Share Your GloPoWriMo 2024 Poems

My last for the month. Fell behind due to school holidays and my daughter but finishing on a nice note. Like a song that fails to find the tonic this feels like it does not resolve, but I kind of like that. As yet untitled.

The storm unleashes its sorrows.

Arduous the struggle to hold fast.

Bait no longer secure wharf side

finds its way in pocket.

The season, dry and fruitless.

Following in Ahabs footsteps,

this peir has become my bowsprit

and my final stand.

My whale, the kahiwai.

Few else brave these waves.

Farming carrots not an option,

cod south for the cold,

too shallow for kingi,

and snapper, no shelter.

I feel the contempt as I'm spat on.

Tangaroa warning I don't belong.

But to leave now, to give up,

without tribute.

To return with a slack line

would be condemnation,

a messure of my worth

and stubbeness.

Victim to survivor

return of devilish demons

well trod path, facing crisis

wanting a change, assistance

sought from a practiced other

with indifference crisis disected

tasks given for confidence

establishing trust, 'I believe you'

'you have done nothing wrong'

tasks designed to challenge mindset

accomplishing, moves the soul

loosening bricks in ego wall

'fault' obscures, 'blame' destructive

each week goes past, work

to unseat deep belief

tasks dig deep, exposing

demons cementing bricks

they work, awaiting a chance

a moment of revelation

keystone belief, shifts

change this belief to

'you are good'

27 Ravens (or call me what you like, just don't call me late for dinner)

this pair of ravens

perched on a low branch

near these picnic tables

stare with beady white eyes

as we prepare the luncheon

with loud and joyous laughs we cry

I used to call these birds, crows

but the ruffle on the throat

means they are ravens

these ravens continue to stare

with raising expectation

unconcerned with any noise we make

because they want our sandwich

Ashes

the house burned

from the cold ashes

i pulled a miracle...

my prized quill

surviving the flames

unlike the many words

perished in the blaze

the feather just singed

but unable to fly

like my wings clipped

placed in a hallowed shelf

above my writing desk

there to taunt me

as inspired words

abandoned my pen

a candle fell over

in haste to prevent

another inferno

the quill fell to my page

the hot nib burned

a hole on the paper

igniting my muse.

26 Celebrity status

any sport any game

you play the ball, not the player

play the player; foul, .penalty

music, film, modelling

games requiring talent

develop skill for public audience

industries grow around

egos abound, sharks swim

within this abstract market

summit; celebrity status

an individual with talent

skill that expand their soul

no claim to 'godlike' status

joy to share, embarks upon

a career within the industry

survives the troughs and crests

to arrive at summit of celebrity

Abstract market of high finance

sales the driving factor

this world of celebrity

gossip columnists, critics, photoghers

all convinced of their own importance

entourage and celebrity

set sail upon this foreign sea

a sea laden with pirates

gossip columnists with their barbs.

and fabricated tales

threaten lack of exposure

and then the fall

human frailties

blown out of all proportion

accusations of assault

a tango danced by only one

media editors attracted to the slaughter

usual propriety, morality,

does not apply in this sea

they wanted celebrity status

this is price that they should pay

only the guilty can escape hatchet

25 Live drama performance

time and space entwined

thought defies these limits

thought as dramatic words

words for others to enact

reinvoke the limits of time and spare

an idea too big

for drama time allotted

short sequence blocks

not quite syncopated

the play: testing robots

human character automated

tests are meant for AI character

believability slips between gaps

confusion and reasoning lost

within the moment of the play

dramatic finale

this audience, next model of robot

disconnected moment in time

24. Inner development

ego walls, like egg shells

solid but fragile

semi-permeable

ego walls grow from

baby's wanting cries

nurturing strokes or lack of

strokes manufacture

emotional threads

grow with baby to child

other senses develop, augment

twist these threads

into a shell of faith

a shell encasing

inner motives and drives

as we develop into adulthood

Sonnet 001: The Lake Beyond Reach

Across the woods, white birches lightly sway,

a hidden lake lies warm beneath the sun;

my canoe darts, but can no longer run

towards the soft shore where I found my way.

The water gleams like dreams I chase in vain,

each paddle stroke, fathoms from freedom's air.

