#napowrimo2017bd
it is time my friend
to put my thoughts
on paper...
to write you
what my tongue denies
what my heart screams
in the middle of the night
it is time to speak in
the words etched upon
my bones
to give light to this
seed with in my soul
even as the ink blots the paper
my fears rise, and my courage quivers
to give this entity the substance
of words
is to give it the power
of freedom or destruction
but I am weary, so weary
from carrying its burden
through this long peroid
of gestation, I am beyond
beyond trying to carry
this thing with grace
and have now become
a lumbering leviathan
treading heavily through
each day,not evolving
or creating, just barely exsisting
So, if it be freedom,
there will be relief
if it be destruction
there will be release
No more dallying,
No more delay
You left, You died
leaving us behind
no recompense
no answers
just a ***** room
and unpaid bills
You, You, walked
out of life,
without
finishing the conversation
without
any explanation
without
care for others
without
thought for self
You told us nothing
You hid your hurt
till it was to late
till...it..was..too..too late
And tho
I WILL LOVE YOU
til the end of my days
Now, I hate....
I hate you are not here
I hate that I did not see
I hate that you did not ask
I hate the incompleteness
of it all
So my friend, I write
this to you...
then make it into
a paper boat
that I set on
the waters
before
lighting
it afire
in
the hopes
it will
bring
freedom
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
so the bodohggedies
danced their dance
under the soogothle tree
and in their minds
they sang sigines
of depopple lines
and made the world
fleaegopple
then the caturnaps
made jackgnondle pies
and recited zungundes
of yeesterways and
told gobnibbittts
imogabble lies
to make them
flabhouter away
and when the great day
of Ubuinaqa was almost done
the teopssangwars
gave chant to the
promise of Gosbingilia
in formal
Datulach ligalibilate
and all Phfidugimea
around sat and listened to
the haquisalical sound,
sighing with
mneuss and saeszfedi
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 2:51 AM UTC
the world winds down slowly tonight
coalescing into one small house
on the cusp of something
we sit and watch the flickering
of other peoples bad news
and pray it does not become
our own
we keep in constant touch
with each other, the golden boy
sleeps with head in my lap
the father lays his hand
over mine and exerts gentle
reassuring pressure
the tuxedo kitten, sensing
our restless souls, moves from
person to person seeking
to comfort wish his two kilos
of wrinkled scrawniness
it is a time of waiting
and watching the small
screened phones, willing
them to carry positivity
it is a time of cups
of lukewarm tea
and half eaten food
starting at sounds
and praying
to gods long losr
or forgotten
the night continues
to crawl, toward the day
the phones remain silent
we sleep in fitful dozing
snatches, with the blue glow
of reruns lighting
the huddled of love
at 4.02 the phones buzz
and we answer,
with trepidation
the news is cautiously good
the surgery complete
the nephew, still with us
we sigh, with gratitude
as the sky begins to lighten
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
her fingers feathering the dark magnolia leaves
stroking the foilage like it were a housecat
his fingers wrapped around the taped raquet handle
in a firm yet dexterous grip, waiting to enter the fray
her fingers deep within the loamy soil
communing with the larger whole
his fingers testing the grain of the wood
looking for the sweet spot, the soul
her fingers raised to lips, creating a mask
thoughts to the rest of the day
his fingers poised above the computer
awaiting the spark to flare
her fingers in the tresses of his hair
asking for more connection
his fingers playing across the rise of her breast
answering all her questions
her fingers, her hands hard upon his shoulder blades
seeking the length, the depth, of him
his fingers, his hands on her ****
fullfilling their need
their fingers intertwined
as they sleep....together
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC
weary soul
worn down
like sneakers
that have walked the line
far too long
that line far to thin
to make a difference
no delineation,
no real sides
to be taken
just a staging area
between the black and grey
of a half life lived in half shadow
with the promise of
an hours sunshine
each day...
weary soul
wandering along
to the end of this line
that peters out
in a morse code message
of mental and physical decline
a repatriation of lost time
a moments deviation defined
by years spent waiting for
a chance to rewind, declined
by a judgemental man,
signing on the dotted line
weary, wearied soul
worn out and now
just a faded memory
blown, dust to the wind
as the coffin winds down.
lines now terminated
ultimately, forever, segregated
from the life within
and on the topside,
a mourners line
thin and tired
throw soil
upon the lid
weary souls
crying for justice
but reaping sorrow
fearing for the break of morrow
marrow jelly and breaking bones
wend their way, back to broken homes
to sit on couches filled with dust
to watch television that peddles lust
and throwaway goods for throwaway lives
no call for effort,
no need to strive,
just be a drone!
live for the hive!
