Tag Archives: #writing201

Forever Love

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Assignment #8. Prompt: drawer. Form: ode. Device: apostrophe.

I am cheered to see you again, though it was unexpected.
I had thought the drawer to be empty, 
opening it simply on a whim. 
Recklessly abandoned inside this dark coffin, 
you nonetheless thrived, 
gaining esteem despite my neglect.

Bold colors contrast with your diminutive size. 
A seeming contradiction between flamboyant style
and menial purpose.
I am not swayed by either extreme.
My attraction is not based on appearances, 
and I recognize that your inconsequential demeanor 
belies your true power.

More contradictions:
You await my direction, to do my bidding,
and yet it is you who holds sway
over my very basic capacity to communicate.
And though I value you, I must send you away.
Your potential cannot be realized 
while stuffed in a drawer.

So I'm letting you go with one selfish request:
Please do not return to me,
my “forever” postage stamp.

drawer

Breaking Glass with your Fingers

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Assignment #7. Prompt: Fingers. Form: Prose Poetry. Device: assonance.

It feels very powerful, breaking glass with your fingers. Of course you score it first, carving a crisp, clean line across the otherwise scratchless surface. The carbide steel cutter makes a sound like paper ripping, or a zipper zipping.

Is that cheating, to score the glass first? I mean, it’s not like breaking a board with your hand, where you don’t really care how the board breaks, as long as it doesn’t break your hand. It’s more refined, more defined, more aligned. You control the break, with your fingers. It feels very powerful, breaking glass with your fingers.

I did break a board with my hand once. Good thing my hand wasn’t made of glass. But I digress.

I learned that glass is a liquid, and so you have to make the break quickly, before the score line fills back in. How cool is that? You’re scoring glass, and it’s like parting the Red Sea. But you don’t get wet. I wonder if Moses got wet when he parted the Red Sea. I wonder if Moses could break boards with his hand. Probably. But I digress.

It’s not really a liquid, though. Glass, that is. I believe the Red Sea actually is. Liquid, that is. That’s why you can wash a window without it washing away. And you can break glass with your fingers without breaking your fingers. You might get a cut though, which would never happen if glass were a liquid. Although that could explain the red of the Red Sea. I wonder if Moses cut his finger while parting the Red Sea. Probably not.

It probably felt very powerful, parting the Red Sea. Just like it feels to break glass with your fingers.

fingers 

Sacrifice

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sacrifice

The sun eases into the molten lava of the evening sea,
a willing sacrifice to the gods of time.
The glorious sky imprints its beauty on my eyes and in my mind,
branding its memory as a tribute to this time, this place,
even though it will eventually fade to a translucent wisp.

This evening’s fog bank advances toward shore,
emboldened by the cover of darkness as the sea
cools back to a rolling field of blue.
Feeling the dampness on my skin,
I am reminded of a parallel fog whose ghostly folds
enwrap my brain, hiding memories,
while day by day, sunset by sunset,
my sentience becomes
a sacrifice to the gods of time.

It’s comforting in a way,
how life’s pains soften and worries ebb.
But it’s also sad as I lose my past,
and forget how to do even the simplest of things.
And forget the names
and faces
of my children.

As the sun rests on the ocean floor
awaiting its turn to emerge into tomorrow’s dawn,
I wonder if it, too, feels comforted,
by the cool serenity of the water’s depths.
I wonder when I will emerge again,
and in what form.

But for now, I turn my back to the sea
and retreat to firmer ground
knowing that the fog is not far behind.

In memory of my father (1922-2012)Scan0001 (2)

Spelling it Out

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Assignment #3. Prompt: Trust. Form: Acrostic. Device: Internal Rhyme.

Many think acquisition is what it’s about,

Affirmational memes that give wishes more clout.

No blindered belief can create from thin air.

Intention sows seed, to be tended with care.

Fruits borne of our actions are all ours to keep,

Evinced in the fraction of harvest we reap.

Squander your limited time if you wish.

Tell the Universe what’s on your magic wish list.

I‘ll trust that the Universe knows what is best,

Not putting the forces of ego to test;

Giving thanks for whatever my life manifests.

Manifest