I halt my craft, resigned to cold despair,

for all that's chased is but a distant bane.

To those who seek this warm and gentle wave,

beware the heart's deceitful siren call.

You'll find the quest a shadow, ever more,

For round its edge, where silent willows slave

their sign proclaims, "No step shall breach this law"—

the magistrate’s decree; my heart, its shore.

Mount Chincogun, Murwillumbah NSW

to Edwin Wilson

Mount Chincogun

towers over local terrain

guardian of play

symbol of stability

poetic expectations met

locals view it as a mountain

30 centimetres short

not listed as a mountain

by overseas measure

a fact, a symbol of Australia

almost but not quite

Day 24 Prompt: "Beyond Boundaries"

I don't remember not having the fear of heights. Sometimes, I could overcome my phobia to finish a task. Other times, it would be a different... and terrifying experience. This is Part 1 of many Falling Feeling

i

i remember falling

from the wooden rack

my father built to house

his aluminum boat.

trauma persisted

since that fateful day

when i uncovered

the fear of heights.

as creative children

we wandered the wood

building cabins

and waging wars.

the tree towered

at the edge of a glade

formed when the giant's

canopy spread wide.

the kids all clambered

up an improvised ladder,

slats nailed to the trunk,

all, except for me.

ten feet from the ground

my breathing racked,

a cautious retreat

to firmness under my feet.

my friends cajoled

from the lofty lodging

pressing me to act

without regard.

i again began my ascent

sweat on my brow

as I passed the mark,

with clenched jaw.

i continued, pausing

at a higher slat

unable to look down,

pressed to the trunk.

with weakened legs

and chattering knees,

my primal brain shook

I could only take flight.

i scampered thru the hatch

greeted by smiles

and the valley's broad vista,

with the ground far below.

even at a tender age,

the breath-taking view

felt awe-inspiring

until nausea breached,

the retching continued

until I shut my eyes

under the pressure

between my ears.

Poem 22

Reading

reading well-crafted prose

natural seamless narration

envelops me into another's story

intellectual enjoyment

another well-crafted book:

'Women choosing childlessness'

text reads;

'I didn't enjoy playing with dolls,

I preferred plush animals'

the arrow is slung

finds my mark, piercing

through my ego defences

words and emotions unite

thrown into a spiral

unable to read further

savouring these words

childhood memories emerge

rereading, then stalling

cycle repeated, until

my mind's spider has woven

a web, securing my emotion

emotions disected

disarmed, made safe

I continue to read the rest

becomes another's story, comfortable

I think this is number 24 and I struggled with this poem.

Arthur's Atonement

Stopping in woods where two roads diverged,

to follow the lesser, my intuition urged

but in a fit of unease, I chose the higher,

following the steps of crimson sunset's fire.

The easy road to the city of dreams

where I hoped to find a viable scheme

to work hard and make a favorable name

yet, what transpired was hardly my blame.

An arrow in the trunk of a sturdy oak,

and on the ground, I found a bloody cloak,

my empty dream again delayed by intrigue,

short of the city by a mere two leagues.

I sought the source of this woodland's bleed,

o'er a faint path obscured by thorn and weed.

A whisper on the wind, a lament so stark,

the story of betrayal, etched in black bark.

A mystery unfolded under twilight's hue,

I followed the signs as the cold wind blew.

Deep into the forest, shadows danced with fate,

in the heart of silence, I pondered at the gate.

The city's lights lost in the distant gloom,

yet here I stood, where secrets loomed,

with every step, my chest's breath grew tight,

whispering tales of wanderers lost to the night.

With lantern in hand and a bold resolve,

deeper, I prayed my skeletons would absolve

me amid ancient, silent and grim guardians,

their twisted branches tracing tales so dim.

Suspense heightened with each step I took,

beneath the moon's pale, watchful look.

The wind whispered in a language of old,

of a knight betrayed for silver and gold.

In a clearing’s center under starry vault,

I found a grave, the betrayal's final halt,

where etched in stone, a name and a date,

a reminder that acquittal can come too late.

But the ghostly echoes wouldn’t let me rest,

seeking a champion to continue its quest...

to right the wrongs of a forgotten day,

and lift the shades darkening their way.

