VerseDay 9-19-19

Happy Epic Palindrome Day!

Funny-Celebration-With-Cat

 

Ok, that’s not really a thing. I just…

*sigh* I’m a little off from all of the serious and ADULT-like writing I’ve been doing lately.

I’m overcompensating with frivolity. It happens.

Here’s your Verse, you ungrateful math-hater (oh and by the way, it’s quirky too).

 

Ghost Writer

While you were asleep, I borrowed your pen and scratched ink over that dreadful book you’re writing.

Just a reminder that this was once my house, before you banged open the door and disturbed my rest.

Before you halted my slumber with your key-clacking and plastered that fluorescent post-it monstrosity over my Schumacher wallpaper.

Of all the idiots to suffer, why’d it have to be a writer now at my desk?

What editorial mistake did I make in life to land you here?

I fixed your opening line.

 

 

VerseDay 9-4-19

 

None The Less

 

There’s nothing left in you

for me.

the vaporous possibility

a veil pulled away to reveal

all this nothing

 

Both birds tucked in bush

empty hands

beak pecked and talon scratched

pale against green leaves

and frothed feathers

 

There’s nothing left in me

for you.

I am a morbid shadow

the girl we once knew

paper thin

soul and words faded

to a time of never-was

bleached by sun

tattered by storm

 

Blank

and you

none

the

less

for it.

 

VerseDay 8-29-19

I’m not sure where this came from. Maybe it was my old high-school track coach telling me that if I quit, I’d never finish anything in life. (Hey, Mr. S and Mr. R…turns out I CAN actually finish something, including two marathons, half a dozen halfs and six relays, give or take).

Maybe it was the instructor who berated me for “letting” my daughter quit, saying that I was teaching her to give up when things got tough.

To those instructors, I offer this:

A child who knows how to pursue their own happiness, that knows their own heart and can let go of situations that are abusive or dangerous and move on to something better is a child who will surpass us all, because they’ve learned that other’s expectations are not as important as their own mental health and physical safety.

Let’s do one better and become this kind of person in our own lives, starting today.

Let’s be the parents that recognize happiness isn’t measured in instagram likes and crappy plastic trophies.

Enjoy…or get uncomfortable. Either way.

 

Perfect

Born into arms which penetrate hearts

Inject the belief

we were meant for greater things, pal.

Capable of great feats,

(greater than that loser Tommy two doors down)

Set expectation high and don’t ever

Ever

Ever

Settle for less.

 

Aim for the stars kid, and you’ll at least hit the moon.

 

So we aim, eyes glancing back to expectant faces

Waiting for the brag worthy photo to be posted later

Thinking

They’ll surely love me then.

By the measure of counted likes and tiny hearts floating

to the top of screens they rarely look up from.

 

We will excel. We will be better.

We will hurtle faster into adulthood,

And pound on depression’s door with a signed note,

Tug along our anxieties to the bus stops and soccer practices.

Bite nails, inhale, drink it down,

and give the captain of the football team

whatever he asks for.

 

We’ll aim for the stars

hurtle our broken bones and burst ligaments once more

like they’ve pulled a catapult’s lever to expunge us again and again

If it only would mean

They would love us.

 

Maybe when we get on the Varsity team,

Maybe after our third ACL replacement before graduation.

Maybe after the fourth ivy-league school accepts.

Maybe when we’ve lost enough fat to crown the top of the pyramid

In tiny skirts designed to make it all our fault.

 

Watch our faces fall every day

As we are shoveled into cars and

Paraded down sidelines,

Dressed in tutu’s and reminded not to eat too much

Sent to the psychologist because

‘she just can’t focus’ in a force-fed day

Gorged on Latin and dance, soccer and flute,

Math club, robotics, and the triple threat; tap.

 

Future problem solver

Can’t even solve her own problems

Pop a pill, darling, it will help you get our dreams.

 

Never really understanding that the only real problem,

Is the one that tucks us into bed,

Sighing, resigned, that maybe tomorrow will be better.

The ones that feed us breakfast and

Don’t search the backpack for the needles,

Because “he’s born with natural talent”

 

Twisted Sister could have taught you something

Darling perfects

about their trite and jaded ideas

screaming you are not enough

Just as you are,

Just ask you like.

 

You will excel,

Like they never did.

You will severe their noose of tough love

Drop it in your sweaty gym bag,

burn it with your test score report and tap shoes.

 

Do not let them force you

to relive their spent dreams.

