https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2021/06/26/weekend-writing-prompt-215-ink/
Its flow
From the tip of my fountain pen—
Not smooth enough–
Fails capturing anything
Within this labyrinth of senses
Now alive
The Smoothness of Ink
Tag: #poem
My Silent House
My house is a quiet house,
Always various shades of silent—
Though Etta blows silky smoke throughout the rooms,
Though Nina tells me that I know how she feels,
Though Storm Large with Pink Martini might ask me to come sway with her,
And, at times, Freddy proclaims we are, indeed, champions,
While the evening news drones mundane atrocities of the world each day
And the dogs may bark, trying scare the workers across the street away—
My house is silent through it all, echoing noise in its quiet way,
An orderly, meandering contented existence does it hold.
Heaven?
Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge June 15, 2021 | Go Dog Go Café (godoggocafe.com)
Have I seen Heaven in her eyes? You ask.
Can anyone see heaven in the eyes of another
Is what I must ask.
I have seen love, the soft one,
Take a seat and
Settle comfortably
In the eyes of others.
I have seen hatred, the snake,
Uncoil and dance,
Spitting venom at everything and everyone,
From the eyes of others.
Too often, I have seen death, the thief,
Steal all the treasures from the eyes
Of those I loved,
Leaving them hollow and emptied out.
I have seen other things
In the eyes of others
Along these long years
But heaven—
I don’t really think so.
I may be too old to see such a wonder
Or too young yet to know it
When I see it.
So, to answer,
I would have to say, no.
No, I have not seen
Heaven in her eyes.
The Rabbit
https://amanpan.com/2021/06/10/eugis-weekly-prompt-nature-june-10-2021
When trying to respond to Eugenia’s prompt this week, this poem, which I posted a couple of years ago kept coming into my head, and no matter how I tried, it would not go away. In this reposting, it is my hope that it serves some purpose. Perhaps, someone will gather something from it.
A rabbit stilled,
Motionless, as if frozen
In the summer grass
Only her nose twitched, flared
The scent of wrongness–
A touch upon the air,
And she knew
Only flight carried safety
Flight, the right choice to make—
If she could only still move.
But she could stand only statue still
And standing so, the trap sprung
Steel teeth clamping down,
Slicing through skin,
Chewing through chunks of muscle
As she struggled,
Daring not to scream
As screams would bring the predators.
This she knew too well.
The trap now biting into bone,
Her struggles stopped.
Her panting calmed.
Her head rested upon the grass.
One eye looked to a cloudless sky.
She prayed for strength to chew
Through bone.
Morning
No words in the moment.
Just touch,
Feeling.
No adequate metaphors
To be found.
No fancy turns of phrases
To be made.
A breath.
Watch the sun rise.
No dance of words
To map the moment.
Simple really,
A heartbeat close.
A breath.
A touch.
A feeling.
A moment.
Captured.
Crescendo
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/category/weekend-writing-prompt/
Crescendo, sun rise,
Swells an upsurge of color,
Fades too fast for me.
Ever loudening,
The business of the day trades
Scenes of memories.
Diminuendo comes,
An end, a small death of colors
As day slowly fades.
Washed
https://new2writing.wordpress.com/2021/06/03/writephoto-beach/#like-5743
( An older poem written in 2015 while in Provincetown, MA. Revised for this week’s writephoto challenge.)
At sunrise over water,
Remembering as if in a dream
The child and you and me
As we stood by a sea
Half a world away.
Both of you now baptized differently by my tears.
And for and from you,
I am left with things neither given
Nor felt in years,
Linked by all the fears
To form over a decade of a life
Lived like a stranger
In my own shrinking skin.
I have stood
Since the dawn
At this ocean’s edge
Waiting, waiting.
And now at noon
The rain begins.
Fierce pelting blows
Washing me clean
Of all I know
Or dare to dream.
For living continues
Within my own skin
Dawn
Clouds drift in night’s sky,
Stretching,
As if yearning,
To touch the horizon,
Dawn yet hours away–
She neither “walks in beauty
Like the night” as Byron wrote
Nor does she stand upon a scallop shell
Riding the sea foam to shore
As Botticelli painted—
No, nothing so over done
Simply, she rises, flaming
Over the desert mountains.
Lingering
The silk of waking
To dreams yet dreamed
Linger in the sky
Adrift in gray clouds
Carrying visions of possibilities
That yet may be
All Things New
Storm clouds rode in
Upon a sky soaked in sunset red.
Wildflowers bowed their heads
Down on either side
As I drove by
Smiling, thinking of all things new.
Once home, I stood in the yard,
Arms akimbo, welcoming the new—
What the storm, the wind, the rains
Would bring—
As gently as their nature could—
All things new, clean, green
With spring.
Hearing The Mermaids Sing 