Poetic Referendum(s) On Life

All 4 February PPC prompts completed

Week 31 PPC ▼

Elephant (In The Way Is Inside Me)

Thick is my head —
gray, too.
So much space to
envision you.

My ears, mile-wide,
satellites tall,
receive transmissions
should you call.

I can’t forget, burning
and small.
The sun doesn’t set
on this room.

Spring is in bloom.
No garden
have I to spy.
I harden.

There’s an elephant
in here
I cannot remove
without you, and

eternal ash words —
Good-Bye.


2.6.23
For Promptly Poetry Challenge picture prompt:
Invalid Photo #1066877
"Invalid Post"  

Week 32 PPC ▼

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She Found Me

Your cool love echoed across deluged waters.
How could I have missed a ghosted message?
Pleasant voices heard remind it’s not hers.
Your cool love echoed across deluged waters.
Morning damped, burnt horizon tottered.           
Fire flares marked the spot I sunk the wreckage.
Your cool love echoed across deluged waters.
How could I have missed a ghosted message?

Old movie reels replayed seek love’s beacon. 
Grainy films harbor these transparent eyes.
Wet lips glisten, black streams to cheek deepen. 
Old movie reels replayed seek love’s beacon.     
Intractable scenes spin; soft souls weaken.         
Veiled torch siren chills, spills warm, sinful lies.
Old movie reels replayed seek love’s beacon.
Grainy films harbor these transparent eyes.

Breezes sent a foul message to my window.
I didn't latch the frame to shutter the scene.
Napalm invaded still life, as winds winnowed.
Breezes sent a foul message to my window.
Curtains flow when my scarlet ghost’s sins show.
Unsecure, her wonder slipped a sieve screen.
Breezes sent a foul message to my window.
I didn't latch the frame to shutter the scene.

Numb hands aided her buttons' slow release.
Did I really undress my altered dream?
Flesh red-pulsed, her pursuit would never cease.
Numb hands aided her buttons' slow release.
Hunger doesn’t meet regret before sought peace.
Cream, my love’s scream in intractable scene,
Numb hands aided her buttons' slow release.
Did I really undress my altered dream?

Something felt, my tongue now needs ears to hear:
Could have been anyone, when she found me.
Nightly encroached, I begged her to not near.
Something felt, my tongue now needs ears to hear:
Weak, vulnerable, she savored my tears.
My ghost nightly crosses a bay, finds me here.
Something felt, my tongue now needs ears to hear:
She could have been anyone. She found me.


4.2.23

A Triolet With ABaAabAB rhyme, eight lines with some repeating.
This adventurous soul did increments of 8, employed stanzas focusing on senses.
Chose to derivate on final line from repetition to punctuate title theme.

http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/triolet.html

Week 33 PPC ▼

Closed in Winter

Sealed, silent through the safe winter door,
he spied squirrels daring
on a bird feeder, upside down.
Soundless, until the red-plumed bird
with white breast machine-gunned
the dormant crab, framed in tight bay glass.

A mound of mailers mounted a tray,
brightly begging prying eyes
and hands withdraw offers glued within.
The folded laptop, powdered by dust
accumulating, remained cold
with coiled-up plug looped tight.

His eyes met many images
not on walls, mere glimpses
in retrospect. No feeling found.

She had handed him his glasses days ago,
folded beside a cold black sipping mug,
flavorless. He had not tasted her words —
did not foresee or envision their meaning

until he was ready to wake in Spring,
when the door would unseal again,
handles on tall windows cranked wide,
as worthy envelopes were severed,
thick hands stimulated could lift a lid
and relive a pixelated winter of discontent.

Lenses employed settle on the nose,
savoring renewal in a green arm chair.
Warm words would radiate each return rising,
once realized how one might love her better.


2.21.23
For Promptly Poetry Challenge prompt:
Unopened (things described physical and emotional, with showing)
"Invalid Post"  

Week 34 PPC ▼

Mirror

I see myself, and yet,
no, not the one I boast.
And you won't see me.
I must linger here a ghost.

I look deep within,
but it's strange.
Have I turned into glass;
am I going deranged?

Some nights I pass
this mirror in the hall.
Fleeting, but see something
reflected in these walls.

I'm frightened and concerned
that I'm seeing everything.
I feel alone with you,
fleeting life now defeating.

This mirror detects more
than my blurry blue eyes.
Like a shelved menagerie
it sees through my lies.

What have I become at this age?
Am I a monster to you
living inside his own cage?
Even my ears have no clue.

Soft to bed I go again,
afraid of you since ten.
Are you portal to another world
that reveals my special girl?

I could climb out the window
to my darkening soul, but
trapped within myself, you see,
I'll just make this ending up.

Fair well.


2.28.23
For Promptly Poetry Challenge prompt:
Mirror
"Invalid Post"