Be all. Be nothing.

Land lightly in the space between…

The space that is you.

VerseDay 8-8-19

Good morning poetry hounds!

I’m pleased and excited to feature the latest submission from K. W. Bunyap, for your VerseDay pleasure. K.W. is an avid hunter and fly fisherman. He’s an airline pilot by day and a novelist by night, creating beauty with images and words to balance out both sides of his beautiful brain. If you want to hear more about how amazing this guy is (including surviving a bear mauling and poor luck with rental cars, check out his awesome website:

K. W. Bunyap

Today, K. W. will be wowing you with a poem that settles into a special corner of my heart and it’s love of Autumn. Enjoy!

 

Aspen Autumn- 

I watched the aspens turn today 
And witnessed nature’s majesty. 
Orange and gold replaced the leaves 
Of green, and leapt from tree to tree. 

The rising sun poked shafts of light 
Down through an emerald canopy. 
I lay beneath those dark scarred trunks 
Of white, and lounged in reverie. 

I watched the colors of autumn 
Slowly replace where green should be. 
The hues revealed the steady march 
Of time, no more a mystery. 

Deep in that secret mountain glade 
The pigments were a potpourri. 
Above, I heard a rustling sound 
Of leaves, and something stirred in me. 

The leaves were changing, Fall was here, 
I felt the warmth of Summer flee. 
Watching the aspens turn, I thought 
Of love, and gave my heart to thee.

VerseDay 7-25-19

Today’s featured poet, sid sibo, is an immensely talented writer and poet, currently living and working as an environmental analyst on the western slope of the Rockies. sid shares an amazing connection to the land and is quite possibly one of the most profound poets I’ve been blessed to meet.

You can find more inspiration and writing at their website: sid sibo

Please enjoy this delicious gem.

 

Rendezvous
Rime dampens leaf crackle;
your boots lift peppered scent.
Hunt camp disappears behind
cedar bog.
Squat. Touch fungus. Listen.
Other
footsteps pause and proceed,
pause and advance and
through breathing balsam
thrusts midnight wolf, eyes
intrepid suns,
nose lifted to strange reek.
Three strides apart;
you ingest each other.
Raven calls out.
But wolf ears—steep
mountains—focus
only on mystery.
Onyx lips open to glacier grin.
Ferned plume of tail
spins past.
Ancient air pours through you
and you sink like
rain into the duff.
Wait. Lichened greenstone
on trembling tongue.
Knowledge, basaltic,
rises along your backbone.
Footsteps circle around,
returning.
Deep forest dark together,
Gold fever curious.
Exchange breaths, learning.

VerseDay 7-11-19

photo of durga statue
Photo by Khirod Behera on Pexels.com

 

Knowing

 

This is for the endless breath

This is for the heat and the trigger.

This is for the light within

And the power; contained.

The swirling will-o’-the-wisps

of color and hope

That drive like engines in

Thumping

Thrumming

powerstroke diadems.

This is for the me that

Centers

The call of the universe and

ties to the settling of the earth

And all I am

Balanced Between

The goddess infinite and

The root of birth and blood.

This is for the knowing.

VerseDay 7-4-19

I’m not going to lie. This last week has been a bit of a bear. The emotional lows and highs, the stress and worry have been compiling. All of it, building up blocks to my creative mind. I spent three hours in a car yesterday staring out of the window, unable to put words to paper or even to reshape my work in progress. I couldn’t see out behind the wall of self-doubt and defeat.

So I’m here, trying to bang my head against the keys and make some sort of poetry come out to assuage my weekly quota, but all I really want to do is crawl back into bed and forget that I ever had words to say. That’s how the muddle of depression hits people sometimes. It’s not always tears and fainting dramatically across couches… sometimes it’s just the stagnant stare across a rolling landscape trying to recuperate what was lost.

So for today, and I hope you’ll forgive me the rough outline and nature of it, this is what I’ve got. Thanks for sticking with me, thanks for reading my words, even when they come in stuttering, halting steps. I have to believe that it will get better. It has to get better.

 

The Place

 

There is a place somewhere that lost you.

Took you

Shattered the universe you were

And glued back the leftover branches and brick brack

Into jagged and hurt lines.

 

I cannot replace the one-of-a-kind soul,

And I cannot repair the jumbled carnage.

Because there are pieces still lost

Out there, in that place.

 

And I try to understand what’s gone wrong,

A puzzle to reassemble

Find the edges first and work in to your center.

