of vision;

he knows there is no choice but to succumb,

for his breath stills each time she disappears.

He breathes in his resolve; the time has come

to brave the crowd and forget all his fears.

Who cares if this tale ends only in woes

and his is the only flame to ignite!

At last he wades in fixed on his vision;

as he braves the crowd forgetting his fears,

across the sea of people, she follows.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 25. "For today’s prompt, write an across the sea poem."

Decided it was time for me to get outside of myself for a bit.  It hasn't been quite a happy place to reside in.  Struggling through this little tale help a bit. 

A Blessing and a Curse

Diary Entry
03/04/1991
(9th grade)

"Nicole tryed to kill herself.
I really mean it, she even
showed me the marks on her wrists.
...
she told me she wouldn't do it (again).
I know I should believe her, but
what if she gets really upset and
does it anyway."

I don't know
if in that moment
I truly understood the impact
this event had on me, even
nine days later.

Diary Entry
03/13/1991

"Life sucks.  And there's only one
way out and Nicole knows that way.
I'd never do it though."

I can't say,
at what point in time
I realized
truly realized
the influence this moment had
on me.

I'd never do it though.
hmm...
I'd never do it though.
a simple statement, but
the implications...

To be truthful
I'm not sure if I am thankful
or annoyed at her
for taking this option
away from me.

I realize how that sounds
& more often than not
thankful wins out.

but still I wonder...

Poetic Verse:  If I could, this would be my suicide note
08/21/2012

"How do I forget how to breathe?
If only I could, I might finally
leech myself of this hope(lessness)"

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 24. "For today’s prompt, write a moment poem."  

Steeped in Rich Family Tradition

1967
two Italian immigrants
brothers
ten years after stepping off the boat
pre-teens
now in their early twenties
begin a legacy

what starts out as
a simple butcher shop
slowly expands
to mouthwatering
prepared food
each recipe tested
on the rigorous palettes
of family members
& finds a way into
the hearts of a community

2007
just 40 years later
two brothers
follow in the footsteps
of their father
committed to the same great
quality & service & flavors
instilled in them
expand the legacy

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 23. "For today’s prompt, write a historic poem."  This is written from a place of personal history...

I feel a bit as though this piece could be more than it is, but for now...

From the Tree

Is it I
who watches the owl
in his natural habitat
or is it he
who watches me
in mine?

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 22. "For today’s prompt, write a nature poem."  This piece did not come so naturally...I honestly thought I had lost to it, but as I found my usual writing haunt I was bombarded with the image of an owl and thus this piece was born.

Waiting on the Timer to Buzz

I am a poem, unfinished
rough & raw
waiting to serve some purpose
waiting to serve some greater good

I am a poem, uncooked
marinated in metaphors
meant to disguise
or perhaps
make me more acceptable
more palatable

I am a poem, ungarnished
adorned in alliteration
meant to abate appearances
or perhaps
to underscore
what's underneath

I am a poem, untasted
steeped in lies
seared in truths
& cut open raw
or rather rare or medium rare
but far from well-done

I am a poem, unfinished
waiting to be tasted
waiting to be savored
waiting to be

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 21. "For today’s prompt, we’re dealing with our third 'Two for Tuesday' prompt(s): Write a 'what you are' poem, or… Write a 'what you are not' poem."

My Left-Brain, the Right's Saving Grace (or is it the other way around?)

I think I've finally given up
on the Two-Brain Theory
where in the womb I consumed my twin
but not wishing to be completely a-part
(and maybe sensing as twins are known to do
that I wasn't really all "together,"
which could lead to serious harm)
my twin's brain grew and developed
- plum sized -
beside my own
intent on protection
of course, there is no evidence to substantiate
a double heart beat ever existed
and so it seems only logical to let this go.

I've also - for the most part -
given up on my Tumor Theory
mainly because if it were true
well, I'd be dead by now.

And so I've come to the most feasible answer
to my battling hemispheres
& why I feel like my creative half
more often than not
is stuffed inside an invisible box
pushing & shoving & kicking
just trying to get out.

why the battle?
why does my left brain insist on taking control?

For as long as I can remember
I've been plagued with irrational thoughts
whether a chemical imbalance
or perceptions of society's norms
interred & twisted within
I cannot say,
but they've always been there
forcing me into isolation
depression, anxiety, paranoia
'til breathing is like gulping water
that bleeds from the corners of my eyes.

And so, while I use to think
my "second" brain, in all of its infinite wisdom,
was there to counteract these detrimental thoughts
I've come to accept, that though born
with a dominate right hemisphere
my left has staged an uprising
to fight
logical against illogical.

& every once in awhile,
when the threat seems to subside
my right is allowed to roam free
and under the guidance of my left
expel these ills in a flow of words
allowing for but a moment
my left brain to finally breathe.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 20. "For today’s prompt, take the phrase “My (blank), the (blank),” replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."

In a Tone of Absolutes

my father is the foremost authority of nothing
though he would have you believe otherwise.
ask him a question and you'll get a response sure & quick;
it matters not the topic - he has a knack
for spewing plausible fiction & occasional truths.
ask him how he does it for he has no qualms
about sharing his expertise (in truth) on this matter;
after all he's definitely the foremost
authority of absolutely nothing.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 19. "For today’s prompt, write an authority poem."

I couldn't help but write to this.  Recently at a dinner, my father shared is insightful expertise on this matter.  It also drudged up an old piece I had written back in 2012.  This piece also helped me to unearth the title for this new piece.

Lies Hidden in Certainty

Do not fall prey
to his quick words
spoken in a tone
of absolutes
for nestled deep
within his fast
reply lies truth-
less facts.

Empty Shell & Wickedness

Empty Shell

hope holds strong
overwhelms
smothers
chokes
every moment
every second

hope presses down
exposes holes
born of hope

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 18. "For today’s prompt, pick 2 vowels and write a poem using words that only contain one or both of those vowels."  In case you were wondering, my vowels of choice were o and e.

For a moment, I thought to use i and e...but I felt the piece needed more than I could muster.  (or maybe it's the order of the three couplets...hmm....)

Wickedness

desire flickers

in her sin-filled eyes

she licks

wine tinted lips

need prickles

deep within her being

Cluck Like a Chicken

Eyes       move
left     -     right
back - n - forth
left     -     right
lulling the mind
left     -     right
into submission
       snap

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 17. "For today’s prompt, write a swing poem."

Earth's Organ System

water is the blood & breath
of the earth
with the sun & moon acting as
the controlling mind;
each organism an organ
sustained by
this life-giving flow.

Thought of like this,
would it not make sense
to ponder
if the human's role
is equivalent to that
of a virus?

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 16. "For today’s prompt, write a science poem."  It took me awhile to unearth this piece, but I think it fits well enough.

Vulnerable

I built a safe room around
my most precious
& fragile possession.
How else could I keep myself
from coming apart?
from unraveling?

Now here you stand
threatening my very existence
because though safely locked away
I can hear the steady beat
grow louder & louder
taunting my delicate mind
every time you are near.

I built a safe room around
my most precious
& fragile possession.
Who could have guessed
I'd still be susceptible
to heartache?

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 15. "For today’s prompt, pick an adjective, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."

So of course you're wondering how I selected my word.  I thought about using the "word of the day" from my dictionary app, but it wasn't a adjective...and when I went backwards in days the first adjective I came across was from the 12th...caseous which means "of or like cheese"...yeah, that wasn't going to happen.  So instead, I went to the section where you could see what words were trending as well as what words were recently search anywhere on the map.  So I went ahead and zoomed in on my location and found someone nearby (even possibly in the same building - I zoomed in pretty close)...thus vulnerable.

An aside:  It is day 15...that means I made it halfway through...even though I feel myself waning, I will continue to push on...hopefully....

I really want to get this right

I.
If the conversation never arises,
   (Hey, I noticed you don't drink;
    so, what's the deal?)
does not offering up the information
   (Oh, just in case you were wondering,
    I'm an alcoholic.)
count as a lie by omission?

II.
Does "honest to a fault"
   (What do you think of my haircut?
    Uh, do you look fat in those jeans?)
mean it's not always okay to be forthright
   (Did you get your head stuck in a wood chipper?
    Wow, your butt really looks huge in that dress!)
and little white lies are acceptable?
   (That hair style is really you.
    You look gorgeous in everything.)

III.
What does the line
between honesty & dishonesty
look like to you?
Is it a tightrope walk?
Is it a balance beam?
Is it a four-lane highway?
I like you & I'm weary of a misstep.

IV.
Oh, by the by,
   I'm not really much of a drinker
      never was - social or otherwise.
   My aunt's a beautician, in case
      you're looking to change things up.
   I guarantee my ass looks big in this - 
     it looks big in everything.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 14. "Today is our second “Two for Tuesday” prompt(s), and here are your options: 1. Write an honest poem. Or… 2. Write a dishonest poem."

