This could be considered 'found poetry.' I was thinking of my small stone observation of the morning and noticed the names of the games on the closet shelf. I think they fit together perfectly to describe the tone of the world recently.
I look forward to comments.
Connect four to the battleship of a clueless memory and become the smartass of the operation.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Poem of the Day - Court is in Session
"We all live under the same sky, but we don't all have the same horizon."
We are not; we’ve passed tomorrow, and forgotten
all the sorrow. There is hope in whispers, for we still
live as one, question where, cherish why, peek
under how, caress when, and skip to the who.
The reasons obscured by words rolling downhill to
the massacre that waits. Nothing is different. It’s the
same. Repetition strangles contemplation, and compassions’
sky falls upon the heads eagerly raised looking for answers.
But, we stare blindly, listen deafly and speak mutely for
we haven’t a clue in this universe. Whirling dervishes who
don’t know our existence is minute; we are a sparkle of stardust
all floating aimlessly, touching one another recklessly. We
have borrowed time and refuse to pay the debt accrued to
the owner of our destiny. We request extensions, citing the
same leftover and rotted excuses, “we are the true beings of the
horizon and we owe naught.” Court is in session!
We are not; we’ve passed tomorrow, and forgotten
all the sorrow. There is hope in whispers, for we still
live as one, question where, cherish why, peek
under how, caress when, and skip to the who.
The reasons obscured by words rolling downhill to
the massacre that waits. Nothing is different. It’s the
same. Repetition strangles contemplation, and compassions’
sky falls upon the heads eagerly raised looking for answers.
But, we stare blindly, listen deafly and speak mutely for
we haven’t a clue in this universe. Whirling dervishes who
don’t know our existence is minute; we are a sparkle of stardust
all floating aimlessly, touching one another recklessly. We
have borrowed time and refuse to pay the debt accrued to
the owner of our destiny. We request extensions, citing the
same leftover and rotted excuses, “we are the true beings of the
horizon and we owe naught.” Court is in session!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Dismissal and Denial
Outright dismissal of objective observations is abject denial of self.
My small stone of the day.
My small stone of the day.
Monday, January 3, 2011
A pebble for the River of Stones
Fantastical illusions dance in the shadows
Tripping on delightful delusions
Tripping on delightful delusions
Poem of the day
"Above, branches spread a dendroid filigree across the sky."~ Angus Wells; Dark Magic: The Godwars; Bantam; 1992.
Above and beyond, over and under, wrapped within clichés’
branches is the truth wondered about; covered by fallacies that
spread mists over innocent growth, obstructs the vitality of
a crimson rise or a ginger set. Traipsing blindly we miss the
dendroid of potential that encircles the universe. The vibrant
filigree left unnoticed, unrecognized while our steps bear us
across unknown terrain. We stumble and falter within
the shadows. We creep along, timidly reaching out for a
sky that awaits our soar, and maintains the winds of forever.
Above and beyond, over and under, wrapped within clichés’
branches is the truth wondered about; covered by fallacies that
spread mists over innocent growth, obstructs the vitality of
a crimson rise or a ginger set. Traipsing blindly we miss the
dendroid of potential that encircles the universe. The vibrant
filigree left unnoticed, unrecognized while our steps bear us
across unknown terrain. We stumble and falter within
the shadows. We creep along, timidly reaching out for a
sky that awaits our soar, and maintains the winds of forever.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
New Year of Writing
My only New Year’s resolution is to keep writing, and to keep moving forward. The days of stagnation are over. At the exciting age of 54, I must do or do not, there is no try—any longer.
I came across a terrific writing prompt on the blog Not Quite Enlightenment Chicago poet David Buddha-Hargarten of Waiting 4 the Bus. Apparently, he picked it up from Donna Vorreyer. The idea is to take a 10-12 word quote, or a 10-12 line poem, use the individual words of the quote or the first word of each line of poetry as the first word in your line of poetry. I thought it was a great way to start the New Year off writing. It’s a different way for me and I’ve found different to be good for creating—gives me an inspirational challenge.
A Facebook friend, Cassidy Webb of Webb Weaver always posts quotes from writers, so I decided to visit her page and pull a quote for the exercise. I came away with one from F. Scott Fitzgerald:
Draw your chair up close to the edge of the precipice and I'll tell you a story.
The following is my first attempt at the exercise and I will most likely do it again—maybe even later today.
Draw from the deck of
your dream cards the
chair of Queens or Kings
up on which to repose.
Close by the fantasy of life
to sup at the table, to sip
the nectar of eternity at the
precipice of time, where mind
and heart are one. Where
I’ll whisper of promises,
tell tales created to entice
you. Surrender your being to
stories written by souls freedom.
dk
2011
I came across a terrific writing prompt on the blog Not Quite Enlightenment Chicago poet David Buddha-Hargarten of Waiting 4 the Bus. Apparently, he picked it up from Donna Vorreyer. The idea is to take a 10-12 word quote, or a 10-12 line poem, use the individual words of the quote or the first word of each line of poetry as the first word in your line of poetry. I thought it was a great way to start the New Year off writing. It’s a different way for me and I’ve found different to be good for creating—gives me an inspirational challenge.
A Facebook friend, Cassidy Webb of Webb Weaver always posts quotes from writers, so I decided to visit her page and pull a quote for the exercise. I came away with one from F. Scott Fitzgerald:
Draw your chair up close to the edge of the precipice and I'll tell you a story.
The following is my first attempt at the exercise and I will most likely do it again—maybe even later today.
Draw from the deck of
your dream cards the
chair of Queens or Kings
up on which to repose.
Close by the fantasy of life
to sup at the table, to sip
the nectar of eternity at the
precipice of time, where mind
and heart are one. Where
I’ll whisper of promises,
tell tales created to entice
you. Surrender your being to
stories written by souls freedom.
dk
2011
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