I need to believe
my silence
echoes
echoes
echoes
To believe such
means my words
[[[captured in each reverberation]]]
have worth
That I
I
I
echo
It's been almost a year...30 days shy actually...but it's National Poetry Month...it seemed only right to write.
on unearthing titles: this piece is a response of sorts to a previous piece...it begins "one day / my silence / will echo" & for some reason, as I think of this opening, a song that has always kind of reverberated in my head came to mind "someday never comes" by Creedence Clearwater Revival. I guess in this case it kind of encapsulates my fear that "one day" too will never come.
Friday, April 1, 2016
Thursday, April 30, 2015
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."
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.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
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."
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."
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
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."
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."
Monday, April 27, 2015
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."
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.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, April 25, 2015
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.
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.
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