Compelled by the spirits, led by flighty fates,

I took up this charge, before it was too late

for me, the city of dreams no longer called,

the path of justice felt righteous and entralled.

Thus, in the heart of the woods, I swore,

to guard the forgotten, and explore

the horrors hidden by the veil of night,

to bring them to light, to set this land right.

I drew the secrets of the betrayal's sword,

I found my purpose, my destiny forward.

In the woodland's embrace, I stood stretching

as a Guardian of truths in that etching.

For this was my forgotten path to atone,

the blade grated from rock, the sword singing:

Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone

and anvil, is rightwise declared king.

This is from a prompt from NaPoWriMo Day 22.

The Cow ran Away with the Spoon

The cow and the spoon had leapt

in the light of the moon, a romance kept

from the haystack and the barn,

under star-speckled heavens, the yarn

unfolds after through the velvet night.

The cow dreamed of fields beyond sight,

of wildflowers. "Let's roam," she swooned

with a gleeful moo, "by the light of the moon!"

But the spoon longed for a quieter life,

away from the clatter, with fork and knife.

"A cozy drawer’s the place for a spoon,"

he sighed, reflecting the silvery moon.

The cow, with dreams of endless green,

couldn’t grasp Spoon’s quiet scene.

"Why linger in shadows, confined and tight,

when open fields offer endless delight?"

The clinking spoon declared his need,

"For order and calm and rest, I plead.

for the drawer’s embrace feels secure,

a perfect polish and clean I can endure."

Hearts once aligned under twilight's bloom,

their discordant fell into gloom.

For what one cherished, the other spurned,

and neither knew which way to turn.

Would they part ways, one wild, one tame?

Or find a path both could claim?

In the tales that follow, under moon’s soft light,

May they forge a dream to share each night.

The Day 23 prompt leads me to take up a recurring dream into a poem. of sorts. I've worked on this story for a long time, taking the prose into free verse. This is a work-in-progress (but aren't they all)

Dreamscape

i

In the velvet cloak of a dream,

cast deep in the heart

of a seventeenth-century Europe,

an inn murmurs with the echoes of time.

Its sturdy balcony rings the room

like a crown of royal thorns,

watches over the unfolding

of lives lurching below.

The torchlit tavern writhes

in an amber glow, humming

the melodies of old secrets

and new conspiracies.

ii

In the midst of jangling jugs

and low laughter and grunts,

I find myself draped

in the simple garb of a swordsman...

a yellowed tunic, gray wool trousers,

and a sword resting quietly by my side,

its presence as understated as my attire.

Seated alone with my back to the wall,

I keep a silent vigil of the room,

my eyes scanning the ebb and flow

of its collection of miscreants.

iii

A young couple descends

from the mysteries of the upper chambers,

their steps quiet against the wooden stairs.

Their proximity suggests intimacy,

yet their auras tell tales not of lovers,

but perhaps of companions

bound by different threads.

She, with her hair wound tightly,

shields her face from view,

while he, with eyes like autumn storms...

soft yet piercing like lightning...

acknowledges me with a nod

so slight it might have been imagined.

They sit near the door,

as if ready to escape.

iv

Trouble, as it is wont to do,

slinks silently into the tavern.

Two rough-hewn men,

faces set with ill intent,

converge upon the young man.

The woman rises, a prelude to panic,

but her companion gently stays her.

in a silent ballet of glances

and gestures, and in his eyes,

I recognize an unspoken request.

The decision to intervene

hangs heavy in the air, a question

poised at the edge of my mind

as much as the edge of my sword.

v

As the assailants grasp her brother,

chaos blooms like a cruel flower.

Her sharp scream... a summons

in the tavern's murky symphony...

cues my entrance to the foray.

Chair crashing, I surge forward,

my blade forgotten from my side,

as brute force becomes my ally.

The skirmish is brief but fierce,

a storm of limbs and shouts, and through it,

her companion thrusts her toward me

with a desperate plea: "Get Elena out of here!"

vi

Elena's hand in mine,

we weave through the chaos

of tables and brutal battles,

to the cool night outside,

where the promise of escape

waits in the silent stables.

My horse, a loyal shadow

stands ready at my approach.

