Monday, July 25, 2011

A Crime Against Nature

Ghosts of amputees march silently on this hallowed land
They stalk through dew-kissed grass
Looking for lost causes
Midst the muted cannon's roar
Their charred limbs clutch the reeds
Unable to break them again,
For the fields have begun
to bear fruit once more.

While the angry spirits attempt their destruction in haste
The physical world shouts to them,
"Go back to your graves."
The earth is eager to swallow their momentary bodies
and to the refreshed soil
they all taste the same.

the following was written for Jingle's Poetry Potluck.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Your Audience

The prompt of "nighttime" from Poet's United brings me to create the following:

Somewhere between the neon lights
of your dreams of success
and the cold expanse of time,
I exist.

If I seem to blend in
with the moon and the stars
it is only because
I'm too far away to come into focus
The florescent bulbs hum your name
and the waves lap at your toes.
I applaud from my spot in the sky,
one among millions
eager for your show.

We don't even recognize
that the landscape trips us all up,
tricking me into thinking
that we are all part of the
same scene.

The tide is pulled back
away from you
towards me
and your exposed toes dry
all too quickly.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

The Great Game

the following is written for Magpie Tales, because i needed to go somewhere in my head today and they suggested an intriguing place....

O to be a Titan!
Emanating strength and power and reserve
Fly rhythmically above the earth
and in silent motion stir the heavens

I would carry the world in my arms
daring the others to play "keep away"
with the luscious blue orb
tucked safely in my grip

A fluid struggle would ensue
The other Titans chasing me
Reaching, straining rock-like muscles
Circle in merry-go-round fashion

O to be a Titan!
Emanating stealth and speed and cunning
You would turn a blasphemous face from me
you tiny, tiny man

Saturday, July 2, 2011


Freedom is to know what is good for my soul
             and be able to take it
Freedom is to know what is not good for my soul
             and be able to take it, too
Freedom is to having to tell you everything
              Freedom is not having to explain myself, too
Freedom means being allowed to argue my point of view
              Freedom means i can argue yours, too
Freedom says i can walk away whenever i want
               Freedom says i can stay indefinitely, too
Freedom is turning around midstream
               Freedom is staying the course, too
Freedom is not liking the flow and sound of this poem
              and putting it out there, too

okay this is for Poets United ("freedom" was this week's topic) and im not proud of this one because i want to sit a while longer and tweek it.  i am forcing myself to let it be imperfect--however much it sounds like nails on a chalkboard.  i am running late.  rather than coming back to finish it, i will let it be what it is.  ah, freedom!