An edifice of sandstone, smooth and windswept.
One would think it was a cliff face
For all its length and height.
It is imposing.
It suggests impenetrability.
I walk to it, taking in the immense flatness of it.
My fingers press on its sun-warmed surface and am surprised to feel small, red granules roll away under my fingers and fall to my feet.
Hesitantly, I scratch the wall, watch flakes fall
and turn to dust.
I tap, grind, dig, emboldened.
The seemingly solid mass gives way begrudgingly
My hands will hurt tomorrow.
It would be easier to stop, but I’m insatiable.
Finally, a hand pops through the other side
The wall is not thick.
Simply a grand facade.
I reach through and there on the other side I can feel them brushing against my hands.
Stuck in the curse
Of my free-striding verse
Like cuffs on my feet
The hamper the beat
Of the song in my mind
Which is one of a kind
Yet I can’t touch the sound
Which ambles around
The edge of my sight
And won’t enter the light
So I write what I know
While I wait to be shown
What the words have to say
At the end of the day
If I’m lucky I’ll see
What my words need to be
Or else I’ll waste time
With a series of rhymes
And hope for the best
After a decent night’s rest.
Please be advised: Both of the poems contain swear words
Day 20: PvP
An algorithm won’t be an evil winner.
Won’t crow and send emoticons.
Won’t tell you that you lost well,
Or need more practice,
Or will get it next time.
An algorithm won’t write “suck it” in the chat space.
Won’t draw out the killing blow.
Won’t seek to make you feel small.
We fear the cold calculations a computer,
But I think I would prefer
A neutral nuclear winter
Than being beaten
By an anonymous asshole
Day 21: My Muse has Flown the Coop
It’s not that I have nothing to say
It’s just been one of those dreary days
Where the sun is out and you can’t complain
And it’s just too nice to try and explain
There’s something not quite sitting right
In your heart, and try as you might
You can’t seem to get the sun inside.
So you plaster that smile on a bit too wide.
And maybe if you force it along
Make yourself whistle that catchy song
Then inspiration will show you some pity
And help you say something not so shitty.
Then again, maybe she too
Is in a sort of prickly mood
I guess that means no words today
Best button my lip and look away.
Nothing to see here! Nothing to read!
No poetry is guaranteed!
This is what happens when you challenge yourself to write every day. There are dry spells, and dry spells are really hard when you have no time for them. These past couple of days have been so lacking in inspiration. And I’ve been busy being busy.
I mean it about PvP – I might get mad losing to a computer when I game, but it can be so much worse losing to some jerk you don’t know who delights in being a troll. Perhaps if I take a break from the games, I will find something to write about.