With no time for saddles,

I lift her upon his back,

the urgent press of her lips

against mine a fleeting balm

laced with lavender and promise.

"Help my brother," she breathes,

a plea wrapped in a kiss.

vii

I whisper to my mount's ears,

as they vanish into the night,

the surreal becomes real,

wings unfurl from the horse,

lifting them into the starlit

escape of myth and dream.

couple 2001

left side shadow

spotlight

defined image

appears as a sensual heart

shadow shape prone

with rotation, light gaps

two parts appear

as if with the motion

one part slides along the other

in mutual sensuality

To Loise Bourgeois (1911 - 2010)

Couple 2001

figures

flesh-coloured

furry fabric

spinning

suspended

sculpture in motion

clockwise

anti-clockwise

perpetual rotation

spot lights

opposing two

sides and angles

shadows

two, separate

synchronised

three stories

figures embrace, dance

sensuous left shadow

narrative right shadow

From the Day 19 Prompt.. I've always been taken into Van Gogh's Starry Night. The swirls, the flow inspired this poem, first created in 2007... and tweaked many times.

Life, Light, and Creation An energy flows within all

that is the Universe.

Connect your being to that flow,

the pulse, with your soul.

Life fills creation, 

flowing in and through all.  

No place, nor time exists, 

where life is not.  

Consider that Creation's Light 

lives in the many layers 

of our consciousness. 

Life expresses on all dimensions, 

in all planes of Creation.  

Light sustains Life with Love 

all from the Creator.  

We find Life everywhere, 

for Life expresses Love and Light.  

The three, the Trinity, 

of Creation. 

As you progress into the 

many layers of the Sight, 

Life, Light, and Love

sustain your soul. 

Day 18 prompt (Hey, I used one) Random tidbits of Earth Day thoughts

Why Not Every Day?

Why can't every day be Earth Day,

When I can play in mud and clay?

The grass whispers beneath my feet,

"Come dance with me, the day is sweet!"

In fields where daisies form a sea,

I sail my ship from a trusty tree.

I captain clouds from dawn till noon,

Turning cumulus into cartoons.

The beach's treasure chest opens wide,

With shells and rocks the waves can't hide.

I build sandcastles with moats dug deep,

Then guard them from the sea's sweep.

Why do grown-ups drive around,

When bicycles make a merry sound?

Could we swap cars for carts that fly,

Pedaled by feet under the sky?

At the zoo, the monkeys wink,

Do they know more than we think?

I'd ask them to join our Earth Day feast,

With bamboo shoots and berry treats.

Why not turn every fence or wall,

Into a canvas with paint for all?

We'd paint the world in greens and blues,

A masterpiece of bright, bold hues.

If ice cream solved the biggest fights,

We'd have peace and sweet delights.

Leaders laughing, sharing scoops,

No more troops in grumpy groups.

Trees are the best at keeping secrets,

Under leaves with whispered eaglets.

They clean our air with every breath,

And hug the Earth for life and death.

Why can't I play every day, when

We care for Earth in our many ways,

And learn from clouds, trees, and seas,

That being kind is the simple key.

thinking an idea quickly is easy

thinking in rythym, not so easy

thinking so you understand

thinking so I touch your fantasy

thinking so I can make you care

now there is the rub

without you in mind

there is no intended message

words ramble, esoteric meanings

arbitrary scribblings on a page

words for words sake with nothing to say

dissolve into conceit

words create beliefs

that no one ever believes

thoughts with no purpose

can tie you in knots

'others' become charactitures

a narcisstic mirror difficult to break

Day 18: Maybe tongue breaker On the wooden swing

while on the swing

sky—grass—sky—grass—ska

the wee girl sings

la—dee—la—dee—da

proud fae listening

ha—hum—ha—hum—haha

fairies dance dew glistening

tap—toes—tap—toes—ta

song birds swirl cheerily

flip—flap—flip—flap—fla

fox sings along eerily

howl—bark—howl—bark--ba

lighting bugs zoom along

zip—zap—zip—zap—za

cricket contributes to song

zirp—chirp—zirp—chirp—cha

lady bugs a circle dance

tam—dee—tam—dee—ta

even the grumpy toad chants

oak—croak—oak—croak—cra

while the wee girl sings

la—dee—la—dee—da

sitting on the wooden swing

sky—grass—sky—grass—ska

Line

a crack crosses the road

like the change

from one world to the next

forming a barrier

to move from bleakness

to the uncharted depths

of transformation.

