Ice on the ground
hurts my knees;
wind gusts, around
shake ice from trees.
It shouldn’t have to be so hard
to walk outside these days.
But what can I say?
I can be stubborn
in my day-to-day ways.
It’s a winter wonderland
obstacle course
out there.
And it’s not officially winter!
Come nightfall
The stars shine with a luster
dimmed by distance
telling
of an open sky
and beyond
ancient history
It reminds me
of others
in the fog of memory
who’d seen stars before
and their drive to reach
and go
Grow
I know
they are all far away
So far
the sky appears flat
until the moon catches my eyes
with its awe-inspiring sight, and light
Before the darkness returns again
The above photos is, unfortunately, the best the iPhone camera can do as far as capturing the starry night, Wednesday. It’s also the best I can do as far as polishing the poem for now, lol.
In other things, there will be a total eclipse of the sun on August 21 across all of North America… Have a good Friday!
Recently, I have begun to get out of my comfort zone to learn. Too much time’s been wasted thinking I can’t. I must improve myself for myself, helped or not. I must hold it together, despite feeling disappointed in myself sometimes.
The alternative, well… Here’s a reflection of losing oneself.
The morrow calls for a sleep
But the night stretches on
For my mind is up
To no good.
Like the search for an answer
To a question that had left me;
I am not tired
But this relationship is.
I chose the night for its ease
But now I’m caught with its disease;
I fell for a flow
That could ebb for an eternity.
I had entered, at will,
Out of my way,
Passing time,
Glossing over signs with a touch of noir.
Until its darkness swallowed me,
And finally,
I had
Enough.
Once fond
of the forest
in full bloom,
She becomes
almost unrecognizable
in the fall.
Soon,
it was fairly clear:
he did not connect.
He had strayed too far.
His head, out in space,
beyond the clouds,
his furthest
away.
His toxic aloneness
enticed him to “see”
his ideas in motion.
But nothing moved
too far, as he spun.
He burned out big
again, the tired
man of plants.
He was alone
with his pride,
his knowing,
his missteps,
his complex
turning blue,
his mission,
his finale.
(Inspired by the film Approaching the Unknown, starring Mark Strong.)
You think you know someone.
But in fact, you know nobody.
Everybody’s a thick shell.
Everybody’s ‘busy.’
And so you’re excused
away into nothingness.
And so I say,
I am sick of being casual with it.
I am human, after all;
doesn’t that mean something?
Not here, not anymore,
drowned, one way or…
But it’s not as if I tried,
never paid
for my mistakes or beginning.
It was free, all of it,
subject to fade,
fragile as ever.
And life goes on.
No one tried or cared
enough to understand,
including me.
I was never quite there,
though eager one time.
It reminds me of someone
who continues to this day
to be so cold,
reminding me, I am alone,
worth only what she desires,
that if I disagree
I am worthless.
Most everyone arrives,
but not me. Never.
On a critical level,
who has options, till hell
unbearable or unaffordable?
The chosen so-called progress
would go on forever.
For what?
As if the life is defined
by political maneuvering,
and lies, lies, lies.
Who always has more
reasons to be depressed,
more than hopeful.
Who else could walk away
with shrugs in his wake
besides the worthless?
Oh, yes, I’m unique,
jumping at the trivial chance,
much the same as before,
still a prisoner within myself,
wanting out, yet
denied the basic courtesy.
I can’t live,
not for real,
if there’s one thing
that never happens before I die.
And never—why?
I’ve never had a real conversation.
In the effort of
exercise
I shovel
to the back of
the house
Along the path
I find
a drooping tree
surviving
in the snow
In the effort of
relieving pressure
I shovel
off the back of
this tree
Fruitless
my efforts
I used my hands
but it would not
stand upright
It is amazing
how plants
weather
the seasons
for generations
This is my attempt at the Gogyohka form, explained in the previous post.
You’re welcome to try this form yourself.
I’ve been reading about different poetic forms in my Writer’s Digest. Today, I’d like to explore the Gogyohka form.
Gogyohka literally translates as “five-line poem,” and hails from Japan, developed by Enta Kusakabe. The rules are quite simple. The poem consists of verse written in five lines, but each line is a separate phrase. It is described as “having a different feel to five-line verse commonly found in Western poetry.”
Here is a sample by the creator of the form, Enta Kusakabe:
What kind of
stained glass
have your
rose-coloured cheeks
passed through
It’s meant to be both concise and free. A compound or complex sentence is probably too long. The phrases may be seen as separate, but connect.
Here is my offering, inspired by a recent workout my coach named, “Fifty Shades of Pain.” Oh, yes!
Physical Engagement
Standing tall
I drop my head
to curl small
and breathe
easier dead
Aching body
acetaminophen cured
strong enough
to climb mountains
on my mat
Slam down
the medicine
in a ball
rolling around
thrusting it out
Push up
that kettle to
slide against the wall
holding the squat
just a bit more
Fifty shades of pain
reward your body
with sweaty beads
glistening skin
a sea of sparkles
What about you? Do you have lines you’d like to share? Give it a go.
photo credit: ** via photopin (license)
Editor’s note: I asked Amy if she could do a regular gig here, and she was up for something monthly. You’re all invited to participate, in a comment or ping-back. If this poetry form, and a few more ahead, sound good for an official Link-Up, let us know.
I spend time away;
it breaks me free from the monotony,
but it breaks me, still.
Delayed drops of silence
and warning bells times three,
out of the loop for years, until…
I find myself loopy,
wild beyond reason,
within closed doors,
for each passing season
neglecting the life.
For what, more?
I reached out my hand, sprained.
I gave another welcome, drained.
I failed to make friends and amends,
exhausted myself toward belated ends.
Here, no matter the public,
the contact fades; it always does.
I’m not looking for fame; I want things to work;
yet the old nonsense and noise
overshadow everything; I regret,
holding myself to the flame,
short of entertaining or entering
the eternal furnace…yet.
I long for respite,
should decline become my middle name.
I don’t want to turn back, now, though
too often looking back with shame.
I can and plan hope for the better
years, anew in bad health.
The new world I feel, it feels like it’s falling apart.
The older fool of thirty years
becomes blind in more ways than just one;
ahead of the curve, he was, and still is
in too many ways wrong to count.
It’s so hard to climb in life, and yet so easy to fall.
And so, I bite my tongue, again;
I chew my lip, and take a sip,
and dip;
I shoot from the hip
in my way, slowly
falling to the darkness that resides before me.
So warm,
your skin,
your embrace,
I desire.
So intoxicating,
your taste,
your presence,
I admire.
So deep,
your contact;
your eyes;
I aspire.
Ever so slowly,
we caressed,
capturing the scents,
never fully knowing
what appreciation meant.
The Dependent Independent 