Inspiration on Brain-cation

Lost in purchased imagery

of foreign sights and sounds 

     expressing

        voicing 

past thoughts silently suppressed.

A flow of words across the eye

of people, places, and emotions. A

     transformation

        transition

moving picture of the mind.

Hands anchor and trade 

with fingers at the ready to 

     flip

        turn

thumb through to new realities.

Thoughts race at contemplation of motive,

an anticipation of twist

     reveal

        shock

perhaps I knew it all along.

Such daily relaxation forever cheap

a brain-cation

     motivation

    incitation

to pick up my own pen and take a leap.

The Morning After

A couple of years ago in one of my poetry courses we had to write a short work of fiction and a poem that described the morning after a significant event. My prompt was to write about the morning after a parent either (a) backed into their child in the driveway or (b) started to drive with the child in their carrier on the car (I can't remember the exact wording). Despite my attempts, I can't find the short story, which is upsetting because although it was hard to write, it turned out much better than I thought simply because of the difficulty of the subject. I did, however, come across the poem I wrote and figured I would share.

The Morning After

Silky sheets desolate, icy touch freezing the heart.

Familiar waking noise: pop and sizzle, clang and beep.

Loving laughter. No.

Silence.

Hardwood to tile, butterflies to bees. A nest disturbed.

Yellow sun-glow, sparkling white. Clean. Empty.

A witness! Green light, aroma slight.

Splash. Stir. Sip.

Sniffle.

Dewy air, table, and chair. Lone stare.

A hesitant touch. Two shy words. "Honey, I-".

<Squealing breaks. Slide, scrape, bang. Terror.

Tremble. Splatter. "Our daughter, Ben!"

Shatter.

Phonetic arrows, pummeling ire.

Guilty arms circling pain, mistrust.

Whispers of fault, regret. Forgiveness.  

The monitor cries.

Here's the challenge: write a poem or short story about the morning after a significant event in the life of a couple. Don't go easy and pick the morning after their wedding day or something happy. Make it difficult. Challenge yourself. Channel those emotions and see where they take you.

A Nine-To-Five Hoax

A deep breath in strain. By brick vest contained,

The worn voices weep. An unspoken grief.

Marred yet glowing, beauty is unmaimed.

Vocation revocation. Heartless thief.

Toil and grind too much time, bones bare and aged.

Joints creak as pressure applies. The soul dies.

What else to do when a muse is so caged?

The heart wants what it wants and tells no lies.

The siren’s song is a steady tune. Yet—

What intent belies that smile? Sneaking singe.

Beauty begins in the mind and once set,

A mind wilts without ambition to binge.

Follow a dream, give no excuse to pause.

I fail to contemplate a more just cause.

A Bittersweet Goodbye

It strikes a chord to see you go,

Yet the tune is airy and light

Each note ringing high and free.

This chorus is merely filler.

Your next verse is sure to reverberate,

line by line.

Immersed (in) Recollection

Shadows stirring, reflected through clear tide
Flush of smooth notes sway slowly on air
A soft flowing blanket, graceful 
ripple dancing against cool
porcelain. Droplets scorch
paths down pouting curves.
Burning, haunting
melody.
Flashback.
Tears.

*Nonet form.

Haunted

Deep dark hugging
     blinding
          hiding
fingers caressing
goosebumps rising

Each heart racing
     creeking
           squeaking
noises blaring
wide eyes staring

White shape gliding
     stopping
          fading
heavy breathing
disbelieving.

Drinking Perfection - Throwback Thursday #tbt #halloween

I was.... 16 when I wrote this one.  Figured it was appropriate for Halloween!

Drinking Perfection

Footfall could be heard on the cobblestone path
The reflection of the creator could be seen by the birdbath
Swirling lights from the lighthouse nearby
The color iris staining her eye

A wisp of his presence came out of the air
All of a sudden he appeared from nowhere

Satin cloth brushed by her side
Tendrils of hair caressed her forehead
A loving kiss was plated on her cheek
A hint of wine could be sensed on his breath

The wounds from his fatal kiss were far gone
Now the creator stared at his job well done
The beauty of the creature was hard to miss

Skin the feel of steel
Lipstick as that of an evergreen garden
Eyes that absorbed all of the spectrum
Strength that outnumbered the largest of men
Fangs to match the shining white teeth
Yes, she was perfect indeed.

A shiver ran through her body
The metamorphosis claimed her mind
The time had come for the affect to take hold
 Her first victim was only seventeen years old

Ahhh!  I cringe!  Like I said in a previous post, keeping my writing helps me see how much I've grown.... and I've grown a whole lot since this! Do you have old writing you aren't proud of?

A Paw-Printed Heart

Footfalls silent against the aging overgrown trail
Spurred by nature's breath singing a lonesome song.
Drifting numbly forward to forlorn emotions frail
And no softened ground catching my upcoming swoon.

Pale fading petals shrivel and shed
Blanketing stone brushed by paw and palm
A steadfast symbol always I dread
Heartbreaking past hostile to care and calm.

