Tag Archives: writing a poem

Word Salad for the Sunday Whirl Wordle 682

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Word Salad

I salvage stories from my history and take them for a walk,
measuring their power as I try them out in talk.
But some words are frayed and tattered by rampant overuse, 
their colors dimmed and emptied of their vital juice.

Fresh fruits plucked from my garden feed a hunger in my soul, 
filling up my spirit’s vast collecting bowl,
yet this garden of the world does not belong to me.
I simply walk its corridors while waiting to be free.

Until that time, my body makes do with what it finds––
plucking out the fruit of words from their obscuring rinds,
mixing them together and hiding them away
to create fresh word salads to serve another day.

 

for The Sunday Whirl Wordle 682 the prompt words are: hungers until garden frayed tattered belonging spirits body salvage history walk stories

Just Beyond My Grasp For SOCS, Nov 23, 2024

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Just Beyond My Grasp

When I’ve passed a restless night,
to once more welcome morning light,
I do not leave a lover’s grasp.
No knitted legs need to unclasp.
What time on waking I can afford
is simply spent unwinding cord:
the earbud cord around my neck,
my PC power cord from the wreck
of pillows, comforter and sheet
that somehow, now, are at my feet.
My MacBook Air, just by my shoulder
has come unplugged and so is colder
to my touch. It won’t power on.
Then, when plugged in, my poem is gone.

For SOCS

Homecoming

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Homecoming

All rivers led away from home, each highway, path and plane,
but little did I know that I would be led back again.
Memories pressed upon the page like flowers in a book.
Every story, every poem records a backwards look.

 

The prompt by dVerse Poets is to write a poem based on this amazing painting by  Lee Madgwick. See her other paintings here: leemadgwick.co.uk.
See other poems written to this promt HERE.

This Poem is a Sort of Street

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(Click first photo to enlarge, then click on arrows.)

This Poem is a Sort of Street

This poem is a sort of street.
I wonder who I’m going to meet
as I walk down the dust of it––
plod along the “must” of it.
I do not know where I am going.
I follow it while never knowing
what’s around the next blind bend.
I do not know how it will end.

Each line is a new adventure
leading to acclaim or censure.
The GPS that’s guiding me––
determining what I will see––
is lodged so deep and far inside
a road stretched out so long and wide
that it must guide or I’ll get lost
in ruts of words and pay the cost

of trying to control by mind––
a street that’s meant to twist and wind
guided by a force within
that is intuitive and yin.
It is a guide that’s mostly lost
in this world so tempest-tossed.
The drop of it that I infuse
in rhymes that others then may choose

to read and ponder is the way
that I have chosen to try to pay
the toll for this tremendous gift
of life where I have learned too well
the lessons of the school bell.
I’ve learned to turn a deaf ear to
what pedants say I need to do
and take each day a road that’s new.

I’m led by dreams and intuition
down streets with no thought of fruition
but instead careen and ramble
without an outline or preamble
into places I’d never go
if I just reported what I know.
Then I record all that I see
so you can learn along with me.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/street/