Whew!
I have so many things I've been working on. Firstly - Poetry class. There are a few new ones that I'm going to share. And then there's Inktober - which I am in progress of finishing.
Without further ado, enjoy the poetry and the art. Also feel free to leave a comment with what you're working on in the comments below.
And a little poetry for the ending segment.
When Life Was Good
Tell me a story of when life was good,
Something I don’t know.
Back when the evenings were full
of laughter, Of smiles.
A time when love never thought of dying.
Of saying hurtful untruths.
“She said I was pretty.”
Words to demean.
“You’re too stupid to know.”
Words.
Life used to be filled with kind words.
(“I appreciate all you do.”)
A morning of frenzied eating, lunch packing,
running for the door. The bus.
Home once more to loving hands
To a full house of those who protect.
Tell me a story once shared,
When life was good.
Autumn
Nighttime comes, I dream
the world is how I imagined!
Bright-lit streets, small, comfortable
house. Easy, soft, living.
Books fill the air,
the scent of parchment and ink prolific.
Mixed fragrances of honey, pumpkin,
cinnamon; spices.
Old burned furniture.
Scarred wooden panels.
Blaze of light, cackling away.
Chocolate: hot, steamy, white clouds
floating on the surface of foam.
Complete. Relaxed.
Home.
Mansion Fire
Lime Green, vibrant
Haunted high,
Less than a thousand
within
Ghostly wails
Tortured spirits
Tightening shadows
Slither along the walls
scamper across the ceiling
Footsteps
Lingering echoes
Fading voices of the lost
Spinning Darkness
Sending lovers spinning
Grim and Grinning
Ghosts
~
Older Than Time
A tune, a melody
older than the time
around it.
Long, golden, bright
shimmers like silk,
it’s melody spinning
its web.
Spinning, high on
toes, we weave through
spheres of harmony.
At one with the cosmos.
Melodies play
around the room, deep
tones that resonate.
Night
Turns the sky to ink.
Pinpoints
litter the ink with
gems of the universe.
A tune, a melody
Older than the time
around it.
Buried
My garden is full of life:
bugs, butterflies, caterpillars,
the many flowers that have been bred.
Tulips, pansies, geraniums,
a Sierra Sunset.
They sleep, better than me, in
their soft, earthy beds.
The smells of dirt, the
packed in families huddled
en masse together.
Lilies, hyacinth, rose
buds, poppies.
They strive against the
wind, withstand the
storms that billow and beat.
They outlast the frigid
snow – blanketed beneath
in their earthy beds.
Buried like all thoughts
of those times long in the
past.
Buried.
Return
Why did you come back,
If only to cause misery?
We were all happy, too happy,
it seems, to realize what was to come.
Why did you come here
to ruin the peace we had?
The flow of our lives were
Solid, sure and un-manipulated.
Why did you not grasp the
way we tried to help?
Our lives stopped to help,
we put our worlds on hold to aid.
You only wanted sympathy,
and slaves, dominion overall.
Why did you let yourself,
become the thing you divorced?
While trying to overcome the past,
you buried us in the same pain.
Why can’t you see how much
you've changed everything?
The sound of life is what you took. I
Lost my voice, my music within.
No more lights after
eight, no more car.
No more music, though
it's therapeutic, it bothers you.
No more fun inside this
house – not with you inside.
You’re trying now to make
amends – I can’t help but laugh.
You’ve burned this bridge,
you've broken, shattered the plate.
Your life isn’t my mistake,
your choices are not mine.
The only thing from you
I’ll take, is what not to do
with mine.
What are you working on this week? This month? (I can't wait till NaNoWriMo!)
