Day 3 – Morning Fog

Soft blue grays shroud understanding

lost with faded dreams,

Settle like a blanket in the valley;

it’s a mystery morning, indeed.

 


I used to call misty mornings “mystery mornings” when I was a kid. Kids say the darndest things, huh? Anyway, This one was pretty late, but I’m still counting it as day 3. Enjoy!

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Day 2 – This Small Space

This small space
abbreviates miles between us;
miles and trials through years.

This small sorrow
is but a hiccup of sobbing
in the midst of tempests of tears.

Would I know you if I knew
What you had done?
Would I see you if I saw
What you become?

This invisible distance
swallows up epics of breath.
What could I say?

Blind love magnetizes us,
our hearts caught hopelessly
in the passion of a day.

 


Sometimes people only fall in love for a moment, from across the room. Sometimes a life passes before their eyes that could be possible with that person, if only they crossed the room. But they don’t, for whatever reason, whether they’re afraid, faithful to someone else, or just insecure. Part of this poem is about that, part of it is not. Take from it what you will.

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Day 1 – Reaffirmation

Morning comes, and with it endless responsibilities.
Life is good, but is it too good?
Can life be too full to appreciate those all important
Finer things?

The buzz of a ladybug is lost
in the roar of traffic,
The fuzz of a new spring leaf
overlooked in the bluster of best laid plans.

Brief and sweet,
these little moments.
What treasure may we find,
if only we look.

As this poet has said,
and still yet believes
meek, mild, and unplanned
are the finest of these things.

 


Happy NaPoWriMo!! My little blog is alive again!
This poem required some soul searching. I’ve changed a lot in the last couple of years, and I had to make sure I still believed in the tiny fine things in every day life. Glad to say I do, even if it’s sometimes difficult to see them through the chaos. Good luck, happy Easter, and God bless!

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Day 27

Smear the points into all their colors, striations, streaks, and nebulae.
There you have it. Stars. Swirling endlessly, timelessly above.

In the broken branch one might see the rot, but the roots;
the roots dig in, stay firm. We won’t fall yet.

Silence is a pain only the lonely understand,
yet silence is bliss, which only the lonely crave.

If she was angry about the beginning, maybe
she’ll be angrier at the end, but we won’t know.

Not until it strikes. Would we withstand the wind?
Or fail at the roots, give up the ground, fall with a mighty

and resounding crash. But among stars, this tree in the forest
makes no sound. Not because there is no one to hear,

but because the heartbeat of a star, of a nebula,
lasts a million lifetimes. The light pulse of a super nova,

would not reach human eyes for millennia. Where would we be?
and in that grand scheme, what does it matter anyway?

 


Wow I got way behind this time didn’t I? Oops, oh well, I wrote a poem today and thought I’d share it. Inspired by scrolling Tumblr during a storm.

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Day 22 – Bucket heads and glow sticks

In one swift stroke, everything changes;
the cut of a cunning blade, and the world ends.
Something begins anew, but

do you know what it is?
Or does one not find out until those who
cannot sit through a third
of an hour have yawned and gone.
Betimes it was, more had the patience,
bedtimes were earlier,
the possibilities more endless, than now.

Mix together strawberries, English,
sleight of hand, and a wary eye,
and you’ve got yourself a story.


I’m watching the original Star Wars series again. Still awesome! The poem’s a bit abstract, but it was fun to write. Enjoy 🙂

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Day 21

What does it mean when the blue jay sings?

That my number is up? But…

Was it ever down to begin?

Zagged shadows would tell our time

If more of the world were literate.

Here comes the curve and click of a lunch well served.

We know just what to say to get a smile.

Look down at your feet,

Count the steps.

Is this it?

All there is to it?

To live, love, laugh, lose, and leave?

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Days lost

Choices given, decisions made,
the bird attacks, plans are laid.
Drain the water, spray the ground,
seal the windows.

Stop trying to rhyme, that is my weakness.
My bane, too much pressure right now.
A day behind, until I catch up,
another day goes, two in a row.

What does anyone think about
in the little death of night?
The past, painful as it was,
the present, beautiful and true,
the future, unpredictable.

What does anyone think about,
in the zoning of the eyes,
in the track
of a hand on the seam?

What do you think?
It’s been a long day,
yet there’s nothing to say.
We’re all a bit more blue than before.

Is this how other people live?

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