Listen Not

My voice
knows only pencil & paper
plus
the internal diatribe that plagues me.

My truth
knows no sound save the click of the keyboard;
no sound
outside my stuttered cries.

My song
pours the only way it knows how -
voiceless
and
sorrowful -
through every vein in my body
and every word I lay down.

If you wish to know me -
know every secret breath I hold -
find it not in the vibration of my vocal chords,
but in those words I've penned.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 13. "For today’s prompt, write a confession poem."  

I find most of what I write to be a confession of sorts and often times, the only way I know how to let out what is burning me from the inside.  I think I pretty much said just that a couple of days ago with "More Often Than Not." 

Scratched Record

What if I don't want to be fixed?
What if
the only thing scarier
than being broken
is not
being broken?
What if...?
What if...?
What if...?

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 12. "For today’s prompt, write a damage poem."

Stages

I.

snow laden limbs

bow down to the pressure –

depression smiles

II.

budding limbs birth

& weep teardrop petals –

sadness scatters

III.

lush crowded limbs

stretch toward the sun’s warmth –

happiness shines

IV.

balding limbs sway

& cast off waning leaves –

hope colors and sheds

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 11. "For today’s prompt, write a seasonal poem."  I decided to go with a collection of four...one for each season.

How does one respond to a 7 year-old niece’s odd texts?

The new update is taking a

shower in the morning

(new update?)

I’m glad to hear the new update

is taking a shower in the

morning.

The only thing is that you are so

beautiful

(awe, such a cutie!)

you too are beautiful.

I love you so much more than a

person

(hun?)

I am a person, but still I’m glad

to hear you love me so much

better.

[insert two lines of

 smiley emoji]

[insert line of alternating pig face/pig snout emoji]

(because she loves pigs)

[insert line of alternating monkey face/banana emoji]

(because she knows I like to say monkey a lot?)

oh, and I love you so much better

than a person, too.

---

On inspiration for this piece: Part of this comes from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 10. The theme for this prompt was..."For today’s prompt, take the phrase 'How (blank),' replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem."  

As to what else contributed to this piece...well...it incorporates a correspondence between my niece and I.  This conversation was relatively normal, compared to some of the others I have had with her.

More Often Than Not

Very few
are privy
to the inner workings
of my mind;

Even I
have been locked
outside
upon occasion.

Foolish really,
when all one really need do
is read
what I
have writ.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 9. The theme for this prompt was work.  I got to work a little late on this one, so my initial thoughts did not have time to coagulate.  

About word choice:  Not really sure what made me choose the word "writ" as opposed to "written."  Maybe it has something to do with the flow of double syllable lines there at the end.

More Than Just a Game

Every day is a game of Truth or Dare.

I wake each morning,
sit on the edge of my bed
and in no uncertain terms
ask myself, "Truth or Dare?"

Truth means curling up in a little ball
lying back down in bed and
dreaming my life away.

Truth means accepting and giving (myself) into
the pain, the fear, the anxiety & the depression
that riddles my mind and body.

Truth means not fighting every day
to breathe.

Each morning I wake,
sit on the edge of myself
and with uncertainty
ask myself, "Truth or Dare?"

Dare means nothing extraordinary
just walking aimlessly through life
mask affixed
cloaked in doubts & uneasiness.

Dare means struggling every day
to keep the tears at bay.

Every day is a game of Truth or Dare,
but really it should be Truth or Dare or
Dare the Truth.

Dare the Truth = not giving in to it
                         = not living with it
but rather daring it to come at me
                               to knock me down
                               to smother me
                               to take its best shot
while I dare to believe in me.

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 8. The theme for this prompt was dare.  

He Loves Me? or...Loves Me Not?

forgive the petals
appearance, I left only
those that bare my heart

---

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 7. The theme for this prompt is apparently a two-for deal. "You can choose one of the two options; choose both options; and/or blend the two together in some way. Just be sure to write a poem." The two are love or anti-love.

Beneath

Always I affix the mask just so,
stealing strength to simply say hello;
feelings bind me up inside and I
know no other way except to lie –
sew the pain and fear inside the seams
tucking them away beside my dreams;
f**k myself & what I want – too scared…
weak…
               pathetic…
                                  well beyond repair
seek no further than the mask I wear
all you need to know, dear friend, is there.

