Possibly the first time I have ever publicly responded to MLMM’s Saturday Mix: Same Same, but Different. We are given a list of 5 words and are asked to use synonyms. Follow the link for more info. This was one of my 11 poems written yesterday.
I am God's plaything, partnering
unwillingly with Loss, as Time
flies by, wearing fleet-footed Mercury's
sandals -- yet the fire of Life
does not die quickly
But I love so much.
Don't ever hurry past the greenery,
Nor the moon, nor winged things of beauty.
It’s Quadrille Monday at the DVerse Poets virtual pub! This week’s word is track. Also written for FOWC: Medal.
We always, always kept track of grades,
Mine we always As,
Except for one B+
In an AP Physics class --
That's another thing,
I took six APs --
And in academic decathlon
I won seven medals.
And what do I have
Left of it now?
Believe it or not, I did write something happy today, this morning. Maybe I’ll share it later. Maybe I can even try to write a second quadrille. In the meantime, here is my quadrille, based on my dumpster-fire of a life, in which all of my previous achievements have burned to invisible ashes.
The moral of this story is, if you did badly in school, none of it matters anyway!
It's nighttime, and I
Am in the back seat --
Suddenly realize there is no
Driver. How is this thing
Going? How are we not
Crashing? And where
Is the destination?
It's daytime, amid much traffic.
I am driving, swerving,
Worried about crashing
But narrowly averting
Every obstacle -- until I arrive
Once again daytime, and I
Am both inside and outside
The car, seeing a busy
Intersection. After some
Successful swerving, we
Crash, and I'm both
Dead and alive.
Did I mention I can't drive?
This was inspired by / in response to Paula’s dream interpretation #10 at MLMM. I have driving dreams a lot, especially for someone who doesn’t drive in real life, and most of them don’t turn out well, or at least they are very stressful.
Today’s stream-of-consciousness prompt was “me-” either by itself or as the beginning of another word. The first words I thought of were French — mentir [to lie], mensonge [lie] — also the words “mendacity” and “mendacious,” but as my blog is usually truthful to a fault, I did not want to write about those, either! I have a memory from this week 5 years ago of making a Funfetti cake in honor of my patron saint, whose special memorial feast day is today. Her name is Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, and she was a nun who lived and died near the end of the 19th century. She is often known as The Little Flower.
She died at a mere 24 years of age but is considered a Doctor of the Church because of her teaching of the “Little Way.” I wrote a poem, meritorious or not, inspired by her today:
May the scent of roses guide
Through these darkened paths,
May all friends in Heaven pray
With strong love that lasts,
Send to me a heavenly rose
With aroma sweet,
Gentle guide with me always
Giving peace complete.
To exist, if
God You stopped loving me,
That's what I've heard some people say --
Posting because why not. Sorry about the doom and sadness, but that’s where I’m at. Swings are fun; mood swings are not. I’ve found some happy things but can’t write a happy poem.
Update: I did write a happy poem tonight.
Thanks to a prompt on DVerse, I found part of a poem to share for One-Liner Wednesday. When I was younger, I read a whole book of Kahlil Gibran’s works and loved it.
This week’s sijo prompt is Balance, and that word triggers me so much because I have cerebral palsy and a kind of messed-up life, so it’s like physically I get off balance and mentally everything’s off balance. It has been like this for a long time; actually I’ve gotten better over time, overall. Plus, I have only a mild case of cerebral palsy and am actually really lucky, yet it still feels like some sort of cosmic joke. It’s sort of surprising how pissed off I am by this prompt (no offense to the prompter — I love writing sijos!). Anyway, here’s my attempt for this week.
She loved her pink tutu and ballet shoes, dancing to music,
Freely flowing, feeling the melodies even at that young age,
Before the time she realized: she could not be a ballerina.
I tried not to write something autobiographical, but look what came out. Also, it turns out that this is only related obliquely, but I’ll be sharing and linking it anyway. Voilà.
My late response to Stream-of-Consciousness Saturday (on Sunday). The word was “home.” I wrote a sevenling.
When I think of "home," I think of
Not only having food and water,
And a place to stay and sleep.
Home is a place of mutual unconditional
Love and acceptance, of rest and relaxation.
Of being who you truly are.
And now I feel like an exile.
My life is a snafu, and every week it seems to get more hopeless. At least I posted today, for the first time in 3 days. I was going to hang out in a café and write this weekend, but there weren’t many writing ideas in my brain…
Pretty straightforwardly. this is my 6 sentences for this week’s link-up. I wrote it as a 6-line poem, also in response to FFFC #185, so I hope it works.
No, this is a knot which no one can untie.
There’s no point looking back, no use asking why.
How did a perfect dream become a nightmare?
Could she not see the signs, avoid the snare?
No, she fell right in, fell for his charms.
There seems no way to escape more harm.
Welcome to my Tuesday-evening Sijo! 🙂 This week’s prompt from Ronovan Writes is SOAR. My poem may not be exquisite but is, I hope, enjoyable.
The Wright Brothers‘ first powered flights lasted less than 200 feet,
Only about 10 feet off the ground — yet celebrated soaring.
Do you think they got everything right, even after many tries?