Love buried in the ground,
too soon gone to mother earth's bed.
Pain sings in the sound
We knew she was loved, they said.

Furry little missile zooms through the garden
Explosion of energy booms then dies.
That toothy terror begs for a quick pardon
Mischievous yet innocent big brown eyes.

Similar browns once stared back at me
Now long gone but never replaced.
Guiltiness slows with time and now she
Helps heal my heart, shame displaced.

RIP Aubrey

Alabama Snow

An evening white with snow
the weather channel shows.
Hurry, hurry! Please prepare!
Water! Blankets! Bread!

The shelves in stores are bare
the streets are dark and dead
A flake of snow is falling
and friends and kin are calling.

Exciting! Dreadful! Scary!
The people are warm and wary.
Reports on television warn and show
excited children want to know.

Morning shows a flurry came and went without a flake to stick
perhaps we southern people act a little quick.


It's been cold down south a lot lately... can't say that I like it! We don't do well with cold down here.

#tbt Throwback Thursday: Drinking Perfection

Drinking Perfection
Ten years ago! 11/1/2003 - Age 16


Footfall could be heart on the cobblestone path
The reflection of the creator could be seen by the birdbath
Swirling lights from the lighthouse nearby
The color iris staining her eye

A wisp of his presence came out of the air
All of a sudden he appeared from nowhere

Satin cloth brushed by her side
Tendrils of hair caressed her forehead
A loving kiss was planted on her cheek
A hint of wine could be sensed on his breath

The wounds from his fatal kiss were far gone
Now the creator stared at his job well done
The beauty of the creature was hard to miss

Skin the feel of steel
Lipstick as that of an evergreen garden
Eyes that absorbed all of the spectrum
Strength that outnumbered the largest of men
Fangs to match the shining white teeth
Yes, she was perfect indeed.

A shiver ran through her body
The metamorphosis claimed her mind
The time had come for the effect to take hold

Her first victim was only seventeen years old.

War Eagle

Perched atop a stony edge, talons gripped in wait
the sun stains Spirit with a rusty luster.
A canvas of blue above and a sea of blue below,
the loud rumble of crowd signals and calls,
a song to beckon each beat of wing.
Talons twitch, feathers flutter, and wings spread wide,
the raptor captures the wind and sails the sky high.
Prey in sight and she quickly dives,
"War Eagle" her audience cries, roaring with pride.

(Open Form/Free Verse Poem)



Football season is here! Football season is here!
 

Roadside

Cracked rearview, busted taillight,
Full tank useless against the closing twilight.
Parallel orbs cut through the darkness,
growing, approaching, dancing right by,
the sway of their wake jarring, cutting like a knife.

A shaking hand drifts toward that precious metal piece,
pushing, turning, loosening with each click,
the sound deafening in silent space,
yet unable to spark life to drown the hopeless cry.

The mechanical maze awes and baffles.
Puzzles and pathways,
roadblocks and riddles,
deflation.
No miracle nor savior,
self reliance under the hood.

Black and bleak against another fading hour,
Finally!
A sight!
A light!
A guide toward the coming dawn.

Rough capable hands tug, twist, and turn.
Wide eyes darting left and right,
eager to remember and learn.
Green light.

Spark, ignite, hum to life,
and glide home in the rising sun.

Fresh Flowers

Pink petals unfold
embracing the rising sun,
cool dew glistening in light.

Beautiful roses
in a garden colored bright,
snipped, gracing a table top.


*Written in sedoka form.

A Walk to Remember for #ThrowbackThursday

A Walk to Remember (11/1/2003)

Beautiful cloudless sky
Endless mass of stars above
Two forms walked forward
Walked only looking ahead

He held her hand in his
She rested her head on his arm
Silently they walked in sync along the path
Only one set of footsteps could be heart
Just one powerful heartbeat could be sensed
The pair was one.

Every night the pair walked
Hand in hand for hours on end
Every night they never spoke
Just cherished the moments together

This evening would be the final night 
Until a year passed
For he was leaving
And she would be left behind

This night their pattern was dismissed
For he broke the silence
And she broke the touch between them

"I love you," he whispered silently
She looked up at him teary-eyed
"I love you, too," she answered 
With a hint of sadness in her voice

He grabbed her hand
She placed her head on his shoulder
They walked on again until the night was over

Until the miles no longer stood between he and she
A walk to remember this would be.

A poem I wrote when I was 16, presented for Throwback Thursday. Barf! It reads like more like a short story than a poem... a bad, broken, improperly formatted story... and apparently I didn't realize you don't have to capitalize every line... and that poems should flow instead of read awkwardly... and that it is just completely horrible.

Do you have old work that makes you cringe?

Midnight Muse

I toss, I turn
I think, I think
My mind never rests
My thoughts are in sync

If my ears could copy
If my cheek could compose
a room full of pillows
would be inked, prose after prose.

A great idea!
Line, plot, word,
A promising work
this time I'm sure

I wake, I rise
I think, I think
My ideas are gone
My brain needs more ink.