Separate it out by sky and earth.

But the colors mute into all one gray.

And none of them fit quite right.

 

There is a place, a moment in time,

When the swirling wonder of light 

Faded into a dying star, 

A pile of poorly cut cardboard, 

A disassembled soul, sitting stagnant

In that place.

 

VerseDay 6-27-19

I don’t know what to say about this one…it was an interesting thread to follow.

 

The Beak-fast Club

 

The blue jay is the football captain of the aviary

Loudly proclaiming a six-pack of feathers

Too pretty to be quiet.

Bullying the silent finches

In the hallways of tree line streets

Shoving them into the locker of shrubbery

 

While ring-necked doves

The church going girls, quietly coo in corners

Demur and soft bodies

Ripe for ample eggs and feathered nests

Perched in gray anonymity

Heads bowed over necks, shackled with lines

 

The chickadee a victim of short man syndrome,

Puffed up and wailing loudly

That he’ll take you both, apart or together.

One wing pinned to his pompous fluff

Sharp, rounded beak

A busy purveyor of seed and stalk

Bobbing his head to the children singing back his song.

 

But by far, my favor resides on the rarely seen

The rustle of fur and feather preceding her.

She emits no heralding squawk

Need not justify her puffed up presence.

Or take comfort in soft humility.

She is patient observation,

Diving speed and certain death.

Sometimes leaving only a ring of pretty blue plumage

Before returning to solitude.

A snarky outcast, destroying ego

And the fowl sense of security.

VerseDay 6-20-19

Good Morning!

I’m so pleased and excited to feature this stunning contribution by Jennifer Carr for your weekly dose of poetry.

Jennifer Carr lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico with her partner and two children. She is an EMT, Firefighter and Poet. When she is not working at the local hospital or firehouse, she spends way too much time (is there every enough time?) reading and writing poetry.

Her poetry has been published in print by Triumph House Poetry With a Purpose and in many anthologies. Her poetry has been published on-line most recently in the Organic Journal ‘Under the Basho’ in the Modern Haiku section.

Jennifer loves flying by her own wings and looks for any opportunity to soar to new heights. Don’t forget to follow her on Twitter @PoetryHaiku13 (https://twitter.com/Poetryhaiku13).

Jennifer can be found on Facebook as Jennifer Carr Munoz or on Instagram.

Enjoy!

 

The Map to Motherhood

Traveling on a good solid trail until a bump in the way
led me to a dangerous detour of winding twists and turns.
The route becoming more rocky – I never saw the speed limit sign
warning me to slow down so I continued speeding ahead
never realizing I was lost and alone even though I was about to crash.
Even when I came to the crossroads I still disappeared
into the shadows where thunderstorms washed away
any chance of me finding my way back home.
I stopped looking over my shoulder
as my dreams disappeared into grey skies
along with the the compass and my sense of direction
all hope seemed lost until one day a miracle happened.

green mountain
Photo by Quang Nguyen Vinh on Pexels.com

There was a ray of hope, a small ray of sunlight
beamed onto my path – I felt it and I followed it.
A heartbeat that was felt long before
his heart began to beat. He brought me somewhere
out of nowhere breaking into old lost forgotten dreams.
In a universal moment I was dancing in a different direction
towards tomorrow’s bright promise the compass that carved a new path
he was the map that led me to motherhood.
The son I would come to know as my “Milagro.”

VerseDay 6-13-19

Hello Poetry lovers…or maybe you’re just poetry dabblers. Whatever the case, and your current thoughts on the boiled-down marvel of words, here’s today’s poem. Share it, comment on it, like it or don’t.

Again, still open for submissions. I’m super excited to be featuring a beautiful poem next week from Jennifer Munoz, so stay tuned for that!

Enjoy!

 

The World on Two Legs

If you knew the tremulous

white water that thrashes

against the rocky shores in my brain

When faced with your tear-stained cheeks.

If you knew the worry, and sleepless dark,

I live in for the sake of your safety

If you knew that you were my only shore

If you knew

You my solid ground

If you knew the depths of love

The die-for-you-love

The beat-for-you

Rise-For-You

Live-for-you

Love

That arrived, right on time

with the pushing pain

The tearing and bloodied welcome

Sweaty brow, trembling thighs, weak from

40 weeks of creating

Such a miraculous being.

If you knew, If you really knew…

You’d never question how beautiful, how perfect

you are.