Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#vicissitudes
VICISSITUDES helps you understand a wo or a man in quick sand
0
Mar 3, 2025
Mar 3, 2025 at 7:27 PM UTC
Word - Senryu
Held like this A cupped hand of water held still that not a drop enters gravity's pull. Held like this The hens egg. Rounded palms together without allowance of pressure that would crush the shell. Frail possessions. These are days she remembers beyond all vicissitudes she faced. Not jagged. Not stewing or careless. This untainted moment of protection for something that will give back. A drop of water becomes a cup that was dry as a bone. The egg becomes a breakfast feast weary of starvation. Hold life like this. Prudent, tender and earnest. These times she keeps for consideration.
0
Apr 27, 2023
Apr 27, 2023 at 1:50 PM UTC
Held
Who is he, The man in the sweaty tee-shirt, Standing in the center While cars **** round The roundabout? He holds a digging tool, Remains of weeds clinging. He waves at a city parks truck Rounding on its way To the main building. I know him. We taught together once. His doctorate in ministry: Servant lives and how to lead them; Mine in words and letters, And how to read them. I wonder as I drive away: The tenuous lives we lead; No predicting whether next year I'll be learning with students Or pulling weeds on a highway. Vicissitudes of Life...
0
May 7, 2020
May 7, 2020 at 5:10 PM UTC
Roundabout Roustabout
The urge to do nothing is overwhelming, compelling. I am motionless I find myself halted. Based upon a worry a waiting dominated by uncertainty. ​ I cannot go on I stretch the mind wander wonder of antidotes remedies delicious in the knowledge of their reduced life span. But not a cure. Openings brighten despite me, the ephemera of the street untouched, lilting on its arbor in its impetuous parade. ​(I think) I should not allow myself this dysania in the spaces between moments, lapses into stillness unforeseen. In the warm response of wire I ask for forgiveness. Trapped in my own gaze, it’s all I have. (the purity of sorrow) The floor pushes me skyward, I run my finger’s tip around the edge of the afternoon, Hope to god it rings out in response.
0
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
Pure