All I’m Asking

Shake me. Impossible 

to integrate sediment

by stirring. Despair dregs 

cloud clarity.

Uncover facinerous soil

where my wild

three-year-old negotiating

a nap with patent

slyness is tricked even so

caged wheezing

sleep. Intelligent

contumacy rising now:

noctivagous lollop

ungainly unhindered 

by kindness.

A quadrille (44 words) written as the dversepoets prompt “stirs” sleepless musings during a stertorous night with Foyle’s Philavery at hand.

If you’re not lucky enough to have a Foley’s…(I love this book so much!)
contumacy: stubborn resistance to authority
facinerous: extremely wicked
lollop: to move heavily or be tossed about
noctivagous: wandering in the night

Come Awake Love

if we look
with kindness on all creations–
to the one in the mirror, say,
hey, I love you with every molecule
of space, in every twist of time,
with passionate ignited soul

I love you like the breath that
refuses sleep. Come awake, come awake
love. And in this predawn opening gambit:
sacrifice sleep now. Insight-

seeds land where I’ve been weeding
every morning, diligent
respect. Whispering as I expose
each deep root, thank you, for
saving a different me. Bask in the light
that always comes after darkness has scoured
forbidden places with its pitiless claws.

 

And yet, I can

Half of the bay is iced,
a line straight from shore to shore.

Rippling bright cold on that side.
Frozen still by me.

Last night’s clouds covered the full
moon trying to cleanse crystals

stargazing on my window seat.
The architect of my dreams

is always me. The plight awakening
my soul held for ransom

by these tiny trauma places
obstructing my energy flow.

Ducks dabble at the edge,
perhaps flirting with danger under

this new boundary. Heads pop
up in the ceaseless current.

I’m diving into my inner self
worth, seizing each block

curling my feet and clenching
my hands. Signals to my wise

now—heal me! Love me!
All this young reaching out

turned inward to comfort
a broken heart. You’re not

good enough my poisoned
talisman, intelligent protection.

You’re too much. Truth will not
be received well, not here.

Shut up and survive.
Clutch this imperative: you can’t.

Inspired by: Can, Architect, Plight and Ransom.

Just popped in at the halfway point to say, I miss you, fellow daily writers! The writing is flowing like music, thanks to Lisa Cron’s amazing book, Story Genius: How To Use Brain Science To Go Beyond Outlining And Write A Riveting Novel* [Before You Wasted Three Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere.] (It works! Yesterday my word count was 38,646 out of my goal of 50K by the end of November!)