I crossed the line.

To bb

this person, soft-spoken

feminine appearance

gender identification unknown

wrote love poems afresh

words given a novel twist

touching my soul like no other

it was an experiment

a public moniker not

an individual's name

a moniker turned of in April

she said her good byes,

now she is gone

I feel cast adrift

a boat that's lost its rudder

yet as I pen these words

I remember a song

(and after I am gone, you'll say 'we sang in the sunshine')

I have grown

the oak's testament

the vigil

for centuries i stood guard,

preserving like a stoic bard,

my broad arms shield and shade,

in whispered winds my words played.

my stout trunk held nature's stage

but lately i've felt advancing age.

the surrender

i cried out when steel bit deep,

my towering form felled to sleep.

amongst the ferns, i laid to rest,

a titan downed, yet unbowed my chest.

my winged friends, like garden gnomes

stared, though no longer at home. 

the lament

along my own leaf-strewn floor,

i mourned the heights i'd soar no more.

my crown would never serve the sun

as my broken branches' death had begun.

yet in my heart, the sap still stirred,

hope sighed in each song unheard.

the second life

a craftsman arrived with gentle hand,

caressed my bark with practiced band.

i saw my future in his cheerful eyes,

where he carved beauty from my demise

with caring touch and each blade's cut,

he carried my pain to his work hut.

the rebirth

new forms took shape from my rugged trunk,

a table’s smile brought me from my funk,

with purposeful poise and gentle grace

in a chair's curve and cradle's embrace,

he gave me rebirth in polished grains,

to live in the home, a guardian again.

the continuance

now in the quiet of cozy rooms,

my spirit soars as my legacy blooms.

not merely wood, but crafted art,

in each new piece, he shares my heart.

from leafy giant to cherished friend,

my life transformed and without end.

In the mystical city of Luminara, reality blends with magic. Eliana, a gifted young woman plagued by self-doubt and haunted by unseen barriers, possesses the rare ability to see the true essence of the universe, but a thick, impenetrable fog clouds her vision—a fog born of her own fears and insecurities.

Beyond the Veil

1

The City of Mists

I walk through a malcontent of mist,

shadows merge and twist around me.

Brushing oppression from my eyes,

I shake dullness from my mind,

a sun-dimmed, sealed chamber,

choking whispers beneath

muted gaslamps' glare.

Half-seen streets, a dream

within a nightmare's scream,

where light and dark entwine

 in endless, eerie mockery.

The cobbled streets

swallow my foot falls,

weaving tangled thoughts,

each a foggy alleyway,

a mind maze without escape.

I find a hidden beauty plays

in the pallid haze of obscurity,

a cityscape concealed in hide-and-seek,

where secrets remain unrevealed,

calling to my weary hunch

to search beyond the gray dark.

Ensnared by doubts and fears,

I yearn for the clouds to clear,

to find the clarity and conviction

to lighten shadowed skies.

Day 17 prompt Paradoxically me Punchbag underneath

a pink blossomed tree

flowery dress with a bow

and boots with steel capped toes

half the alphabet behind my name

accidentally wearing two different shoes—the shame!

hot headed anger about your greed

never ending patience with one in need

dancing all night all heat and sweat

being antisocial staying in bed

dirt from the garden underneath fingernails

before opera visit sipping cocktails

making my own dresses from the remnant bin

and designer blouse soft silk on skin

mountain biking on muddy paths

two daily showers and sometimes a bath

all light and warmth

or lightning and storm

creative writing, drawing, painting, making, baking

staring into space for hours without breaking

I am who I need to be

moment, by moment, by moment

I read a prompt to examine the world around you. This is an adventure in the backyard at dawn.

Backyard

the darkest of the night,

with stars like scattered seeds,

across the velvet darkness.

