Day Twenty-nine - Free falling...

No planning, no pre-writing - just go...

Good-bye baby butterfly
flutter to the clouds
flutter on home

be at peace
and know that we
love you
more than the world
more than ourselves

Good-bye baby butterfly
time was brief
not even known

the pain will heal
but never leave
and we'll always
have you with us
and see you
in each others eyes

Good-bye baby butterfly
flutter to the clouds
flutter on home

©2011

Day Twenty-eight - Jordan

No prompt.

I never knew you were there

just a ghost in my thoughts

and yet you were real

and then you were gone.

now a ghost in my heart

and a hole in my soul;

pain to last a lifetime,

like the loss of the love

that was once your legacy.

a fleeting presence,

you were both a gift

and my punishment.

proof that I had a love

that was, for a moment, true

and then taken from me

like you were, without a sound,

without a notion,

without a clue.

daily, I will relive

the heartache.

daily, I will mourn

and cry in pain

to the gods

wondering why I’m still here

to deal with all

you’ve left behind.

like the loss of the love

that was once your legacy

you are mine to mourn

to miss

to regret

©2011

Day Twenty-Seven ... a red bicycle

We have visual prompts today over at Not Without Poetry. Given the choice by Shanna Germain between two, I chose the one below.

Using one of the photos above or below, write a ‘still-life’ poem. The goal is to recreate the image(s) with your own filter while still keeping some of the essence of the original. It’s a good time to think about objects and what significance they have on their own versus the significance that is given to them by the viewer/artist/poet.

Ok, so I didn't quite do it the way the prompt wanted, but hey! It's poetry right?

Untitled

packing up the boxes
reliving old memories
the bicycle remains
leaning under my
bedroom window
a reminder of loss;
of a starry night,
a picnic blanket,
soft kisses
and the taking of my pride
and my innocence.

it can stay here.
with the sights,
smells,
and recollections
of that summer night;
the haunting sighs,
the murmured words,
the hesitant touches,
and the heartbreak
of the non-existant goodbye,
when you drove off the next morning,
escaped this town,
without a word,
one arm slung carelessly around
Carrie-Ann Thompson,
and the other steering your
restored 57 Chevy.

it can stay here
with the many tears I shed
and the many nights I cried.
it can stay here
with the remembrance of your
Mother’s screams mirroring
the wail of the siren
as the police informed her
of the wreck
just two days later.

it can stay here
with the regret that I couldn’t stop you
with the relief I wasn’t with you
and with the guilt
for feeling that relief.

it can stay here
as a reminder
you can’t escape
the small town.

but I’m going to try.

©2011

Day Twenty-six - The Sound of Silence

Ok, used the prompt for the most part on this one, but instead of writing about what I saw, I wrote about what I felt.
Here's the prompt:

Turn off the noise. Go to a window. Write what you see, feel and/or want in a stream-of-consciousness form.

The silence in here
Is the loudest I’ve ever heard
The absence of your baritone
The loss of your laugh
The desertion of your quiet anger

The walls are bare of colour
Despite your paintings still hanging
The flowers all died
In your wake

There’s no more music
Floating in the air
The stereo remains mute
A silent homage to your favourite pastime

Your precious vinyl
collects more dust than before
now that no one drags it out
in a weekly drunken laughter
to play a song
to piss off mom.

The tangled wires remain
A puzzled mess
She cannot hear the notes
She cannot absorb the lyrics
They all sing of her loss
And she is better off
With them remaining in memory

It all plays together
In my heart,
I cannot shut it down,
Though it’s out of tune.
And I gaze at the room
Knowing nothing is ever
Going to sound right

The silence in this house
Is the loudest
I’ve ever heard.



©2011

Image found at The Change Blog

Day Twenty-four - Easter tears...

Sigh - Day 24. Forgive the sadness of the last few - first major holiday without my father, and it's tough to think, let alone get out the feelings....not the greatest, but it's something.

Pride

your voice echoes in my heart

your smile haunts my every step

your eyes follow my every move

your presence lingers in every room

your strength still inspires

your heart beats in mine

the head of our existance

the leader of the pack

what do we do

where do we go

we are lost without

your guidance

and wisdom

i watch your image run

away into the setting sun

realizing

we never did say good-bye

©2011

Day Twenty-Three - Blank...

