Finding You

Writng 201: Poetry

Prompt: Landscape, form: found poem, device: enumeratio

I haven’t followed the suggested form for this one. Too much work. 😛

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I want to find you, away

From these four walled brightly lit rooms where people sit in a daze

Away from the dull voices, the meaningless walks with a definite destination

Away from a place where trees grow in near lines and the grass is levelled

Away from all this order, neatness and death.

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I want to find you, again and again

Discover everything that I had lost, forgotten, ignored and unloved

In a world of ticking clocks and calculated meals and tight schedules.

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I want to find you in a place

Where I can love you like I want to

Love your hands and your eyes, your fingers, your forehead, your smiles

Where I can listen to the shifts of your voice, your laugh, your breath

Where I can lie down, feel the grass pressed hard against my knuckles,

Look up at the endless sky patterned with haphazard branches and swaying clouds

Where I can know and love, for sure, all that you are,

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I want to find you where I can love you,

I want to find you, away.

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Moulds and Shapes

Writing 201: Poetry

Day#3 Prompt: Trust, Form: Acrostic, Device: Internal rhyme

Deliberating, her eyes raised and hand stretched, she waits

I grab hold firmly. I don’t want her to let go now.

Shakily she stands, her quivering hands, my heart wearily pants

The anticipation of what will come, the weight of what is done.

Rotten memories cloud us both, they will mould us

Unwilling we are to let them shape us, we tighten our hold

Striving to change our shapes, to be what we want to be instead of what we must

Till at last we can learn to trust ourselves not to let the world shape us.

Travelling through the Inside of a Skull

BlogeHer Prompt for Friday, November 7: Where is the one place you would never want to go on vacation that other people seem to love?

I do not know why people so eagerly want

To read the map of other people’s minds

And travel through the inside of a skull.

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Don’t they know that the way is not safe?

Full of dark, dirty secretive streets,

Their foundations shaken, cracks everywhere?

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The people so twisted, ugly and stupid

Ghastly shadows of what they are outside

Inside his head this is how he thinks of you

A rather smelly little shop, almost empty.

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The bed you sleep in after the day

So uneven you cannot sleep

The shadows the curtain sways to

Creeping into every corner of your head

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And when finally you leave that skull

And stop reading that map,

And come back to your own,

To realize with horror,

That place stands nothing in comparison

With the darkness of your abode?

The Blue Bird Flies

NaPoWriMo Day#5: Write a “golden shovel.” This form was invented by Terrance Hayes in his poem, The Golden Shovel. The last word of each line of Hayes’ poem is a word from Gwendolyn Brooks’ poem We Real Cool.

 

The poem I’ve chosen to shovel-ize is Langston Hughes’s beautiful Dreams:

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

 

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow. 

 

The shovel-ized version:

I slip from your hold

Falling freely, falling fast

With nothing to hold on to

I fly with my dreams.

 

What was I holding back for?

If only I had fallen sooner, only if

I’d known how beautiful were my dreams

I wouldn’t have let them die

So silently, condemning myself to a life

Where I forgot what love is,

A life where exhaustion reigned, a

World were every day left me feeling broken-winged

Never realizing I was a blue bird

So tiny, so insignificant that

I often feel I cannot

Let go, never knowing I can fly.

 

I slip from your hold

Falling freely, falling fast

With nothing to hold on to

I fly with my dreams.

 

What was I holding back for?

If only I had fallen sooner, only if

I’d known how beautiful were my dreams

I wouldn’t have let them go

So easily, condemning myself to a life

Where I forgot what love is,

A life where exhaustion reigned, a

World where days were barren

Like a drought fed field,

An existence so frozen

That I’d forgotten that with

My song, I could make it snow. 

 

Dreams

My dreams got frozen suddenly one day

I tried to rescue them from the cold

But the ice was too thick to crack open

And I watched helplessly as 

Warm hopes turned to cold corpses,

Dead before they could even begin to live.

 

My eyes burned with fiery tears

And I hit the wall of ice with the weight

Of all that had died within me.

The ice shattered into a million pieces

And in the few moments before the sun

Swallowed up these shiny teardrops,

I felt what it was like to be happy

For one last time.