Category: Poetry

Poetry

Autumnal Indulgence

Autumnal Indulgence

Mud road of fudged Earth
pebbles endure among leaves;
petticoat ruined.

My first haiku since high school. There’s another somewhere here, but I had practiced on this first and sent it out as a tweet, but forgot to share with you guys, haha.

Poetry

A.r.c.h.a.n.g.e.l.

A.r.c.h.a.n.g.e.l.

Amidst black-framed spaces she
reaches only from within her
chalk-dusted self;
her wings pale
against her breathing,
never to (seemingly)
gain traction as
elements shroud her in specks of
lamentable stardust.
Poetry

Oddity’s Seeing Glass

Oddity’s Seeing Glass

I see myself
as clones in gauzy shimmers;
yet another reflection of me
echoing a parody of impressions.

I turn away from this mimicry
and there I am, replicated again.
My counterpart is weeping. How
(Pathetic.) curious, my cheeks are dry.

Another swivel, duplicated later,
I am laughing silently…
…a parallel other, shivering, perhaps.
Goosebumps reverberate on tepid skin.

Polished metal dancing – a sign. –
(Obviously.) Time to go.
A partial pivot’s spin
turns to an accidental pirouette.

I see myself gripping
(A resemblance.) a ticket.
One short, deft rip thereafter,
the gatekeeper ushers my imitation – past. –

Carnival Attraction Prompt: #3 Hall of Mirrors

Poetry

The Motivational Factor

The Motivational Factor:
tolerance.

Tenebrous pieces – fragments
of my soul –
lash away towards a more
ethereal dynamism that
relies (grievously) on
a perpetually
natural state of
consciously yearning,
emotional closure.

One word and then the Follow Up Challenge

Poetry

R.e.v.e.r.b.e.r.a.t.e,

Rolling melodies that
echo reverbs,
vibrating tones of
elevated harmony amidst
rhythmic ballads with
bass of seismic potential;
endurance motivates these
radical beats whose
asynchronous warbles
traumatize the resolve of my
everlasting song.

 

 

Prompt.

Poetry

Poetic Logic

If a tree falls
and paper is produced from it
has poetry already been made?

And, if this is the stuff
from which poetry is made,
for whom would it matter?

And, if it meant anything,
or even mattered,
would you pay better notice?

Or, would you dismiss it,
like everything else,
as an inundated endeavor?

But, if it meant everything
that you ever wanted,
would you stop yourself

from writing?

 

 

Prompted by this image.

Poetry

Candle

Candle

When I light you,
you flicker. When I
touch you, you burn.

Melt down your body
until you are nothing more
but a flat disc. I gave you life

and you died on me…                         Oh, why?

Poetry

Prudence’s Playground

PRUDENCE’S PLAYGROUND

“Keep me from the dark,
pendulum of sanity!”
(swing creeks) “No.” thump… thump…

#KwirbsBlurbs
#haiku
#5-7-5

Poetry

Every Man, Warbling (a Sonnet)

Every Man, Warbling (a Sonnet)

These meek ballads of every man forlorn’d
are sung from the pleas made out from temporal
marriages of keys, notes, medley’s intoned
in vivid nows; a slight architectural

form whose function is to plead and relieve
the restlessness of unfinished music.
An elusive sound interweaves bittersweet
serenades with flatly choral strains musing.

Sonatas tempt his soul’s ( pieces ) resolve;
a chorus urging to conform to (mis)deeds
of songs composed, misplaced, replaced, withdrawn
from realms of abstract things – sadistic needs. –

As man, forlorn’d, warbles in forced ballad,
these dissonant tunes make him less… ( …valid. )

A response to this prompt.