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 Apr 2016
Sam Temple
pattering softly
kitten mittens against
waxed linoleum
barely audible
yet, transcendent
carrying thoughts along rivulets
blending with currents
seeking the sea –
invading raider
giant droplets
crash against lily pad leaves
sending fish frantically
to darting
leaves, pummeled
give up the fight for life
and fall
drowned in the deluge –
it felt as if I had been running
August in Alabama
visibility grossly limited
coated and covered
in only shorts and sandals
a thin vail shrouded the coastline
distorted images played in the mist –
t’was the rain this morn
sending ideas twirling
splashing against the window frames
giving rise to waves of creativity
and inspiring this write –
poetry month prompt 20


making the 4/20 reference would have been far too easy :)
 Apr 2016
bulletcookie
Tonto said gimoozaabi
"he/she looks out in secret"
taking in his masked friend
a brother found half dead
resurrected to law and order
---
Scout was happy as a horse
found me by a moving spring
we bound each others spirit
grounded on grandfather's course

Teach me stillness with this light
Let stone memories endure
finding humble moon lit nights
caring as a mare her foal

Lean close to earth and hear us
Great Spirits in these stars sky
teach me to forget myself
as white snow forgets its life

-cec
respectfully borrowed in part from:
Teach Me...
A Ute Prayer

I lived next to Harold John Smith grandfather's house as a kid
 Apr 2016
Ottar
Listen, until your eyes
glisten, until your heart
of stone cracks apart
so open, so you do more, than try to
listen.

That you have a love of music. Feelings.

Find songs from every genre,
grind out the beats and honour
the composers genius and form of math
fill the tub, light a candle, sit in a bubble bath.
(if you are a guy, bath bubbles are cool)

Watch your wine shimmer to the sonic waves
while you contemplate doing this again and again.

Towel tied, move your body to the beat that calls your name
Find as much music, acoustic from across the world, this globe
Grind away the time, watch life as your taste for notes unfolds
There is much to absorb, learn lyrics, take your time, no shame.

May you fill your home with sounds, summer, fall, winter and spring.

Turn the volume, let it vault to the sky so you hear,
the burning pain, in the artist’s vocals were clear
to share, from acoustic to symphonic beware not all might
be fair, for the sounds of ‘silence' they aggressively fight
instead of learn.

And you now, yearn to sing along while discovering
the perfect chord, the perfect key.
Music theory not my strong suite. As I love to sing along. Loudly.
 Apr 2016
Joel M Frye
It is a night where I must craft my words
or try to weave lines on a broken loom.
To think a poem will spring forth is absurd.

Stillborn inspiration can't be stirred,
emotions drained away. I must assume
it is a night where I must craft my words.

My prayers to Muse fell back to earth, unheard.
All artistry has booked a separate room.
To think a poem will spring forth is absurd.

Striving merely churns my brain to curds,
its thin gray whey runs down some gutter's flume.
It is a night where I must craft my words.

A cadenced resolution's been deferred,
the last two lines will surely be my doom.
To think a poem will spring forth is absurd.

A peaceful flow of writing is deterred
until my buried spirit is exhumed.
It is a night where I must craft my words,
to think a poem will spring forth is absurd.
Ever had a time when you wanted to write in the worst possible way...and then did?
 Apr 2016
Sam Temple
scurrying to the lavatory
frantically fumbling
belt unhooked
button fly, de-flied
hook thumbs against the skin
and drag the bottoms down mid-calf
feel the cool breeze on your
recently freed junk
bent at the knees ya’ll
and set gently
the plastic cap to the porcelain god
diligently protecting your **** cheeks
from the cold damp germ-laden white
doom tube….
relax, don’t push too hard
this is a natural as the rain
buzzing bees
but more like a waterfall
after a flood
debri passes
logs fall
mud and grime
crash down
down
down
reach over and begin to gather your specified amount
of toilet tissue
go ahead, don’t be scared
be sure to cover your hand skin
we don’t want a poo finger
then
wipe!
wipe, again
wipe until there’s nothing left to wipe
we all want a clean bootyhole
don’t we?
grab up those trousers
or elegant gown
and reattach or fasten
the button, zipper, or belt
straighten your gear in the mirror
and wash
wash
wash
we don’t want a poo finger
do we?
poetry month prompt 19
 Apr 2016
Ottar
When our family still dined in one sitting, together,
"dollars to donuts" subject of school came up, as did weather,

and then back to the topic of school and those
homework assignments, but saying "Bob Elliot "grows

like  ****"" got mom and dad talking about clothes
and shopping south of the border woes

in Spokane, though my dad worked at Hudson Bay
and my mom toiled at Woolworth's, earned her pay,

they wanted "bang for buck" and would not allow
"good money go after bad *******" here and now

with the Canadian dollar almost at par,
and gas was cheaper for our old car,

"South of the 49th" just then,

the phone would ring and one of our friends would ask
if we could go out and play until dark, mom would take us to task

and say as we went out the door, with a slam "best be inside
"before the cows came home"" we were already three strides

from the door though (we didn't live on a farm
and only animal was our pet was a dog, Goldie,) what was the harm

as the sun was staying up later
the homework would be done once daylight was long faded,

and we would get to our beds "as snug as bug in a rug"
the importance of breaking bread together with limited interruptions and intentional communications only with those immediately seated around the TABLE is "fighting a losing battle," I am one to TALK
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