“Today was filled with zemblanity,
on which I blame the profanity.”*
It had apparently tested her sanity,
(and not being one for much vanity)
she’d slipped in nouns of bogosity,
and fill this moment with docity.
This I thought was a bit of absurdity,
but in writing I’d grant her some dignity,
after using a term coined with gallantry,
by one Mr. Boyd quite haphazardly,
in this hearty language of duplicity.
(This poem is full of banality,
and has turned into quite the calamity,
so please forgive our insanity.)
*Hat tip to RL for today’s inspiration and unspoken invitation to be silly. ^.~
Forced poetry –
like nails on chalkboard,
so full of overused clichés.
To avoid that hand of doom,
or those who sleep like the dead,
tucked tightly in their bed,
with eyelids heavy as lead,
one must write like in a womb.
Look with fresh eyes on the world,
see the sun reflect the ground,
watch the grasses come unwound,
know that silence cuts the sound,
and imagination has unfurled.
Think of what it is to make it written,
to create from raw ingredients,
and perhaps a bit of deviance,
while letting go of false prescience,
one might find herself quite smitten,
Dusting off the old blog and my resolve to join NaPoWriMo once more this year. Perhaps, this year, I will complete the task.
Look here for a posted poem each day in the month of
April. I can’t promise they will be good but I can promise they will show up faithfully.
“Have something to say, and say it as clearly as you can. That is the only secret.” ~Matthew Arnold
Filed under: Writing
— t @ 10:52 am
If I had class with you,
If I had math with you oh so many years ago,
I would have looked at you but only in glances,
In tiny peeks so you wouldn’t notice.
See, math you would have paid attention to,
So all the adoration I was not giving the formulas,
The steady flow of x and y on the board,
I would have shifted to you.
Notebook open, pen scribbling doodles,
Vines intertwined with meaningless curves,
But my gray eyes would slip upward,
Watching as you listened.
Childish ways would convince me,
That you were just too cool,
What could I even articulate,
And not sound as foolish as I felt?
My notes would fill with images,
Fantasies of what we might be,
Margins dripping with metaphors,
And the letters of your last name.
My poems would have been too sweeping,
Full of movie lore and stories.
My nature would have been too shy,
In the glare of your intelligence.
If I had class with you,
If I had algebra with you oh so many years ago,
I would have written you love notes,
That your earthen eyes would not have seen.
I changed the plan for my future to accommodate where you want to be,
But really I just flowed like water through this life,
And it’s my fault that now my dreams hide,
Under the bed at night.
Always too much,
little work tasks,
Blue sky sleeps under the ocean at depths we cannot reach in the dark,
And there are dreams of keys on silvered, thin chains,
Brushing where my mouth wants to be,
Kissing soft skin.
long deep kisses,
This desire to create beauty and change will never budge,
Heart sizzling like solar flares on the surface,
Stretching out where wings should be,
Pushing into flight.