I lack the courage
To forsake this bondage
Confined by shame
Myself to blame
Scars I won’t expose
Once my pain’s ambrose
Now life’s great inhibitor
Leaving me embittered
Poets House (@poetshouse) tweeted at 0:01 PM on Sat, May 04, 2013: Today is a trumpet to set the hounds baying. / The past is a fox the hunters are flaying. ~Campbell McGrath (https://twitter.com/poetshouse/status/330713908753076225) What a great quote! I had to share it.
…was one month old on the 3rd!
96 followers and 576 views later, and I can only thank YOU! Thanks for reading, liking, commenting, sharing, and obviously, following. Hopefully we can keep growing together.
Also, I hope you all enjoyed NaPoWriMo. This was my first year participating, and it was incredible! Challenging, but fun. I can’t believe how much poetry I wrote! Now, though, my updates will slow a bit as I return to work on what someday, hopefully, will maybe be a novel. I also have a short story in the works that will likely be finished and posted within a few weeks. (It’s inspired by my first book spine poem, if that whets you’re appetite and curiosity for what the story may contain.) Convenient, since this is short story month!
Every year I live, growing
older, realizing what I
have yet to learn, recalling
earlier years with fondness:
I miss the innocence of
childhood, I long for the
summers of my youth….
Long-lasting days were filled
with tree-climbing, friends,
and riding our bikes.
Strenuous games of tag,
rounds of epic hide an’ seek.
Creating stories to play
out with our toys: Pound Puppies,
My Little Ponies, Beanie Babies….
Hours lost in play without a care.
Warm summer nights, no
rules, sleepovers and staying up late.
Gathering with our families around
giant, crackling bonfires,
making s’mores til midnight,
filling jars with lightning bugs.
Simple pleasures fueling
Reality was whatever we wanted.
Life was full and happy;
we were indomitable.
In childhood, we dreamed of bright
futures and where we would go,
the dreams we would reach….
Only twenty years later, and
I barely recognize my reflection.
Happiness and innocence
bowed to tragedy and
responsibility even as
childhood yielded to adulthood.
Long since, my hair began to
grey, calluses formed (both
figurative and literal).
Now fine lines make their
entrance, mirroring those
of heart and soul upon
face and hands.
Such is the wear and
tear of life upon this state of
humanity, of time upon
Responsibilities now weigh as
age keeps encroaching.
In adulthood, I remember the
joy of innocence, yearning to
return to a time, a place,
where dreams could come true.
Reality proved harsh and
and I feel
Note: Lack of ending punctuation is intentional.
Far from my best, but this has wanted out these past several days that I’ve been wallowing in the mire of my funk.
And i skipped the 29th.
I might produce something later today, you never know. I’m stuck in my head funk. It’s beautiful here in NE Ohio, and I’m going to do some errands and hopefully spy out some inspiration.
Peace & blessings
Yet again, nothing too exciting. Obviously, my head is nowhere pleasant. Sorry. [UPDATE/EDIT] This was supposed to be a “shadorma” (which i originally spelled w an “n”). But i obviously forgot the syllable counts when i began to write. The second lines should be five syllables, not four. Apologies.
I don’t want
to feel like this
Back to bed,
let the darkness win again
the fight for my head.
just seems to be
Too much effort when none of
it even matters.
Making the required
going through expected
Tasks are performed by
rote, dutifully as the
ticking of a timepiece.
When did life become
Turn your face to the sun,
take one step into the light;
may it fall warm upon uplifted face.
Let not shadows behind fill you with fright.
You cannot escape them,
they cannot be evaded.
Constant companions they will stay;
your storied past cannot be traded.
Eyes lifted to bright sky,
take another step. Smell the clean air;
it is unfouled by former path,
so have not a care.
Shadows are cast behind, short or long;
with light ahead they fall behind you.
There let them stay, as is there place.
Ahead, in the light, is your beautiful view.
This is one of those days where this speaks directly to my heart.
“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.