The moon, its guardian,

silver and serene,

watches with gentle pull

over this tranquility.

an owl hoots,

calling to the moon,

wings beat over my ears.

creeks like silver threads

meander through landscapes weave,

their murmurs a song at dawn.

robins, cardinals, and jays

peep their colorful songs,

joining the whisper of the breeze.

upon this yard of vast variety,

the rolling hills find their place,

far from the oceans of youth.

beneath the embracing sky,

in forests deep,

where ancient giants stand,

the canopy an unfolding spring shield,

a verdant band of nature's orchestra.

the meadows bloom

with a painter's palette,

a masterpiece of colors in the light.

In awe and wonder,

my heart finds its rhythm,

grateful for the beauty of the day.

Last Saturdauy was my second shock for the week, (the first being a young 30 something Australian thinking domestic violence was something new. ) So the second shock was the senseless slaughter of 5 people in a knife assault. I was close by the area just before the drama erupted. I work with a woman whose husband and daughter rode the escalators where the assault happened but left 45 mins before this event.

time and space inseparable

shopping centre melee

crowd uncomfortable

purchases made with glee

father and daughter flee

I hadn't be counting so no idea I'd fallen behind. Work was slow today so I wrote another about my childhood. This is my fourteenth for the month, on the sixteenth day. Freakshow

Step right up.

Come see the freak.

The sideshow attraction 

that will shock your mother.

You may have seen dwarfs, 

but this is something special.

Gaze at his bowed shins, genu varum.

Look at the pretibial skin dimples.

How tall will he inevitably grow?

We can’t tell, but it won’t be much.

A condition so long they will think you sneezed,

Mesomelic Dysplasia Reinhardt Pfeiffer Type.

He is a rare case, paraded every year 

in front of hundreds of doctors.

Poked and prodded like cattle. 

So don’t miss your chance.

Step right up. 

Come see the freak.

Day 15 (by the way I am missing days 11/12/13 prompts can someone tag me I can Leather and sheep fur

Norwegian Forrest cat’s purr

Fever raging tiny body

Raw red nose snotty

Rolled up on the furry hide

Cat and child a sorry sight

Leather a calming scent

Hands grab furry friend

In the middle of living room floor

Always with an open door

So the grown ups can keep an eye

On sick child and tissue supply

Another tear filled good bye with my eldest niece so here is a verse can't seem to do more than a verse at a time this GloPoMo Dust gathers on bedding still rumpled

Your headphones forgotten in early day rush

Words knee-hang unsaid in my mind

I must text you them once your plane lands or a maybe Haiku Song of Hope a single note hopefully

vibrates towards the red sun

all is lost but hope

Hmmm. as of today, I seem to be short a poem or two. It's Titanic Remembrance Day. Here is my Ode in Haiku

Titanic Cycle

Dreams

Emerald shores fade,

Dreams set sail on sparkling seas,

New world's promises.

Ship

Oceans deep and wide,

Titanic's mirroring tale,

Humanity's foil.

Band

Amid rev'rie's song

Symphony of eerie strands

Upbeat hearts afloat

Night

A night remembered,

Frozen in the depths of time,

Tales of bravado.

Elegy

Whispers in the deep,

Dreams lost beneath starlit waves,

Silent echoes sink.

Hubris

Resilient steel,

Puffed pride lost to icy grasp,

Nature's firm iron strength.

Silent Depths

Deep sea cradles fall,

Quiet now where life once danced,

Darkness holds them all.

A Message

Sail on, yet heed well,

Titanic's bell tolls for whom,

Hold fast lest ye fail.

Unsung Heroes

Valiant hearts sank deep,

Battle the elements wrought,

Brave souls forever.

Witness

Stars wept from dark skies,

Bearing witness to the plight,

Night's silent embrace.

Artifacts

Grandeur sleeps in blue,

Artifacts whisper stories,

In watery grave.

Reclaim

Wreckage ghost reborn,

Coral blooms on memories,

Ocean life reclaims.

This is Day 'the next' because I'm not sure where I'm at. Adam, o Conversing with Poets, talked about spaces as the prompt for today. That triggered some thoughts. After my mother passed, my father sold the house. Now I wonder how she, as a ghost, would feel about the empty house.

In the Echoes of Absence

Echoes bounce off empty walls

like the hollow dreams I recall,

silence has made its solemn home

where tears of joy were once borne.

