Set on the Quiet

Quiet

Silence

Stillness

Tranquillity

Practically impossible 

Everything animated and automated

Multitasking life style

 Chorus of voices

Calling me

Pulling

QUIET

I'll try it

Voices off

Electronics off

Sitting on the couch

I hear children playing outside

In the bedroom lying still

Clock ticks ring

Other room

Alone

Quiet

Breath rasps

A plane goes by

Stretched toes crack

Fingers in my ears make ocean waves

Pressure echoes back my pulse

Life is sound

Motion

Quiet?

Maybe not

Even in the grave

The adventure beyond that

In the seeking and appreciation

Of quiet of less noise

I've found stillness

In my spirit

Peace

God

A Flaw in my Craw.

“I don't play accurately--any one can play accurately--but I play with wonderful expression. As far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte. I keep science for Life.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

Perfect is boring.

Precision stifling.

No good story starts,

"That day, all went well."

(My attempt at a 'Naani', a poetic form, not the bread that goes with butter chicken)

The Fall of Autumn

Dark                                     dim                                                   dull

   Dis                                   -mal                                                cold

        Over                              -cast                                        hard

                            Fro                                    -zen

the bloom of summer

Has slowly faded

bright colors try to cover

the thinning crown of leaves

the wind smugly buffets

stabbing with knifesicle words

the wind drinks in the moonlight

and tries to push the tree over

bent but not broken

the tree fights back

the wind howls and whips

the ground is covered

in ragged weeping leaves

the naked tree still stands

shivering and bruised

in the watery morning sun

the sheepish hungover wind

gently whispers its' apology

the damage is done

the leaf is off the tree

a long cold winter is coming

Say, You Want a Revolution?

Say, You Want a Revolution?

Today is the day of the

Revolution.

Around the axis of truth 

And love all must

Revolve.

But first I'm going to make coffee and have breakfast.

To some issues and challenges

We must find

Resolution.

We who are strong must 

Help others hold to their

Resolve.

I'll just do some house work first.

There are cave man trolls

Missing links of 

Evolution.

With time and reasoned words

Some change may slowly

Evolve.

What should I have for lunch?

When those who have failed and railed

Still don't seek 

Absolution

Can we still try to understand

And be open to 

Absolve.

I should put a load of laundry in.

So I look at war, hunger, corruption,

Racism, misogyny, and 

Pollution.

Realistically, I can talk about them,

But have no idea how to 

Solve.

Mom and Dad are visiting, let's have tea.

Since I can't beat the problems

I should join the arm of some

Institution

I'll write a letter or hold a sign,

find some way to

Involve.

My brother wants us to watch the kids, crazy!

It seems perennial 

That each well meant

Resolution

Like spring snow they all too quickly

Dissolve.

Half an hour to Midnight

And I'm still writing this poem.

Maybe tomorrow is the day of the

revolution...

Try even when you fall

Try Even When You Fall

The daily prompt: sweet, candy, sugar--the things that sweeten your life/make you happy.

The form: 'tri-fall' 18 stanzas. A-B-C rhyme scheme. 6/3/8 very hard to corral the words.

Vocabulary: Carp(not the fish) to complain. Cleave-(old Eng./bible) to cling to faithfully.

Reave-to take as spoils. Scarp-escarpment-slope-wall/ledge of a rampart ditch.

Indulgence is my peeve.

Not my fault!

When the sting of desire cuts sharp

There's sweets I can not leave.

An assault

On my will- left to moan and carp.

To my diet I'll cleave,

Binging halt;

But in dreams, as through a time warp

Like a pirate, I reave.

In the vault,

Enough pastry to fill a tarp.

Drink like flow from an eave.
Sweet with salt
Caramel as angels play harp.
Toast with fried bacon weave.
Milk with malt
Self control clings to a thin scarp

Obtwose

Et tu, 'B'?

Here in suite 2 B

Live two bee who like to 

wear a tutu too.

There's something I would like to address,

 photos to which some hacker found access.

Some poor women caught without a dress

Had privacy and celebrity turned into a mess.

Some women who have found success

Are being sought out to oppress.

Do these creeps think this is supposed to impress?

Where there should a soul is an abscess.

Here's a case where 'more. more' is less.

This situation is enough to depress.

The right solution I don't have the ability to assess,

But those who stand up and speak out, I bless.

Wings of Outrageous Fortune

(Ahhhhhh! the first one. I have too many ideas. It's my sister's birthday, but I couldn't come up with one for her. One year since my cousin Max (Matthew) passed away. However, it's the prompt that stuck.)

Wings of Outrageous Fortune

 As I face this month long tree I have set myself to climb,

I feel bloated, slow, and low down to the ground.

My many feet go in such opposite directions,

That I had ground to a halt.

I lift a part of myself out of the mud,

And I stretch toward the sky;

But only encounter rough bark.

I hang on for dear life,

And drag my reluctant behind

Onto this precarious first step.

The trees' hard cold shell is no different than

The prickly poisonous barbs my back presents

To the predatory world.

In making a connection with the tree

I am scraping my vulnerable underbelly raw.

I want just let go, roll up into a ball

And slither back under my cool dark rock.

I make myself get a grip,

And get ready for the next slow leap forward.

I must find a sturdy branch and go out on a limb.

I see others have joined me.

We'll wrap ourselves thread after thread in a warm cocoon

 Of kind words as we hang together for a time.

Here I will stretch, and be nourished.

I will grow and struggle with muffled screams.

I'll beat with tender wings against walls I built.

Breakthrough! Air and sun flood through the cracks.

I squeeze and squirm and push my way free.

I flex my tear sodden wings to test them out.

The gentle breeze and warm sun makes them firm.

I launch myself into solo flight.

I am a bright, beautiful moth. that's right, a moth.

I'll never be a butterfly, but I'm going places.

I'm off to seek the light.