I know what it is to be hungry.
I know what it is to tell myself I am content. Continue reading
Wielding a magic wand and a bottle of bubble soap,
She blew: most bubbles floated on but one
Froze, on a bed of snowdrops. Under the sun
Its pearlescent orb shone like the moon,
While sun’s rays slowly found their way underneath.
The bubble cracked, the little girl cried —
But it became an egg, fertile as spring, with a new beginning.
This is for DVerse Poetics’s prompt, “Always in Season.” It turns out that, a few months ago, I wrote a different poem about an orange, which is interesting because I don’t like oranges that much. Nevertheless, they are evidently full of juicy inspiration!
I peeled an orange and found
Joy, inside that rough exterior peel,
Bordering on obnoxious with that summery citrus scent,
Joy in the juice which covered my fingers,
In the pulp which found its way
Under each one of my fingernails —
I peeled an orange and grabbed
Happiness, full of ripeness, because I wasn’t
Looking overly intently for it.
This is a poem. Using fragments. For Linda Kruschke’s paint-chip poetry prompt. The new one comes out tomorrow morning. So I am posting this just in time. 🙂
Seeking a worthy muse.
Walking through desert’s
Brain juice yield an idea?
Are brain waves airy
As cotton candy,
And just as substantially
Void? See, a frown…
Look, the nose
Of a clown!
This is for Linda G. Hill’s SoCS; the prompt word is “where.”
Where is the map?
The map which shows where to go,
Where to go now,
Now that the world is upside-down?
Down go the emotions,
Emotions as volatile as the world unpredictable
Has become — where is this map
Map that no one has?
This week, we are slanting the paint chips, and I also responded to this prompt, “More than just a place.” Maybe it’s a stretch, but I think it suffices. Also, I did not exclusively use slant rhymes but tried to incorporate a few, whether within lines or at the end of them.
The moon is more than a faraway place,
She among the stars is like a beacon
In a foggy harbor: a kind face she can
Offer. A muse she can provide, kinder
Than Poe’s raven, making the mind more open.
Her presence gives nourishment; she is rocky
So she understands. Sans wheat fields
She yields soul-food, remembering what’s good.
Sometimes she even sends a moonstone,
Reminding the lonely they’re not the only one.