Arrivals and Departures

Arrivals: looking forward                         

What are you going to?                            

What tips the scale                                  

till you take action?                                 

Is it a shiny, new promise,                      

gleaming in the moonlight?                      

Is it lips and hips or legal tender?            

What song do the sirens sing                    

to you?                                                    

                                                               

What pushes you                                     

to pack your bag,

open the door,                                      

and step out?                                          

 

Departures: looking back

What are you leaving?

What tips the scale

till you take action?

Is it one monumental event,

or another in a string  

of small indignities?

Too many grey days,

unrequited nights…

What song do the sirens sing

to you?

What pushes you

to pack your bag,

open the door,

and step out?

Here's a double dose of 55 for G-man's FF55.

Anatomy and Physiology

Easy:

slide down between

my rib cage and breast bone

nestle in the solar plexus

pierce my superior vena cava;

infuse yourself with every pulse

tingling all the way.

You go down so

easy. 

Strike the Set

The show is over
we played our parts,
offered up our soliloquies
full of passion and despair.
We had a good run,
though shorter
than I had hoped.

Towards the end
performances had become
tired, uninspired.
No calls for encore,
no standing ovation;
we simply shuffle off
exit, stage left.

The Juggling Act

At the start

your flawless footwork

amaze and

bedazzle everyone.

You defy gravity.

But in time,

keeping all the balls

in the air,

balanced in

their proper places,

becomes more difficult.

And always remember

 to concentrate

while walking

the high wire,

although you know how

absurd you look to the crowd 
below.

Image provided by IGWRT.

Sick Woman

When Tess Kincaid provided us with this image of 'Sick Woman' by Jan Steen at The Mag two oddly dissimilar things came to mind.  They are (and I'm not proud of this) as follows:

In the immortal words of Robert Palmer:

Doctor, Doctor gimme the news

I got a bad case of lovin’ you.

No pill is gonna cure my ill -

I got a bad case of lovin’ you. 


And the other was inspired by a quote from Edna St. Vincent Millay, which seems quite fitting as it is featured on the Willow Manor blog. 
“You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. It’s only that.” 

So with that in mind I came up with this:

The voices are so loud today;

why can’t you hear them too?

They set my skull to vibrating

and pierce my temples through.

Nonplussed, my pulse can scarce push past

the throng that crowds my heart.

The pills you push will not convince

these voices to depart.

Churning, yearning they all want  

for me to give them voice,

Bring me my pen and paper, don’t

you see I have no choice?

And there you have it.
This is also at the open link night at dVerse.  Check out the others there.

Autumn Romance

I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.― L.M. Montgomery

In autumn precious days grow short

and nights of somber darkness lengthen;

Earth falls in love with sweet la mort.

In autumn precious days grow short,

thin sunshine and deep shadows court;

seductive charms of winter strengthen.

In autumn precious days grow short

and nights of somber darkness lengthen.

This is fashionably late for IGWRT Transforming Friday.  The form is called a Triolet with the rhyme scheme of Aba Aab AB for when you really only want to write a little!  (usually in iambic pentameter or tetrameter)

Image by Mary Bach

Other

I am the smooth surface of a pond

reflecting your image back to you.

I am the darkness

 around the stars in the night sky;

I am what you cannot see.

I am a pebble resting in a deep pocket,

smooth and inscrutable.

I am what remains.

I am other.

For G-man's FF55.