Day 23. Lack of inspiration provided this...

Here I sit
pen in hand
but nothing
comes to mind

I cannot scribble
a single word
or even really
make a rhyme

There's poetry running
through my heart;
it runs right through
my veins

and yet when the time comes
to write it down
the page is still blank
the emptiness remains



This is a problem.


©2011

Image found at http://www.servitokss.com/question-marks/

Day Twenty-two - Recycling

Ok, so the prompt for this day was reuse and recycle – for Earth Day. Here’s what we were given.

Today is Earth Day! Explore our complicated relationship to Mama Earth by recycling. Find an old poem or two that you’ve abandoned and find a line, a title or a concept that really grabs you. Now use those to start a new poem, going in a direction entirely different than the original

So here we go. This is an old poem I wrote about fifteen years ago – if not longer. I’m hoping that the recycled version turns out better than the original.

 Believe

All the love in your heart,
all the trust in your soul.
Everything in your life,
you gave to her.

Expecting to have it returned,
as lovers often do,
you died a little every day,
as she abused your gift,
deception at every turn,
lies falling from the lips
that whispered once of love and hope.

The eyes that had read bright with
adoration, and acceptance,
turned hard and cold,
denying you the warmth of their gaze,
the light of her love.

The arms crossed as she turned
not to your chest, containing your
beating heart,
but to the arms and heart of another.

Today, the arms and heart of another
are waiting right here
for you to turn and accept them.

I believe in your gifts,
I believe in  your love.
I believe in the future,
with me by your side.
All that you gave to her,
I will not abuse,
I will not fail you.

I believe in you,
and all your precious gifts.
Give me the chance to prove
that you can believe in mine.

©2011 (orig. 1995)

Image found at Spirit and Sky

Day Twenty-One...Oh Daddy

So far behind on posting these - long weekends with family make it tough to get to a computer. But here is day 21's offering - dad's been on my mind a lot this last few days.

you sang to me
in soft tones
of rainbow's ends
and pots of gold.

held me in rapture
and enraptured
your angel,
your smile,
your hearts desire.

you loved me with words,
loved me in actions,
and then in none.

now it's my turn
to sing to you
in soft tones,
of angel's wings
and heavenly days,

loving you in memory,
until the day
we meet again,
once more
at the rainbow's end.


©2011

Day Twenty - Unanswered...

Day 20. Creeping up to Easter weekend.

She cried to the desert moon,

in anguish and regret.

She wept into the Earth,

tears of sorrow and loss.

She rallied against her maker,

screaming "Why?" , repeating it

in unintelligble sounds,

for hours upon hours

with no end.

Eventually, in the silence,

there were no more words,

no more cries.

There was no reply.

Just giant drops of rain

as her maker

wept too.

©2011

Day Nineteen: Ah HA....the electricity's back on

What I mean is, the light bulb went on - you know, the little one above your head that cartoonishly pings on when you have an idea, or a realization?

Mine went ping so many times the last two days that it broke. And how many writers does it take to change a light bulb? Well there are too many damn funny answers to that one...so I'll just say, in my case, it took one writer and one really pissed off muse.

Here was the prompt...

Visit last year’s prompt at ReadWritePoem. Then, list 3-5 lightbulb moments you’ve had in your lifetime. Is there a way to string them together in a single poem? Try it now.

While I didn't use the prompt COMPLETELY as it was given, I did decide to write on one particularly harsh light bulb moment that occurred recently.

Flip the switch....

The Horse is Black if You Please

my whole life
tales of damsels in distress
(or was it damsels in a dress?
I always forget which)
were told to me
as a gateway to happy dreams.

at the end of every
story
the knight rode in
on his (proverbial in most cases,
literal in few) white horse
to rescue the fair maiden
who, in reality,
could have rescued herself
had she simply been
confident in her own abilities
instead of conforming
to her society's rules
that state women
MUST be weak,
helpless, and grateful
once rescued
by said knight.

FUCK THAT.

Happy dreams?
that idealogoy has
caused me nothing but nightmares
in my personal life;
always looking to be rescued
by a strong man,
who needs nothing
from me.
one who can take care
of me,
one who can provide
me with the necessities
of life.

FUCK THAT.

the latest in this string
needs someone to care for him,
to release him from
his current lot in life.
He needs to be cuddled,
and coddled,
and told that all will be
ok if he just tries.
THIS ONE
needs rescuing,

And I no longer do.

I can provide ME with
the necessities of life,
I can take care of ME.
I am no longer conforming
to those story book ideals,
to those false happy endings.

I am banishing the nightmares,
and ridding myself
of the rescuer.

I am my own knight.

©2011

Day Eighteen...no prompt required

Freestyling it once again - I find sometimes using the prompts requires more concentration than I can afford to spare at the time. LOL. So here goes...

can you hear the colours?
the docile, muted tones of yellow,
the bright, triumphant call of red,
green yells a bass line,
and blue cries staccato notes
through purples gentle harmonies.

pink screams in jazz,
and orange yee-haws herself a country tune.
teal giggles a childrens melody
and black & white rock out in shades of grey

in your world, you can see
the music
if you're looking with your heart
and
chasing the rainbow
of musical emotions
takes a lifetime of patience
but reaps an eternity's reward.


©2011

Mash-Up!

K - musically I love mash-ups. When using them in writing, I love them even more. Which is why for Day 17 I am using the prompt.  Here it is.

The following prompts are from Bill Alton. Use them as titles, opening lines, or combine all of them into a single poetic form.

1. My body is a speakeasy
2. Morning comes without the sun.
3. I loved him most when he asked me to leave.
4. Pain is the mind’s way of burning through fear

And awwwwwwwwayyyyy we go....

he knew it 

couldn't continue

knew a choice 

had to be made

life,

death.

but why must

it be made

by my hand?

morning comes without

the sun

when loss is at your 

door

i prefer the dark

i couldn't look

heaven in the eye

not feeling the anger

i do

not feeling the the

pain and 

earth shattering hate

that lives in my heart

i look in the window

and i loved him most

when he asked me to leave

taking the burden on his own

and i gasp as i watch 

the plug being released

and i sob as i see

his soul drifting away

i cry to the heavens

be damned forever

you can't take him

that's MY daddy

©2011

Day Sixteen...not as easy as you'd think...

The prompt?

It’s past the mid-way point! Hurrah! Today’s small (but hardly simple) prompt is brought to you by Geof Huth, the force behind one-word poems (called pwoermd).

Invent a word for a body part you do not have and consider the result a poem.

WOW.

Yeah, not easy at all.

but....

Stinterlobe

 

Day Fifteen

Edited to add: So far behind on posting these - I'm getting them written but in the traditional sense - pen & paper. Then I need to type...and of course edits happen right?

Here's day 15 without the prompt

Roget's

why are words not enough?

they express it all

every emotion

every nuance

every feeling

every sight, smell and taste

and yet there are none

to descibe

how i feel without you

empty? yes

lonely? yes

forgotten? yes

souless? heartless? loveless?

yes

a myriad of words 

and i haven't scratched

the surface of 

heartbroken syllables

to tell you

how you've killed me

and yet...

still...the void beckons

fall in

to a wordless existence

fall in

fall

in

©2011

From a Poem's POV....

Using today's prompt - sort of....

imagine that the poem you love has spent all day riding around in your pocket, being folded and unfolded, creased and straightened, shown off to people who got it and people who didn’t… Now, write your poem from the poem’s point of view. What did it see? What did it hate or love or fear? What did it feel like in your pocket, in your hands, when you accidentally dropped it on the street?

Again?
Ok honey,
If I’m not perfect
By now,
Then I’ll never be.
Besides, I think
I’m wonderful as I am.
You’ve edited me,
Rewritten me,
Scribbled me out,
And read me again.

I’ve been carried around
Since he’s been gone
He would love me
I know he would
He loved everything
You did.

He’d love my syntax,
My meter,
My rhythm,
My rhyme.

you penned me
you conceived me
Nurtured me
And kept me close.

