Some of you are probably going huh, wut, November? It’s the middle of the summer!
But a few of you will know exactly what I’m talking about.
November is coming.
And I’ve spent couple years faffing about writing poetry, NTTAWWT. Poetry is nice and all. Sometimes you just need to write poetry for a while… well, I do anyway. But then you get tired of creating adorable appetizers and delectable desserts and you want to make the main course again… you need to tell a story.
At some point in the near future, I’ll be organizing the poetry I wrote over the past few years, together with some relevant material from the distant past, into a new themed e-book available for purchase. I may also have one or more of my works narrated into an audio book and see how that goes. Dunno if I’ll do that with a poetry book or one of the romance novels; need to look into the whole dealio first, but it seems like a neat idea.
Aside from all that, however, the story drum is beginning to beat, faintly now, but slowly and steadily growing louder. Tell a story, beginning to end. So, savor my whimsical poasts and musings on social media for the moment. Soon it’ll be time to get serious again.
November is coming.
The Daily Prompt: Savor
A wolf sleeps in the raven’s circle,
Her path a razor through the night;
The moon is dark, my love eternal,
Restless, searching, never gentle,
Slicing swiftly out of sight.
A wolf wakes in the raven’s circle
As she arcs around an empty temple,
Cloaked in mists of dead starlight–
The moon is dark, my love eternal.
His gaze will track her shadowed vigil;
With eyes aglow like smoked graphite,
A wolf prowls in the raven’s circle;
Magnetic scent pulls down her spiral,
Wings thrumming in their ceaseless rite.
The moon is dark, my love eternal:
Bound to Earth by lines primeval,
Course predestined, fated flight.
A wolf waits in the raven’s circle,
And the moon is dark… my love… eternal.
The Daily Prompt: Magnet
Dark Moon villanelle published in WAXING & WANING Issue 7, Spring 2001
Posted in Poetry
We circled each other
Like emotional porcupines,
Wary and scarred,
Alert and on guard.
Then I shed my quills,
Dipped them in ink,
And started to write
A story of our life.
Caught up in the moment,
I forgot I had created
Of my newly bared heart.
The Daily Prompt: Quill
Posted in Poetry
It’s after 9pm and I’ve accomplished nothing tonight.
Well, that’s not precisely true. I spent time calling and emailing peeps in attempts to fix mistakes and figure out confuzzling stuff. But there’s so much more. I feel completely stressed out by all the things. I haven’t written any poetry lately, though I’ve scribbled down ideas when I’ve thought of them. That’s not the same though, a couple words here and there. You lose the mood, the feeling, the gestalt of the piece.
I didn’t do much over the long weekend because I didn’t feel well. But that’s not really true either. I cleaned a bunch, hung out with friends, watched fireworks, crossed a lot of items off my list. I keep adding stuff to the list though! I’ve been reading a good book (Ted Chiang’s Stories of Your Life), but I wasted some hours watching bad movies too. 😦
It seems as though all these electronic time-savers just gobble up more and more time. I long for the days of the checkbook and pencil ~ I am officially old now. So many of my hours are eaten up by “helpful” technology, a sparkly illusion of convenience. No, I’m not giving any of it up or asking for advice; I’m just complaining, right here on my laptop connected to the internet. It’s what I do.
I have a million tabs open up there… mostly poetry sites I want to check out, maybe to submit stuff, or to get ideas, or whatever. They’ve been open for days, maybe a week. But I’m not looking at them tonight ~ I’m too tired now. W10 wants to update again, but I can’t let it cuz I’d have to close the tabs. These tabs, and the whole North Korea problem… it’s all making me very anxious.
Happy belated 4th (USA readers), day late, dollar short.
The Daily Prompt: Illusion
One of my father’s faves… he would have liked this.
Happy Dad’s Day!
It might be a thousand years
Before the stars
Line up again like this;
One last incandescent kiss
As the light diminishes
And five million miles of dark
In a long slow
A glacier cracks;
Again the moon
Hangs low and blue.
Did she count the waves
While I waited for you?
The tide pulls us into alignment:
Two frozen souls
Space and time.
I’ve lain with a hundred men
And felt nothing;
Yet your gaze burns my skin
From across an ocean.
Tectonic plates shake
When we touch
The earth splits in half.
Our cosmology incomplete;
Resigned to the separation,
The endless analysis and division,
The rebalance and reposition,
Until equilibrium settles over the seas.
We drift once again
To opposite ends
Of this lonely galaxy.
The Daily Prompt: Incomplete
Posted in Poetry
I watch from my window
While your tail lights vanish in the rain.
The streets smearstain
Into a red and green fingerpainting,
Flickering with the traffic signals,
As fickle as your interest in me.
Blurred and tearstreaked,
The wet masterpiece
By a cold lemondrop moon.
I know I’ll never see you again.
All the frothy promises
And cottoncandy plans
Dissolve in the morning mist.
My lips still hum from your kiss,
But I feel your vague disappointment,
Your perpetual darkness
Guarded by barbedwire.
I wander outside to feed the ferals—
Two slinky shadows, silhouettes cut from coal;
Crunchy nuggets clink into the cats’ dish.
How I wish I could make a wish,
But there are no do-overs here.
I always fail with a complicated man;
I don’t respond well to the tortured genius soul
Who needs the perfect femme fatale,
A Marilyn to his Al.
I fail with the uncomplicated too.
You told me I was nothing like her,
The ex who depressed you—
I thought that was a good thing;
But now I imagine you search
For her likeness,
In hopes of recreating some sick
Woody Allen type lobster scene,
To find catharsis
And though I sneer and snark,
I want to play a part
In this execution.
I gaze up at that judgy stone face,
In my disordered state:
Jammie pants, damp coat,
Tangled mass of bedhead.
“Is it something I said?”
I ponder this relationship chess;
I might just be on the precipice
Of finally understanding
A small piece of this
Jagged, glassy, bloody puzzle.
“Is it something I didn’t say?”
The Daily Prompt: Precipice
Like a reprieve
Comes soft morning breeze;
Unwrinkled sheet between
Bisecting yet connecting
And cold quotidian chores.
A chance one more
To drift weightlessly
In apricot-tinged hope—
An undemanding tightrope
Love’s gold shimmer
A carousel of birdsong
Hearts tossed in the air—
One last shuddering streak
Violet periwinkle pink
Soon to dissipate
In the bright eye of day.
The Daily Prompt: Pink
Posted in Dreams, Poetry
Memories are like clay,
Into malleable birds.
In a mindcage
Floating on a bay
Of undulating waves,
To the eye of day.
Those times with you—
Long ago, so few—
I check the cage,
Surprised to find
Have turned golden,
Sparkling in the dark.
Radiate precious scenes…
A kiss in the moonlight,
Strawberries at noon.
Smiling and warm,
I close this door.
I don’t even want to know
What you recall.
The Daily Prompt: Exposed
Posted in Poetry
Tagged love, retro
There are days that go graceful,
When none of it matters,
Time ticks on easy,
Illusions stay taped to the walls.
But some nights stretch on endless
And the clocks begin melting;
Fake faces drip down to the floor.
These hours when I miss you,
When I spin in the abyss,
The air is too heavy to breathe.
Each moment rides eternal,
Every word reimagined,
Despair has shredded my dreams.
Yet the day breaks mundanely
And they form all over again.
The Daily Prompt: None