---

An aside:  I'm not really much of a curser, so for the full affect, you will need to appropriately replace the asterisks.

A note on form: This piece is a variation on the Framed Couplet. I did take a slight liberty with the one line (breaking it over three). 

On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 6. The theme for this prompt was things-not-as-they-appear.

BASH

BASH

abuse

castigate

as "accident prone"

as she is, frozen peas

are a staple in her fridge

"physical or mental assault."

---

A note on form:  This is a clarity pyramid.  I have written these on multiple occasions....there is something about them that I just find interesting (and a bit challenging).  I even created a new space to explore/expose them a little more; I call it, Defining Moments.

On inspiration for this piece:  This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 5. The theme for this prompt was vegetable.  Okay, so the poem is not about the vegetable, but it does have a vegetable in it.

A Tale of Love (and Woe) - Lovers' Song #14

As you walk away

I yearn for just one last glimpse

to cling to 'til morning's light

Knight #14

I fear one last look

will give 'way our hidden truth

stealing hopes of tomorrow

Princess #14

---

An aside:  Typically, these pieces are published as images.  Unfortunately, I am away from where I keep the paper I use and, well, time is running out on today.  This is day 4 of the month of poeming, only 26 more to go.

A note on form:  The above form has little (or sporadic) history.  Part of a long line of ancient Japanese forms from which come the sedōka, choka, and tanka is the katauta.  Depending on the source this poem (also known as a half-poem or half-song), is either 17 (5 / 7 / 5) or 19 (5 / 7 / 7) syllables long.  The feeling I get is that this form is meant to be one half of a conversation...perhaps two lovers conversing back and forth.  There is also note of this form consisting of a question-and-answer feel; the first poem posing the question, while the second poem answers it. 

About this series:  This series is a branch-off of a ten act ballad called A Tale of Love and Woe.  All odd numbered installations are initiated by the "princess" with a response from the "knight."  In each of these, the princess follows the 17 syllable pattern to which the knight replies in kind. All even numbered installations are initiated by the "knight" with a response from the "princess."  In each of these, the knight follows the 19 syllable pattern to which the princess replies in kind.

Motionless

Time stopped

the pendulum no longer sways
the gears no longer click
the weights no longer rise or fall
the moon no longer phases
the tune no longer chimes
the hour no longer tolls

Time stopped

every hour on the hour
silence echoes
screaming across the chasm
deep within
where my internal rhythm ticks on
while yours…

Time stopped

the hands no longer move
                no longer hold
                no longer …

Time stopped

---

Inspiration for this piece:  This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 3. The theme for this prompt was machines.

Quinzaine: Secrets Kept(?)

#1
I have a secret to share.
Can I trust you to
keep it safe?

#2
Secrets can tear friends apart.
How else would they know?
Was it you?

#3
Secrets are chasms between.
Can you feel the di-
vide growing?

#4
Everyone has their secrets.
Why do we keep them?
Is it fear?

---

On inspiration for this piece:  I pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge:  Day 2.  The theme for this prompt - in case you were unable to figure it out - was secrets.

A note on form:  The above is a set of quinzaines.  The quinzaine is a short form consisting of only fifteen syllables.  As with any short poem, such confinement can be quite tricky.  The first line (7 syllables) is a statement; the next two lines (5 and 3 syllables) are a question related to the first line.  Upon first coming across this form, there seemed to be no definite on whether the two lines together made the question or if they had to be two separate questions.  And so, I tend to write them in pairs (or in this case a pair of pairs) where one uses the last two lines as a single question and the other two separate questions.

BRAVE

BRAVE

oppose

stand up to

head held high against

fears taunting all around

lays waste to those who torment

"breaking free of life's challenges."

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On my hibernation hiatus:  So I have decided to take a hiatus from my current poetic hibernation.  It's been a quiet several months (five if we ignore the one day in January where my words flickered awake).  But seeing as how it is National Poetry Month, I decided to challenge myself and complete a poem a day.  This is not the first time I decided to brave this endeavor; I managed to complete it once before in 2011.  So, we'll see how well this goes. 

A note on form:  This is a clarity pyramid.  I have written these on multiple occasions....there is something about them that I just find interesting (and a bit challenging).  I even created a new space to explore/expose them a little more; I call it, Defining Moments.

On inspiration for this piece:  To help with the creative juices (especially seeing has how they are a bit atrophied from lack of use), I pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge Day 1.  The prompt for today was to write a resistance poem.  Not sure how well this fits the bill, but...