Shared with DVerse’s latest open link night.
What makes the real me keep fighting
Against the whispers of the monters in my head?
Why do I often keep forgetting
That they are not my friends but want me dead?
Why do both sides return day after day,
Yet I do not feel as if I’m cursed?
Somehow courage returns, even if it’s been away:
In hope is the strength of the universe.
For this week’s Haibun Monday on DVerse, we are being asked to write about owls. To be honest, owls kind of scare me (I’ve watched one too many scary movies), but this prompt made me think of a very special person in my life, my maternal grandmother.
My grandmother loved owls. I once counted how many owls — figurines, pictures, stuffed animals — she had in her house. This was over a dozen years ago, so I don’t remember the exact number, but there were well over a hundred. Over a hundred owls in one house. And all of their wisdom couldn’t cure cancer.
Owls’ heads turn backwards;
What could we have done? Nothing
Who, who are you now?
This is a senryu for Frank J. Tassone’s haikai challenge for this week, which, fittingly enough, is about veterans.
You’ve fought and survived,
Not letting evil triumph
Written for Jilly’s November collaboration as a continuation of Charley’s “Paean to My Love” . His words are in green, and mine are in blue.
“She walks in beauty like the night”
She’s won my heart not just by sight!
She’s won my heart it’s hers to keep.
She fills my heart awake, asleep!
She dances o’er a midnight stage,
Stars gather ’round this brilliant sage
Unparalleled in comeliness,
Whose calm mystique guides me no less.
An ode for DVerse’s MTB. I wrote it as a Chaucerian stanza, 7 lines in iambic pentameter with the rhyme scheme ababbcc.
Courageous one who gets up every day,
To fight again the monsters of the mind
Puts on armor, and lifts a sword to slay
Indwelling demons, every day unkind,
I laid you, for you always courage find.
I lift you up, for when your mood is low,
The way to daily persevere you show.
For Jilly’s November collaboration. She wrote the beginning of this poem, and I finished it. Her words are in bold, and my completion is in blue.
It’s never about birds in poetry;
it is about our inadequate,
marrow-filled bones that
weigh us down
reminding us of the immediacy
of the dust.
It’s never about stars in poetry;
it is about our indefatigable,
persistent, pertinent hope that
lifts up our eyes,
reminding us of the long journey
of the light.
It has travelled a billion years
to find your eyes; it has flown
through so many solar systems,
past so many galaxies,
reminding you that though you are dust,
it is Stardust.
For DVerse’s quadrille #44, a 44-word poem of any form that includes some form of the word kick.
I’m addicted to something called
“She looks like this”
“I want to be the best” —
But this addiction gives me
When it’s employed
It steals my joy,
Yet I continue to
Return to it —
I’ve got to kick this bad habit.