The most potent use of words has been to round out some transcendental event, giving that event a place in the accepted chronicles, explaining the event in such a way that ever afterward we can use those words and say: “This is what it meant.”~Frank Herbert
Sometimes he believes he’s a radical
though he’s bought by the patriarch’s dream. Full
of words, he’s caught. What might beseem a pearl
gleaming is trampled for he’s taught bewhirled.
Inspired by: Patriarch, Radical, Beseem and Sometimes.
Who knows when a welcome has worn? Worry
strives to master joy’s salute. Sorry, scorned
antithesis is born in disaster.
Outside the world is blooming. Hope reborn
scuttles in dread, a reversal. My heart’s
rehearsal dwelt too long on enmity.
I see my part, dragging identity
down dysfunction’s paths. Who’s unflagging art
accompanies from shore to door? Who can
answer my hesitant knock? To span
a long life, my illusory bridges
must fail. The dangling track’s prodigious.
Is everything I’ve wrought reduced to naught?
The train’s long gone when the caboose, distraught
creeps by. I say that I’m a lover. Fear
defined this life and is no longer dear.
Inspired by: Antithesis, Caboose, Strive, Salute and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt to start this post with either who or whom.
A flamfoo from the get-go, my great gran
primped and simpered, scribbled patience, plans
to edify descendants. Wordsmith, banned
by gender, class, marriage–I understand
her devious ways, her slyness enforced
by disregard as a matter of course.
Another pretty woman past consigned
to mirror play. Diaries unlocked by night
reveal her plight. Letters unsent, unsigned
and poems layered, untold riches mined
and polished. Almost thrown away. Today
she’s found. My heart echoes her gentle sway.
Inspired by: Wordsmith, Patience, Edify and Flamfoo. Featured image is my great grandmother Olive Veleda May, her name itself a poem, one of the strongest women I’ve ever known, who conquered unbearable grief with love and poise and poetry.
Your life could be so much. Are you blind or don’t you care to see? Fool, fool, ah, you crazy fool.~Jesse Colin Young
The first of April the Karens of yore
jeered at eccentrics who kept the old score
by pagan calendars. Equinox springs
once heralded the beginning of things
before the rulers judged the populace
control depended on a timeline bust.
Aided by pranksters, now the very air
is being taken. The masked ones don’t dare
object. I walk freely and I am hailed
by trained millennials whose training failed
to address people’s right to breathe. How strange
I appear. This world’s turning quite deranged.
Inspired by: Air, Eccentric and Prankster.
“We are like Hansel and Gretel, leaving bread crumbs of our personal information everywhere we travel through the digital woods.”~Gary Kovacs
In this bright spring morning, notes of music
fleeting signals mark a trail, rise muse-like,
and dissipate if I’m not sitting here
dedicated to my craft. I hold dear
this inexplicable flow, sound-magic
precious hour I weave into the fabric
of my life where songs of praise coincide
with healing miracles performed by night.
The recipes censored from cyberspace
are melodies plants and trees share with grace.
I could have called a doctor in a rush,
but they, condoning masks, have lost my trust.
And so I sing electric body’s songs,
listening carefully, righting the wrongs
dissonance creates when we’re hypnotized
by bells and whistles, lights spinning our eyes.
Inspired by: Note, Music, Crumbs and Coincide.
The kittens are soft-padding my keyboard.
Just this slight distraction stifles; ignored
the morning poem becomes a stealthie, peeks
around the empty bowls, the rumpled sheets.
Inspired by: Slight, Stealthie, Stifle and Rumpled.
There’s no method to this madness. Fiction
spreads like thick molasses, soothing friction
that truth demands. Waiting, tamed by beliefs
that a wise caretaker will allay griefs.
Form a line. Stand patiently while a screen
directs the evildoers’ games. Machine-
taught, purity tainted, bred to power
futurity. Slave owners’ manpower
is educated in mandated ways
to entrain and sedate. Deep in the maze
how to lift up a gaze, discern what’s real?
I sit and breathe, give space to how I feel.
Hope unfurls, a single frond signals spring.
Hands deep in chilly soil, a thrilling zing
as nature teaches. Layered like an ace
in a tarot spread, earth blessings embrace.
Inspired by: Method, Ace, Frond and Purity.
No man knows, or ever will know, the truth about the gods and about everything I speak of: for even if one chanced to say the complete truth, nevertheless one would not know it.~Xenophanes
When the timelines shifted, angels hit me
with my fate–my words absurd, they pit me
‘gainst the means mere humans work through our dreams,
figure slowly: every facet that seems
to separate, divides and conquers. Free
imagination’s the powerful key.
Using others’ past creations enslaves
and blinds and mutes the overtures of praise.
I held an image, how life’s supposed to be.
It wasn’t adding up. I thought to flee.
Drew star charts, heeded visions. Ancient lines
predict that I’ll awaken outside time,
discover space reflects my best and worst.
Wherever I may be, it’s time I work.
So patiently I clean, intentions pure,
steadfast with love abiding and soul sure.
Inspired by: Figure, Human, Overture and Hit.
You need to aim beyond what you are capable of. Make your vision of where you want to be a reality. Nothing is impossible.~Paul Arden
After clearing shadows of possible
monsters, he zooms into morning, crammed full
of unexpected insights, such delight-
joy to be alive while teens balk at light.
You have to think fast, peruse the system–
grandmotherly words meant to assist him.
My task’s to civilize young excesses
hoping to lessen rambunctious messes
while boosting wild imagination. Poised
on the balance beam, enjoy the world’s toys.
Create with each breath, grounded, having fun
outside in the spring sun. Come, let us run.
Inspired by: Peruse, unexpected, system, balk, the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt run and the amazing opportunity to be untamed by a four-year-old who loves to run at full blast.
Even sleepers are workers and collaborators in what goes on in the Universe.~ Heraclitus
In my instructive dreams, shortsighted foes
transit vows of vengeance, dastardly shows.
They strike no fear in me, for I know love.
Even in dark nightmares, they can’t shove
me to the depths of despair. And waking
breathless–pain is my familiar–breaking
me is a blessing. Here at this new stage
of my long life–I’m just at middle age–
the kitten pounces. Vicious claws recently trimmed
render him adorable. Morning hymned
mastery of breath, airways tightening
while the birds greet the predawn brightening
perhaps my light inspires chittering hope.
Imperfect environs teach me to cope.
Fierce plethora of captors in my dreams
grant no release. Caught in this peril seems
I must find balance, aim higher, create
wellbeing in the implacable face
of foes’ misconceptions. Though they blame me
and their fear and anger seek to claim me
always I awaken, see sand slip through
the hourglass, meaningless measure. Who
deconstructs enslavement though asleep, clears
illusory chains sustaining fears.
Inspired by: Plethora, Misconception and Transit.