Now it’s time
To let me go
To show me to the world
In his name
In his memory
In his honor

Dad would be proud.

Day Thirteen - ode to spring...

This was inspired by the wonderful weather we've been having....

Untitled

FINALLY
The absence of the cocoon of
Heat and sweat
Despite the chill
In the air

No longer to feel
Constricted and covered
Free to feel
Pretty and painted
And adorned and admired

To wiggle and dance
To tap and step
To choose the surroundings
Based on preference
Not necessity

Say goodbye
To winter blues
And hello
To springtime
To love
To warmth
To flowers
To green grass
And the approaching summer





GOOD-BYE SOCKS.


©2011

Day twelve...

No original title for this one - didn't use the prompt either. I wish I could say that all these poems were therapeutic, but they're really not. O_o

Anyway...here's my day twelve offering for NaPoWriMo....

I can see it in her eyes
She’s given up
Lost and alone
With no one left to love her
No one left to hold her

I can see it in her heart
She’s lost all faith
Doesn’t believe in anything
Or anyone
Anymore

I can see it in her soul
She’s lost herself
Life has no meaning
It holds no joy
It’s just meaningless

Wondering what can save her
Wondering if anything can
I sigh,
And turn from the mirror

©2011

PostSecret Prompt - Not Without Poetry - Day Eleven

I liked this one - brought to us by the lovely creator of this challenge, Shanna Germain, and the PostSecret website. Here it is.

PostSecret is a place where people create anonymous postcards of their innermost secrets. Which, to me, is kind of a poetry all its own. Today’s prompt is to visit the PostSecret website and search for a secret (or secrets) that speak to you. Now, create a narrative poem based on that secret.

Alternatively, you can write a postcard poem (with or without the artwork) in which you share a secret of your own.

I decided to find a postcard of a favourite subject of mine - butterflies. And here's the poem to go with it. And while it's not a "secret" per se, it really is.

Chasing butterflies
was a beautiful hobby when
i was a young girl
Catching them in nets
watching as they fluttered
to escape
setting them free into the sunlight.
And then start to chase
them all over again.
It's always been a catch and release
program
but when the butterflies finally caught me
in their net
i didn't flutter to free myself
content to be watched
to be admired
to be cherished.
But though I didn't struggle for freedom
I was released anyway.

©2011

image found at glasspaintings.co.uk

 

Mad Libs...

Day Ten - we've hit double digits in this activity! I used one of the provided prompts from Not Without Poetry for this one. Hope you like...:D

Toronto, Ontario

Because I am not available, I have the skin of a rose petal
that has spent its life reaching for music. Inside the folds
I am deaf. I cannot tell when a note reaches in
and sings to the atoms of the flower. Sometimes
a light breeze will bring the thirst into my atmosphere.
Or the yellow feathers falling on the patio floor are gathering,
beginning to cling to each other out of their drifting atmosphere.
All the saviours I have known have been vanquished by fog
and the devils crossing the courtyard at night.

©2011


Image found at http://i-wantcandy.onsugar.com/home?page=3

Day Nine

Ok, it's early in the morning, and I haven't had my coffee yet. I can't pretend to understand the prompt without my caffeine, so I'm just going to freestyle this one.

Damages

Do you understand

the cost of what you've done?

It's expensive to mend

a broken soul.

The shopkeep clicks her tongue

holding it high,

assessing the damage.

"Well, to fix the holes

I'll have to charge you your beliefs.

And that stain right there?

It will cost you your dignity.

And I'm sorry to tell you, my dear,

see that rip right there?

That will cost you a lifetime of tears.

All in all, to mend your soul

I'm afraid will cost you your heart."

She pushes the paperwork my way.

"Will that be paid up front,

or when you pick it up?"

I scribble an address on the paper,

the tone of my voice could freeze 

the hottest cup of coffee.

"Send this guy the bill.

He should pay for damages incurred.

And when it's fixed, send it to him.

It's his fault. 

He can keep it as a souvenir.

A memory of what once was.

I'm going shopping for a new one."

©2011


image found at http://silverperfume.deviantart.com