The corners speak in hushed despair,

a missing chair rocks by lingering air.

My footsteps on the old oak floor,

whisper stories of life here no more.

Shadows stretch where we had danced,

In rooms where love had romanced.

I swiped the air, thick with regret,

holding perfumes of summer sunset

through windows filled with profound grief,

the winter season of my disbelief.

I remember how the laughter bubbled,

mixed with euphoria and trouble,

in the kitchen, the pulsating center,

with a cup of tea for all who entered.

Hooks wondering where the cups had gone,

an old kettle waiting to be found

by hands that brewed storms and fate,

reverberating in this lonely state.

The mirror reflects a face too worn,

forlorn eyes from a heart now torn.

I feel a ghost within these walls,

chasing memories down barren halls.

By vacant beds, I stand alone,

In spaces that I had called my home.

Echo's of history

he, survivor of domestic woe

violence and the fear thereof

father's crumpled pride, and push become shove

second son, views his father as foe

life a tortured path only survivors know

relief achieved by father's absence

single parent scratched subsistence

remainder bitter frustration of thwarted blow

his belief, this generation, first son's raised by mother

this is not new, but a two hundred year tradition

hidden by fear, not outwardly shown

my grandfather, born 1889, War exposes lives are other

reply crossed out on his Great War registration

hand written epistle*, 'father's address unknown'

*epistle means a short written note

Lepidoptera

In twilight's embrace,

where shadows merge,

an old man's soul ponders

the call of the earthly dirge.

Bones, weary with life's choice,

clothed in time's thin lace,

aching with mixed memories,

each a line on his craggy face.

He sits by the cracked window,

watching days fade from the draft,

Leaves turning gold on their tree,

in a serenade of autumn's craft.

Life’s winter whispers on the breeze,

wrapped from the cold and near

the quiet beckoning of the waning sun,

life's final grant as the end appears.

Pain, a constant echo reminding of life,

the admirable foe and a relentless friend,

through days of youthful yearning,

to wistful dreams, to this tranquil end.

Yet, as dusk deepens the indigo horizon

and stars begin their welcoming show,

his eyes close as the curtain falls

and his spirit prepares for the right to go.

His lips relax in a steadfast smile,

a gentle release of his breath to the breeze,

he leaves his body to the mortal earth,

as his spirit wanders in their tree.

Transformed from flesh and aching bone,

to the butterfly with an ethereal glow,

from a vessel of painful memories

to a signature* only his loved will know.

Relieved from the chains of physical strife,

he dances on winds in his afterlife,

each swoop untethered, in celestial flight,

his metamorphosis into the night.

Lost to us, the worn form we knew,

in whispering winds, his freedom grew.

A soft presence, in the rustling leaves,

He finds his monarch in their tree. *signature - his ghostly essence

Gone

You told me

we would go together

on a voyage of exploration

to visit lands

never conceived

in the vivid dreams

only you could experience. 

I now know

I could never survive

the nightmares you lived

with every breath you gasped.

At the time, my naivety

obfuscated my ability 

to understand you.

Without the details,

i could not, nor can not,

put a rational meaning

to the events of the day.

We soldiered onward

without the guiding light

to keep a straight path.

I know your thoughts

and intentions remained

with me in the days following,

and mine for you since.

I feel you fare well in your

travels to a better life,

knowing we will meet again.

Boots on a train

Time makes a stranger of us all,

but not many as strange as you and I.

Travelling and swaying on the tracks,

Nose down deep between the pages.

Gazing across the top, boots familiar.

I know those kicks, I know the face 

that will be waiting if I look to it.

I dare not look up to those eyes.

Will they smile back or frown in regret.

Will they show signs of still knowing.

New Rocks, well worn vintage,

buckle straps replaced and new.

A mix of old and new leather 

waft with the scent of violets. 

They move on walking away

taking with them the fragrance 

leaving behind the echo of innocence.

Day 6: Metamorphosis

I am rising from the ashes like a drunk phoenix

Unsteady feet and a chest full of fire

Ash falls from feathered appendages

I blink at this new born world in wonder

Sea harr burnt off by cleansing fire

The cold fog lifted from my thoughts

A path meanders lazily along the clifftop

Carrying me unsteadily into a new life

Love the ever burning power

Pulsating against my breastbone

Force of life stoking the fire

I shake off the last ash and begin to walk

On the third day, we had risen... to the top of a hill.

