A Small Promise

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4.22 A Small Promise

He said come here and hold me
All throughout the night.
I’d love to, Love, but I’m afraid
I promised I would write.

Your kisses make me smile
And your arms are my delight
But I’ve a second rendez-vous
I promised I would write.

For I’m a woman of my word
And words give no respite
I’ll come back to your warm embrace
I promised I would write.

Who knows how long I waited
For the muses to alight?
Cursing that I ever said
I promised I would write.

Your sleepy hands reached for me
In the waning white moonlight
I took your hands and kissed them
I promised I would write.

And I’m a woman of my word
And the words are tucked in tight
So kiss me love for I am here
I promised I would write.

Empty Space / Love and Bouldering

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4.10 Empty Space

The empty space inside my head
Is vast, but ever shrinking
I find I bring my focus back
With patient, conscious thinking

Or else I stare at something bland
And let my hands meander
Perhaps they’ll write a shiny phrase
And my brain will take a gander.

I haven’t looked down at the keys
Which I know sounds most outlandish
Would you be kind enough to look
In case there’s something I accomplished?

****

4.11 Love and Bouldering

If I’m a bucket
You’re a crimp
We make an interesting climb
I’ll take your arms
You’ll need my fingers
We’ll make it up just fine
I’ll hold your feet
You take my toes
While we’re both in our prime
And when we’re up
We’ll trace back down
Let’s chalk it up to time

****

With thanks to a Facebook Ad

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I used my prose way back in May
When I had useful things to say

And then in June I wondered why
My well of words was cracked and dry

I used my prose – such lovely thoughts
I wrote them out, those nimble plots

Those thankless letters left me there
Stuck with August everywhere

I scratched out words one at a time
I seeded prose in autumn rime

Ruminating through the cold
I felt the silence taking hold

I used my words way back in May
In March I had nothing to say

Till suddenly the prose came home
And settled in my finger bones

Perhaps I have new things to say
I only hope to last past May…

——

I saw a Facebook ad that was about a shampoo or something. In my haste to scroll by, my brain simplified the first sentence to “I started using prose in May.” The rest wrote itself very quickly, until the end. I have difficultly telling when my brain wants to end something hopefully for real, or if it’s pretending to ignore a reality that I don’t want to face. Not writing for months, for example, in any format. All my writing has been on ice for what feels like ages.

NaPoWriMo is starting in a week. I hope that gets my creative muscles flexing again.

Walls and Otherwise

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Walls and Otherwise

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.
My words.

Couplet Practice (4.6)

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Couplet Practice (4.6)

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.

Day 20! Day 21?

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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.