nature is a fickle woman
you love her and then
she messes with
your circadian rhythms
and your appetites
Storms you awake
when you should sleep
lulls you in midday heat
when you would work
withholds favor when
your flowers need rain
breaths on leaves
that need raking
laughing as she runs away
leaving you small
and helpless
clinging to the rake

I will try to understand
what is poetry

some arch brows and
chant
meter and rhyme
and rules
and they would strip my words
to bone and bleach
pinned on the line
to flap in cold wind
until frozen it no longer folds

some say anchor your feet
with punctuation
so we know where to breath
back me up to the wall
pull my heart
out from under me
I hide the sack of exclamation points
behind my back
and hold out a handful of question marks

I would learn the ropes
and rise like steam
metaphoric clouds
blind me to the moment
I get distracted
by distant music
forgetting to sift the grains of
life as they pass
through my fingers
landing on the page

my head hurts
from all the thinking
and I will float in the sea of wisdom
bobbing and weaving
with algae and angel fish
resting between waves
ponder the knowledge
of palm trees
how they know to sway
let yellow sun warm blue water
hold my hand up to the light
marvel at bones and veins

I will try to understand
what poetry is

the moon and flames
reflect a spirit
untamed
I sweep the skies
longing for
real magic

from a twenty word or less contest on AllPoetry

no braking on the slippery slope
of sweetest dreams we hold to cope
cast the dice for hope and love
prayers for blessing from above
capricious luck chameleon
lives in finest gossamer skin

silver mirror tells a tale
the hazardous signs to no avail
fried eggs cause cholesterol
acid rain our own downfall
committed to this saddened road
sore weighed down by heavy load

follow through the deadline looms
inexorable lowering fateful boom
as mundane as a dog with fleas
remain in shallow water please
claimed by dirt the box awaits
there is no running from this fate

but still the soul is steel and stone
no chisel carves a scar upon
no soapsuds need to wash it clean
no jaded imitation sheen
throw your theory to the sky
Do not pretend that you know why

though battered, shattered, worn
the minds eye sees beyond the storm
pulls threads of crimson, gold and blue
a tapestry of purest hue
love sings past the aging flesh
life cycle soon begins afresh

this was from a contest on AllPoetry that allowed you to choose from five word banks of five – I decided to be perverse and see if I could work them ALL in.

Words: 1. steel, theory, soapsuds, imitation, chisel 2. mirror, hazardous, dandelion, fried eggs, committed  3. tapestry, sings, eye, shattered, collide  4. slippery, fantasy, casting, chameleon, lives  5. deadline, boom, fleas, shallow, dirt

rats – I missed dandelion!

Credit image to: Angie Cramer

Where are my questions
in this dry season?
I should summon
righteous anger,
scathing social commentary,
but my mind is covered
by a coating of fine ash.
Sunburned thoughts,
scorched soles of feet
that have walked sere earth
as dead things crunch.
I can’t even summon sorrow
Do dead leaves weep in winter?
Oh let this season pass
Where is my rain?
Lethargy takes my hand
and lays me down,
whispering
“it will pass…”

bony shoulders
holding up the brown sky
in hand me down pants
clipped to cut down suspenders
suspending hope
from a million mile stare
at a train going nowhere
just making a lot of noise
and blowing holy smoke
holes in soles leaking dirt
and stones that bruise the heels
that walk the tracks
in an iron ore town
hard edges and empty dreams

Image credit: http://photographersweddingss.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Old- Photographs.jpg

Courtesy of a night at the planetarium and Paschal’s word “Plangent”

how am I going to put
this all back together
I slap pieces on and they don’t stick
pick them up lick them up
stick them back doesn’t matter

yes it does it’s all matter

some bunch of gases went all
super nova and here we are
the star is blown all out
of proportion the tortion causing shearing
it’s appearing to be damaged
cells have clamored for assistance
but resistance is more than I can handle
lit a candle still the darkness
is a massive black hole
sucking all the light out
of the world is sky covered
cloud hovered galaxy smothered
in diamond starshot fabric bending
never lending an ear or a hand
I just stand and look up waiting
skating through the night
a ball of fright so tiny underneath
the heavens I would sing
the plangent tune of space time

subtle rhyme escapes

it winds around my throat
to silence questions with
no answers like the planets
in their orbit
through my veins corpuscles travel
routes unraveled slowly
predetermined til a single
singularity (not as much a rarity
as you might think)

takes everything to the brink
and then collapses into itself
like me I’m sinking under weight
of my own thoughts
I fought too hard I think

or not enough

this skin like space is bending
folding holding in the soul

but there are limits

I am in it but not staying
like the stars I am imploding
light exploding soon outshining
stellar pining for return to
source of course we argue
what that is but in the end we all
go back and fall into the core

becoming matter once again

the star stuff fading with the dawn
but what a journey to become
a softened color coated morning
where another will be looking to the sky
and wonder where am I and
do I fit here what’s my bit here

are my cells a part of yours

and did I come from up above
will I return and burn as brightly
daily nightly ever slightly
changing to become
the sun

All Poetry prompt: Purple Passion

give me the color
that lies just at the edge
of sunset
the dark places in the ripples
as the breeze moves across
the blue water
I would rest my eyes
on the edge of shadow
under the soft clouds
the tender shade in the dip
under your eyes
just above the swell of cheek
sing me a sky just before
the storm drops down
and turns to grey and black
or the shine at the outer ring
of moonglow just before
the stars appear
let my fingers feel the petal
of iris as it blends into deep wine
holding stamen for bees to feed
let me taste purple
of new grapes frosted with dew
ripe with flavor
color of royalty

I am reading the book The Ode Less Traveled” by Stephen Fry.  At a point in the first section the reader is instructed to stop reading and get out pen and paper and compose sentences in iambic pentameter and I am working on it.  This was just to have fun and vent a little of my frustration.

I wish that pentameter wasn’t so hard.
I practiced and practiced but often it jarred.
If practice makes perfect then I will prevail,
though readers may wish I’d decided to bail.

I’m reading a book and the book says to cease,
take paper and pen and give muse it’s release.
Don’t fret about rhyming just count the beat,
so I’m tapping my foot while brain feels the heat.

Keep banging the keys but am I improving?
Can I make words fit beats and still be moving?

A more learned poet than myself commented “I WISH that penTAmeter WASn’t so HARD (iamb, anapest, anapest, anapest). That’s a fun and useful meter” – obviously I need more work on this but as with any tool it takes practice before it feels comfortable.  Back to the journal…