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A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
That is one of my favorite tunes. Lately I’ve listened to a violin cover of it. Wonderful poem. |
Reserve this when dry eyes need to eek out a tear only one eye can fully produce knowing some have saved me, if just from myself and a metaphorical blade leaned into close Without, I'm within in some other world asea when storms rage outside my asymmetry. I was balanced by them, buoyed and came right back straight for that honed steel, because it's been the only thing to motivate me...that or... Along the way, experience, words working forth and back, some splashing up on me, liquifying dry heart, soul, brain seeking some sort of refrain, melody that could put it right but then eyes always turn back toward the tempest night I've stood above an abyss to scream and find no echo, nothing of me but tormented myself, like returning nightmare, perpetually. I'm not a crossmaker or a heartbreaker but a soul silent split right down the middle the metaphor repeatedly goes, dissection and day after day, night after night, no life, no resurrection My only value is what I gave to another and they rob my security in anonymity, mocked, shunned and cast aside a cleaved man How could I hate or resent but feel the same pain over again and decide that this is what I'm made for, facing your edge Be forewarned, there's no blood left in me to drain and no sport, you'll see. [Visit the entry for more...] |
And making a note or setting an alarm wouldn’t work. I hate the imposition of schedule, for some reason. In fact, I’m doing ten less important different things than what I put off. I’ve learned not to be hard on myself. I now adequately defend my condition (that I’m working on still in therapy and with constant self-analysis with google). You’re Angel of the Morning now. |
I identify. I'm awake at 1:30AM doing something that could just as easily be done tomorrow or next week. But I'm so flighty I'm afraid I'll forget. |
Added, ‘What’s the line limit, Kenneth? Rather, 53.’ For actuarial Porpoises, and adding that, too. |
My farts are just as good. |
I love it so much! Thank you for sharing it! It's genius. |
Week 26 PPC ▼ Demons Demons hold a small compartment in compulsive, human souls, only to dine on themselves. 7.8.23 22 syllables of ironic logic? Form:Naani 20-25 syllables "Invalid Post" http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/naani.html candlelight for week 27 PPC ▼ "Invalid Post" candlelight gloaming in your black shadows engrave memory's wall murkiness in shallow curling wisps linger in silhouette traces your cool soul in a hot night illumed by candelight mere flicker of twilight steady flame-stick by inhale grows glimmer of hope in life of obscurity after death — dim symbol, warm sight here ever by your candlelight low your glow, I know a fire in cavern of shadowy dreams a beacon it seems dull protects against insignificance eclipse mindless meandering tonight resurrected by your candlelight 1.9.23 18 lines, inter-rhyming (interloping) free-verse is that a thing? it is now. (it both is and isn't free verse ) maybe, punctuation later? line breaks until... The candlelight symbolizes... birth, death, resurrection, and sacredness. It also represents the light amid the darkness of life, bright future, vitality of the sun, or uncertainty of life and transience. Candles lit at the time of death give light to the darkness of death and symbolize the light in the afterlife. Week 28 PPC ▼ "Invalid Post" Your candle-lit eyes illumed on dull me. Protracted nights in suffered darkness you cured. In the hay barn, we planned stay until dewed frost. But, the lowing herd plodded home to find us. Out, these gray clouds hover, curl and stretch. Love beneath the dim dull, ready to be disgraced. Our souls could pour an ocean in this place but this deluge floods hearts lost without trace. She could not swim depths of a rising, open sea — on her stealth craft, untethered, floated far from me. Awash from the high tide, I looked back aimlessly. Four decades since a bright dream, once hopeful reality 1.23.23 4.21.23 edit Write a poem about the past, present, future in that order. (3 quatrains, 12 lines) Example: Heroic Quatrain: “The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.” Week 29 PPC ▼ Provided in final PPC entries: "Last PPC entries (MV)" Pantoum Stanza 1: ABAB 1 First line (A) 2 Second line (B) 3 Third line rhymes with first (A) 4 Fourth line rhymes with second (B) Stanza 2: BCBC 5 Repeat the second line (B) 6 Sixth line (C) 7 Repeat the fourth line (B) 8 Eighth line rhymes with sixth (C) Stanza 3: CDCD 9 Repeat the sixth line (C) 10 Tenth line (D) 11 Repeat the eighth line (C) 12 Twelfth line rhymes with the tenth (D) Stanza 4: DADA 13 Repeat tenth line (D) 14 Fourteenth line rhymes with first (A) 15 Repeat twelfth line (D) 16 Repeat the first line (A) 1.24.23 Week 30 PPC ▼ "Invalid Post" Oaks Thousands of waves upon thousands more — disturbances ripple, distort giants waving green flags, anchored in grove on bluff shores — rolling billows break in your glass, reform harder, 90-miles-per-hour, rooted. Gnarl-arms flex, thousands of brown fingers hold thin, slimming — lose an aging few — unfeathered, flying in this torment. Collective hair, a clustered crop, bobs, bows to a hungry blue-gray surface — a choppy, sploshy scene. White crests add to division, curl and thump a messy lot. A lone oak tree, survivor of frequent storms, reminds how hard the heart-core, thickening — doused by angry spit of invisible fires not able to swallow your lot. Thousands upon thousands of acorns spawn in just a year, offer not one more soaring kin to tower in such a rueful bay. Spare your children from this place — cede not another to this earth, haven for a thousand years more. Tempests cannot sway or uproot your clan, as I hold steadfast, as each of you. 3.8.23 (when I should be sleeping - work at 5 am) Use these words in your poem: storm, oak tree |
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