For The Sunday Muse #178:
**
In the wisps
of the smoke blown
in a moment
of recalcitrance
the man
he might yet be
lurks. The man
he now is
and the one
he once was
yielding in the moment
to the future
better one.
Becoming.
Poetrying
3. Dreaming
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash. For Day 3 of the November Poem A Day Challenge. A poem about dreaming.
**
And still,
I find myself
reaching for the
solidity of certain
earth, my feet aching
for the cold comfort
of the morning sand,
breaking my free fall.
This is a fevered dream
that returns each night
in which i find that home
though close, disappears
in the dim distance.
Weight
For The Sunday Muse prompt #120, and B who in (wo)manfully wrestling pain to a standstill reminds us to hope again…
**
Remember, in
the failing light
of falling night,
when the weight
of the world feels
like a thing around
your neck, that
we see you, proud
against the night-
feet planted firmly
in the mushy earth,
unflinching
in the maelstrom.
Like the North Star
sometimes hidden,
sometimes peering out
from behind the clouds,
a beacon showing home
we see you and believe
again.
One
For The Sunday Muse Prompt #119, Artistic Photography Dreamlike Portrait Photography by Damien Casals:
**
You and I
are becoming one,
our unspoken words
a voice, mellow
in its timbre,
its echo light
like a soft hand
yet firm, kneading out
the noise from
the silence that we share.
In that silence
of being and being present,
of returning and reforming,
of holding out against
the pressure of the world,
are broken things
becoming whole again,
each breath a small victory
won by persistence,
a fresh shoot
pushing its way
through the things
that rage has razed.
Silence, For C…
For C, and the others 2020 has taken. A response to the Poetic Asides prompt, Pandemic. Photo by Marina Reich on Unsplash
**
Where the patter
of your footsteps
once roamed
silence reigns,
the joy of breath
and thought
and sonorous song
subsumed by the
frailty of things.
Death lingered
at your door, too long
and then snatched you.
In the silence that you leave
we remember the things
we planned tomorrow.
A Novem For Starlight
For the Poetic Aside Prompt #516 and the Novem poetic form. Not strictly interpreted though…
***
Come bask beneath
the starlight. Yield
yourself to Time’s
gift of colour
splashed across night’s
canvas. Come here,
Hear the whisper
of nature’s song.
Ponder in awe.
Wafting
For The Sunday Muse Prompt #95.
***
It thunders,
and then it wafts,
its wispy tendrils
slowly rising like
the white smoke
of incense from a censer,
held aloft by a priest
intoning a muttered
prayer. Behind,
a bridge to the past
hides, disappearing,
as it were, into
the haze of memory;
ahead, the future –
not yet glimpsed
but in the moment
frozen – and enjoyed.
Gift
For The Sunday Muse Prompt 93:
***
Here, prone
beneath the weight
of things unseen,
the vision has begun
to fade, the dream
once resplendent
in its colour,
now faint and grey,
Between the leaving
and the grieving
a messenger appears,
a key in its wings,
a gift of redemption
and rebirth.
Oasis
For The Sunday Muse Prompt #92 and Matthew 11:28-30.
***
Beyond the drying
and the dying
salvation calls;
the distant shimmer
of light cast
by the morning sun
a whisper to the weary;
Come, draw nigh
all ye who are heavy laden,
who bear the burden
of a common life
around their neck.
Hope and Haven
is the promise,
if we dare
go through the door
into the way.
Abandonment
For The Sunday Muse Prompt #84. Image Source.
***
Behind the grime,
and the ravages
of time the remains
of living now lie,
each layer of dirt
a sigh, a dirge
for the mystery
of abandonment,
for how easy
it is for things
once woven into
the fabric of the
present to slip
beneath the shroud
of the memories
we lose. Maybe this
is what leaving is,
things returning
to the way they
always were.
A Geek's Life 