Missing

For a second
I forgot
you were gone.

For a moment
my heart
found its measure.

Then I remembered;
and the world imploded

again.


I reach out —

my hand returns
empty.

It’s cold here
in winter.

And you aren’t coming home

until we do.

two little words

I’ve turned the key
more times than I ought.
Wound the spring
tighter than taut.

Tension’s high;
it’s bound to break.
Two little words
is all it’ll take.

Shall I push this
over the brink?
I actually do it
before I think:

“Shut up!”

************************************************************************

Lillian is hosting over at d’Verse where the poem is a Quadrille and the word is “wound.”
Check it out and come write!

Waiting

used to think
waiting
was a passive thing.
sit on my hands.
sigh a lot.
watch the clock.
count the minutes.
waiting
until
i forget
what i’m waiting for.

now i see
it’s an active thing —
working toward
that
for which
i’m waiting.

if i wait for peace,
i walk the path of peacemaker.
if i wait for love,
i serve others selflessly.

and while i wait
i wait
in hope.

****************************************************************

PAD 17

Prompt: Write a waiting poem.

Six Words

Light and life

seep through cracks.

…

********************************************************************

PAD 12

Prompt: Use just six words.
(Originally the words were given and the challenge was to use the given words — convict, race, great, season, play and voice — in a poem. But I was intrigued by the idea of using just six words.)

A Blind and Toothless World

Hurt me;
I’ll hurt you.

We only find out
after we pull the trigger
that revenge is bitter.

And that bitterness
is poison
to our soul.

**********************************************************************

The world is mad. I have to withdraw from the news for awhile.

Getting By

You’ll manage.
Because that’s what we do.
Remember:
change is only looking at the problem
in a new way.

…..(I’ve shared so much pizza
…..in equal parts
…..with so many people
…..in my day.

…..I’ve numbered too many trees
…..in too many rows
…..in too many orchards
…..over time.)

In the end
it all comes down to:
embracing what we know
and
waiting for the feet
of the dreamers
to touch ground.

One day
the insides will match the outsides.

Until then,
you’ll manage.

…..

******************************************************************************************

NaPoWriMo 
Day Twenty-Three

Prompt: Write a poem that responds, in some way, to another. This could be as simple as using a line or image from another poem as a jumping-off point, or it could be a more formal poetic response to the argument or ideas raised in another poem.

I read and then responded to New Math by Nikki Grimes.

Bless You

Given as instructions
but received as prayer,
a benediction on your head
begets wretched curse.

Stay in your corner, son.
Mind the harbinger.

Hold fast to hope
and petition for grace
that we may live
to witness another dawn.

We Wanna Go Back to Egypt

We followed
a trail of tears
through the desert.
Hansel and Gretel
us home.

But the path dried up
and
(like the fox)
we sour-graped it.

Unlikely Friends

She moves erratically through the day
to a cacophonous soundtrack,
swirling and whirling
around every gesture and word;
she’s so much gravity,
pulling close objects into her orbit.

He rolls inevitable across hours,
bubbled in cotton wool,
every breath a minor annoyance,
each conversation a major irritation;
he’s so much compressed material
repelling bodies on both sides,
dying toward a flat future.

January

Days are long;
…the sun is hot.
Everyone vies
…for shady spots.

Bugs and flies
…circle heads.
Sweaty bodies
…take to beds.

A pool or sea’s
…the place to be
With layers of sunscreen
…basting me.

Patiently we wait
…for night
When heat abates
…and mozzies bite.

************************************************************************************************
Welcome to the new year in our Gregorian calendar (there are over 80 different kinds
of calendars!).
Living in the Southern Hemisphere challenges most pieces of seasonal writing
(which celebrate by expounding on cold temperatures, snow, short days and toasty fires).
It is difficult to find a poem about January which looks like the current scene outside
my window. So, I wrote one. Happy (HOT) New Year.