The Metal Bubble

This poem is inspired by FFFC #70, the image below:

They are gazing outside the train,
Outside the windowed metal bubble;
He wonders what is to be gained
By staying stuck; it may mean trouble
To leave may be terrifying.
But there remains a world outside
Inner fear might be decrying —
Fight it, flee fear, and cease to hide.

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Many-Hued Verse

I wrote a few sidlak poems over the past few days. This form, which has 4 lines of 3-5-7-9 syllables and concludes with a fifth line that is a color, has been fun. I found out about it from Abigail Gronway, who also wrote a nice one. Shared with the Tuesday Platform.


“Antique”

Black coffee

In a library,

On antique, sturdy table —

I sense the musty smell of old books

Mahogany

 

“Royalty”

Poetry:

Proper meter? Rhyme?

Freedom in form anytime.

Word queen of my poetry world, hued

Purple

 

“Fight”

Depression,

Anxiety fight

Oppressing like a devil,

A cardboard box, sent, undelivered:

Black.

Inside A Book

“The perfect hideout is inside a book.”

 

The perfect hideout is inside a book,
Is is a grand adventure too, although
It may not seem that way, and it may look
Boring, it’s not — my fellow readers know!

For One Liner Wednesday and JusJoJan day 9. Join in here!

Clothes Make Many Selves

For JusJoJan day 8, our prompt word is “self.”


Clothing expresses so many aspects,
Facets of myself:
There’s the karate uniform
Which I haven’t worn in years,
And the color-guard cotume
Which saw the antithesis of tears,
There’s the bittersweet
Black Homecoming dress —
For the first time I felt like a beauty —
There is no room to express
All the existing sides of me.

Puente

Inspired by this weekend’s prompt at  Real Toads, I wrote a “puente” poem. Puente means bridge in Spanish because of the middle line, and I wanted to incorporate the idea of a bridge in my poem. Yesterday, my mom and I decorated our Christmas tree, and the ornaments were bridges between the past and the present. 


My mother and me,

Adorning the Christmas tree

With ornaments, including

A white and blue ball

 

~ bringing it close, inhaling its scent ~

 

It still smells like

Grandma’s house

Over a decade ago,

Echoes of smoke