groan and moan,
give graft on loan
have your muttered say,
about the state of play
whilst, living lives, the deepest shade of grey
growing weary and more wearied evey day
waiting for the great big sleep
wading through
beaucoup de petites morts
drowning in
une petite vie
*jamais las, éternellement usé
porter des clowns espadrilles
et un froncement de sourcils*
forever weary, eternally worn down
wearing clowns sneakers and a frown
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 8:39 AM UTC
walking on the beach
yesterday we picked
up a scallop shell
white to ivory on the outside
multi shades of purple within
truly a beautiful thing
once home and hearth to the scallop
or plate to the serving of he
after his demise
sometimes decorative window
on the sandcastles side
sometimes shovel to dig themoat
to turn back the tide
not often but at a pinch
a rental for a naked crab
til a better fit is found
platter for a sea bird's feast
marker for a lost wicket
in game of rounds
or beach cricket
necklace on silver thread
part of small creature roof
as the tide surges over head
if we had found two
could claim it at a bra
for small breasted
mermaid too.
once part of life, vibrant and small
eventually to, become particles
of sand, tossed about in wave
and sea.
the scallop shell,
what beauty
delicate but strong,
calcium at its finest
tideline jewel,
and a great skimming tool
we left the scallop shell
with the waves, to continue
it's journey, we gave it more days
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 3:17 AM UTC
we sit at the edge of
vespertide
listening to the chorale
of evensong
this day's opus almost done
now tapering off in
slow melodious decrescendo..
it is the gloaming
and the final flurry of light
glimmers on the horizon
now the night becomes
the diva,
the first star has been wished upon,
the first sattelite too.
and the bass note of the cicadas
builds to a ***** needful hum...
lights go on in little square
patches, and the smell
of barbeque fragrances
the summer night air
under the streetlights
the moths come to dance
a dare each other to touch
the midnight sun...
and in our garden
the rustle of the
tame gone feral
rabbit "bellamy"
has begun...
a hulking grey white
shadow now he lollops
toward the tasty green
carrot-tops...
until the sound of pounding
feet causes him to freeze
considering his position
bellamy chooses discretion
over valour and departs with haste
the wind now has a coolness to it
and the grass grows damp about us
by still we sit enamoured of the changing
slow and quiet about us
the seas whisper secrets
and the birds settle in for the night
excepting those who hunt on silent wings
the stars begin to pop
bright white on the darkening sky
and the crescent moon smile with
a sideways grin...
it is now the darker things come
owls on the wing
spiders to reknit there webs
the big bass frog to sing his song
and the small blood seeker
come with whinging wings
now we must give the night
it's privacy, as we walk inside,
from the pond a series of sounds
means the frog has found dinner
hopefuuly a mosiquito buffet
the vesper tide hath turned
the night is now come.....
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC
you float
so lightly
upon the waters
of my soul
and when
in the sun
brightly
iridescent
do you shine
sometimes
you hide
whisper quiet
often
found though
in the strangest
of places
putting smiles
on sad faces
always in reach
for those who
extend their faith
light as feather
able to lift
the heaviest
of weights
like a smile
from a friend
or a sun shower
always welcome
especially in
the eleventh hour
intangible, you are
the small flame
that starts big fires....
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
it is true
that until
some one
has gone from you
you do not know how will
miss them...
i miss sitting quietly
with you after a day's work
tea cups in hand, savouring
the fragrance of smoky tea
and the silence that comes
from a deep sense of compainionship
I miss, coming upon you sitting on a bench
face turned toward the sun, hands spread wide
i an act of joyful worship, a smile lighting up
your face,
I miss the itense look of concentration, as you
described a new thought or concept to others
and the loosed limbed wonder of you as you
came alive upon the stage....
the generosity of heart and spirit,
your allocentricity...
all these things i miss and more
and most days I find some new
thing that I miss...
but...
my missing you
is a living elegy
I miss most
the sound of your voice in my ear
...but I hear the echoes
that tell me....
you are stronger than this
....just breathe on through
and wait
for the sun to shine for it will, it will
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 7:27 AM UTC
In a ceramic concave
Take one cluckfart and beat
Add a cup and a half of moojuice
mix with a whirlpool motion
Then find beaten crushedvwheat
add two cups
mix with a whirpool motion
discover sweet cyrstals add 1cup
mix with a whirlpool motion
find and turn on heatslabtop source
put metal pool on heatslabtop source
add a dab of solid yellow moojuice
allow to liqiufy
pour in a measure of whirlpool mix
to create a babylake,
add some bluejuice spheres
or some monkey smilebars
listen for sizzle, watch for bubbles
take a babylake flipper and flip
the babylake so both sides cook evenly
place babylakes on ceramic circle
and repeat the process
dab of yellow moojuice
pouring the babylake mix
so on and so forth,
until ceramic circle is full or
you run out of whirlpool mix
sit at eating tree, with ceramic circle.
if you wish, add the juice of the maple
or tears of the sour yellow leather fruit
to your share of the babylakes
and then consume......and feel
your tummy muscles smile
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 11:30 AM UTC
when one
waddles
through
puddles
one often
gets wet
from
the feet up
then one may
get upset
yet if one
takes to water
like the duck
should not
the wet feet
from waddling
be akin to it's back
water free falling
and feet unstuck
if unducklike
you be
avoiding
the puddles
of life
may well
be the key
to a life
of dry feet
and a smiling
phsyche
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC