don’t play staid hymns
and dignified
marches through arches
carrying boxes of
kleenex and talks of
the stories of past
over glories I’d rather
a rainstorm a cloud
formed of droplets a
breeze through the
trees and smooth stones
in my pockets with holes
leaking breadcrumbs
telling you come
where I am but later
for now chase a
rainbow a moonglow
a starshow love
things that I love now

if you can count the moments
that make up our love our years
our days of work and play
and sleep and kids and bills
and if you can count the hours
we have slept in stayed up
rocked a baby sat in
a hospital or waited for
a phone call a windfall a
short hall that leads to
a drink tall of ice tea
of cool water when garden
is picked and the chores
are all done and we
watch setting sun if
you can count the why
the when the where
the who of the moments
when we fought for
nothing for everything
for a hold on our selves
or a bond with each
other  be mother and father
and sister and brother
if you can count the
ties the lies that bind us
blind us twist out lives into
one long string  wrapped
in gold or in straw
wrapped in love then you
can do math beyond
world renowned genius
and master the playdoh
of playgrounds of
forever lands small hands
know secrets and numbers
that keep us on earth
and in flight every night

Prompt: “Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.”

this was for a contest at allpoetry.com

the word bank was a group of made-up words, use at least 6 and poem to be between ten and twenty lines

Adrigony
Blauxist
Diatimerich
dundipple
eraculise
fallacidious
fbiblet
Ichelur
Lopoxary
Gypsacillian
Mulcable
Hombriety
Orvesttee
perflickt
raboritum
scouddle
Thructious
Urgestrate
Vertricimos

my entry:

The blauxist spoke in measured tones
beliefs were strong entrenched in wrong
the gypsacillian yelled the loudest
to the crowd who just threw stones
If speech matched thructious schools
of thought and all would seek hombriety
then mankind would exist for once
in perflickt  fallacidious adrigony
a raboritum could be called on
lopoxary punishments and hate
would urgestrate the crowds and
children scouddle under trees
their parents eraculise and proud
in mulcable peace and harmony

I wandered further in the woods
a harper tune to hear and
as I pushed the branches back
I stood to listen to the tune.
He played the notes that
climbed the clouds
and burrowed into leafy piles
of rotting life on forest floor
and I could not help but
adore the man who stood in
ray of sun beneath the canopy
high above and love became
the siren song that held me
still though I would leave
and hasten to my home alone.
I could not move as mesmerized
he lifted saddened blinded eyes.
His playing stilled, he called to
me. “Who waits there, for I
cannot see?” I answered.
“I would hear some more.
lured here by music on the wind
I am alone and wish no harm.”
His fingers worked the mighty
strings and chorus sweet
he played for me and I began to
sing the words I knew not
still I sang and still he played
late into night,
and sight would be no obstacle
for hearts can hear and speak
a language eyes could never
understand. The music led me to
him and music bid me stay.
He took my hand and walked with
me. I took him home that day,
and now the harper is my own
and music makes our hearts
it’s home.

prompts: squeaky and clean

rain falls down
in sheets and streaks
and weeks of water
raining down on dirty stained
and grimy slimy dust and
grit and split the seams of pretty covers
over head and under foot so put the soap
out let the rope out lather up and polish
all the dirty hands and muddy feet that
walked where grass is not so sweet
the face is fine it’s mind where
rain won’t reach so just believe
not sway to left or right keep pure in
sight and pray to stand not lean to
keep the heart so squeaky clean so
scrub it up and you will find a new soul
underneath the mess the laces tied
so tight so loose them open up the door
let more love in grace pours out
for all us children needing cleaning

for a contest at allpoetry.com

inspired by the painting La Vague by William-Adolphe Bouguereau

the daughter of
the mer king fair
one summer morning
took the air
and chance would
cause the finest lad
to take a ride
upon the sand
and taken by his gentle
ways she sang her song
of love to rocks
and birds and waves
and pitied by the seaweed
witch who worked a spell
to grant her wish
to walk upon the land
as fish would swim
but with a price each
step would feel like
sharpest knives and
given just a cruel three days
to make the prince turn
to her face
with eyes of love
to seal the spell
she crawled upon the
land to dwell in
kingdom’s thrall but
cruel as luck would
twist her days the
prince made haste to
war and missed the
chance to meet and
feet gave way to fins
in time no longer sea
but neither land
she held her head up
high and waited
to be taken by her fate
regretting not her loving
choice she raised her voice
in final song to fish and
waves and birds and sound
becoming one with
rocky ground

from a picture prompt http://browse.deviantart.com/photography/?order=24&off%20set=96#/d2wry7t

she ran and ran
til breath was harsh
and burning in her chest
then ran some more
as time and time had
passed and she did rest
and sinking down
upon the ground she slept
til morning rose
awakened by the song
of birds in trees and by
the sun and breeze she
wrapped her arms around
her knees and laid her head
and wished and said
I will not wish for foolish
things like lace and feather
and diamond rings
I only wish for songs to sing
and laughter in the afternoon
some bread to eat
a cozy room a pillow
soft to lay my head

she had not run near
far enough for all
her problems waited
for her to return and
go she must and trudging
through the summer dust
and dried up leaves
she headed home but
something happened
as she roamed she knew
the answer though unasked
she’d live inside her head
and heart til as the time
would pass some more
the wolf would come
and at her door the howl
would beckon in the night
and she would overcome
her fright and go with
moons and tunes and
in the dark their voices raised
greet moonlight phased
for lovers choices

posted at allpoetry.com

A day when words
just flow and go and paint
a picture grab a feeling
slam it at you are the days
the ways that keep me writing
on a day that’s dry

and fallow shallow nothing
special empty of all meaning
gleaning chaff instead
of bread I dread those days
a day of fear that days are here

to stay but somehow
morning comes and there
is something where I
look for sweet release
a peace that comes when

I am done just let the fingers start
the heart will follow
hollow out a little place
a space where I can
lay it down a trickle

tickle then a stream a river
flowing out and over giving
endless weightless freely
pages stages leaves
that fall and cover me