Morning on the Crest

Atop the hill we stood, hands entwined,

Gazing out where water and sky meet

Islands like jewels on azure spread,

Patches of winter’s ice melt in spring heat.

The town, a distant sketch in the east,

Framed by the sprawling lake’s wide eyes.

Spring's fresh snow lay draped on trees,

Like a silent mist in the morning skies.

Crows soaring arcs on cloudless blue,

Mere shadows fleeting in the overhead sun

Snow whispered down from spruce’s boughs,

A soft descent to a creek speaking in tongues.

Crisp and cool air drawn in deep,

Filling chests with secrets to keep.

Energy surged through veins anew,

As morning’s charm around us grew.

A silent canvas, painted in frost,

We breathed the day, young and reborn,

We shared solitude with no moment lost.

Where hearts and horizons were drawn.

I like my structured micro poem forms, so as catch up here is a little Simplex Meter.

Skating 

Foreshore,

Finds Bliss.

After this mornings Etsy conversations I thought to write a tautogram. It was fun and I may try a few more. Not sure how to display it yet so one line it is for now. Savvy scum scams silly suckers sending shrouded sour scraps selling selected salvation.

In day 2, we venture into nature, where i stumbled on the roots of the willow. I stood in its shadow as the spring sun warmed my face. Thus, we have...

Wisdom of the Willow

though the willow wands are bare,

I found retreat in her canopy

where whispers in the breeze,

promised secrets from the deep.

the willow sang through barren arms,

of keeping time with her sisters

playing witness to dawn's joy

and the cycle bringing dusk's peace.

in this sacred tranquility, nature played

it finest symphony with rustling reeds'

gentle rhythm and the soothing song

of the lakes lapping the beach stones,

and the whistling flute in the wind.

the willow spoke of resilience and grace,

to stand firm in storms yet bend

with the gale's relentless embrace.

"and love," it murmured, "is nature's dance

with the tenderest touch, in the fragrant earth.

in sun's warmth, rain's kiss, winter's lance,

grow roots deep and herald love's worth.

I need to catch up here. It's been a weird week. Based on the Day 1 memory prompt, my little bean took me back to an innocent time. I wonder if this event changed me... Crossing

In the eyes of an innocent child,

the world remains wide-eyed wild

As the verdant forests revered

by those with whom they shared.

A scene etched in virtuous eyes,

a woman crumpled and breathless cries,

lying in a pedestrian crossing,

while the driver's lunch is tossing.

Her whispers fluttered in the breeze,

like autumn leaves from trembling trees.

My father’s face wore a muted mask,

as memories tested a battle's task.

a now-fragile friend, fading fast,

as shadows of mortality were cast.

Hand in hand, he retraced her path

as street lights flickered with fading wrath.

My youthful bliss, could not understand

the weight of the world in destiny's plan.

Years have passed, and now I know

the grim dance of fate's ebb and flow.

As friends pass to their quiet rest,

reminding one of life’s cursory quest.

Through a child’s eyes once blind to fate,

the shadows we navigate, won't wait.

Day 2 prompt - natural setting, a dialogue with an element of nature

atop of a headland

scenic expanse of ocean

rythym of tidal waves

calms my soul

mild breeze blows

hang on to your hat

thoughts anchored in this moment

photos taken for memory

wind is felt

not measured

not recorded

not examined

wind is air in motion

air pressure measured, recorded

air velocity measured and recorded

wind's creative forces examined

wind is felt

an ethereal relation

Joining a hot spot to cold spot

minimising difference over time

wind is mute

wind gives no discussion

wind gives no instructions

wind just blows your hat off

Day 5

rivulets of crimson paint

run along my forearms

knuckles burst

punchbag drips

and I feel nothing

nothing at all

Day 4 prompt I got nothing for day 3 yet and only a couple of lines for Day 4 but they cover a couple of people, maybe I should haiku it? I have no letter to send to you

I said all that needed saying

You just didn’t listen

And I walked away