This is one I wrote some time ago. It's a cold, misty day today, which feels just right for this. I also think it fits, sort of, into the poetry potluck category.
Trees stand cold as iron; Mist, like tattered souls Wraps ‘round limbs, Blows through branches, Gathers and swirls Thick in one spot Above the pond.
From the center rises A ghost-pale woman, Hair and eyes grey like smoke. She whisks off In a great hurry; Translucent robes Stream out behind. She is bone-cold And world weary There is anguish in her eyes - No ‘rest in peace’ for her.
She is wind, Blue-grey and icy, Chasing autumn south, Making way for winter, Frost at her heels. She must rush Or it will encase her In a brittle, crystalline statue of herself - Then winter…winter.
This one just sort of came to me what I was trying to write something else.
A Lunch Alone I sit at the Formica counter Battered, and somewhat worse for wear The sticky menu Holds evidence of meals past, Grease from the #3 special (3 eggs, 3 sausages, and hash browns) And syrup from a short stack
What do I want? I stare into my cup of coffee Old and bitter, Its surface sheen glistening Like an oil slick Under the fluorescent lights I lean my elbows on the counter Waiting For someone to take my order
The voices all around me Cannot pierce The invisible barrier I have erected around myself To keep out the messy world Of human interactions So I am able to sit Amongst all the people In this crowded diner And have A lunch Alone
Here is my offering for Poetry Potluck. Just fyi, the HD I quote in the poem is Hilda Doolittle, a wonderful American poet. She was an ex-pat, and I believe the line of hers below refers to England at the time of WWII.
Some days The words don’t come And the rain does As HD said Inspiration stalks us Through gloom But she is not always a good tracker And the page remains As empty as My heart
My bright idea is actually dark. The dark of the night sky to be precise. I love the stars and the night sky. This is a piece I actually wrote awhile ago, but I think it can fit into the bright idea category. I live out in the country and got tired of not being able to see the stars from my yard because of the bright yard light that is standard issue from the power company. Then finally I called and made them take it down. Here is my offering:
When I lie awake, And sleep won’t come I walk out the door Into the inky, blue-black sky Of 3:00 AM And look up To find the stars In their places.
Not far off I hear the roar and swish Of Highway 8. Who is behind The head lights that Slice the night? The baker Speeds to work; Soon her sweet rolls will Will be taken All over town. A semi carries Crates of round, red apples In from Washington. I hear them in the dark, And look up to the sky Where Orion greets me.
I’m told Those in Tokyo, London, New York Can not see the stars For the garish, sodium lights We set between Ourselves and the heavens. And so the insomniac in Tokyo Can take no comfort From Perseus; Ursa does not wink At the nocturnal Londoner; And Polaris Cannot guide The wanderer through New York
Darkness and light Must be together To be seen, Felt, Known. To have The jewel-bright lights We must also admit The dark And when we shut out the dark, Or medicate it away, We are trading The beautiful Heaven-full of stars For a puny night-light Of our own Design.
And so I call The utility company- And tell them To take their light From my yard, So When I lie awake And sleep won’t come, For thinking of you, I walk out the door Into the inky, blue-black sky Of 3:00 AM And look up To find the stars In their places.
This is one of those poems that isn't finished yet. If it wasn't for the Potluck I would probably just let this one sit on the desk for awhile. I can't decide if I want to go with the strong meter at the start, or go blank, ditto with the rhyme. I haven't even settled on a title yet! So, if anyone has (gentle) suggestions please let me know. Thanks!
We are builders, All Who struggle every day Stacking stones around ourselves The fortress must hold strong Whether to protect our overflowing treasure Or hide the barren rooms, once full We must guard against those Who dare come too near The risk is so great The cost so dear So you will understand Why I can not Let you In
I have just stumbled across another cute little weekly writing prompt called Six Word Saturday. One writes six words, with or without a picture to tell about one's life at the moment, or in general. So, even though it's Sunday, here are my six words: