Sunday Scribbling prompt: guidance
tiny bird landed
on my porch today,
shivering feathers puffed
against the cold morning.
I explained the 33rd latitude
is too far north.
he cocked his head to one side
as though to say,
there is no snow
and bird feeders are near.
“easy food is not
always best in the long run.”
I replied.
He shook himself
and flew next door
to sit on a man-made perch
and fill himself
with seed
I waved, sad
to see him go.
AllPoetry Contest entry. Assignment: Write a letter to the editor about poetry – Bukowski style. Bit of a departure for me. I don’t think I would like him as a person and I may get yelled at for that. Usually when I read his work, I feel like he needed a good smack, but here it is anyway 🙂 Update: Won GOLD by the way 🙂
dear editor
(it says that on your door)
I come to this page
over and over
hoping for something
on fire or at least
smoldering
instead of cold stinking
morning after soot about “he
done me wrong and I don’t think
I can write again”
minimum requirements should
be could we sit down and
talk about it over a beer
for more than ten minutes
without one of us needing
to take a leak
or letting minds wander
to the waitress’ cleavage
there is more fire in that
shadow than this
rag ever prints
(make it my obituary –
I’ll pay extra)
yours,
smug, slightly bitchy poet
image unknown origin (an allpoetry.com contest entry)
If every tear that ever fell
Became part of the cycle of rain
They would evaporate into
Our atmosphere and we
Would all breathe pain
There are those who spend hours huddled
over bibles stirring as if they were cauldrons
filled with gallons of steaming condemnation
drinking from a fountain of self righteousness
There are those who wrap themselves in corsets
containing and prohibiting any human love
freezing out those not deemed suitable
walking two steps ahead of the lowly and unworthy
There are those who scratch words and prayers
on paper that bleed and they suffer oh how they suffer
for their Jesus. P.R. Men for God, the only ones
with hotline to heaven, key to the executive bathroom
There are those who are confused and tired
poor and hopeful, lost and broken, held in God’s hand
with a gentle touch, washed and whispered to
needing, fed, welcomed home, covered by grace