what the doctor won’t say trying to identify this spider no name given 2-18-19
My headache went away and I got today’s haiku written. It’s not been an easy six months – my husband is still in pain and the doctors still can’t give us a diagnosis. Please don’t comment below with “have you tried this?” Yes, yes we have, including herbs. If you want to leave me a comment, tell me if this haiku made sense to you, or touched you in any way.
It is National Blog Posting Month and while I have not made a post to my blog every day, I am keeping up with the Somethingist Challenge by posting to my Instagram or by doing catch-up posts here on my poetry blog. Today’s prompt is “something terrifying.” This is a short free verse poem about how Jesus will one day come back and we will all have to face God. I believe that if you do not have Jesus as your savior and advocate when you go in front of God, that you will be sent to hell. I try to tell people this when I feel I am in an appropriate setting and someone is open to hearing about religion and my beliefs. This poem is about when I see people reject Jesus.
my vision was of death I called out trying to warn them they said my words were confusing and archaic just let death come we will brave it alone no help needed
Well, we are halfway through National Blog Posting Month 2018 and I have only missed 2 days. I am liking this challenge so far. I think I will team up with Nanopoblano every year because they offer support and diverse ways to blog and post new content during NaBloPoMo. Are you liking the way I am doing this challenge? Would you like to see me post daily photo challenges to Instagram? Leave me your thoughts below!
Today’s prompt was “something dangerous.” I wanted to share this poem that I wrote during National Poetry Writing Month this year, it is a triolet. It is about how young children are taken from their mothers to be soldiers in wars, in overseas countries.
War Infested Country
boys crush skulls under their boot heels who are barely old enough to tie their shoes they are told this is how men get their thrills boys crush skulls under their boot heels they are left to stand alone when the blood spills they drown out their conscience with booze boys crush skulls under their boot heels who are barely old enough to tie their shoes
I always publish a few blog posts late in the day when I do a month-long challenge. Today I need to post a poem about “something strong” for the Somethingist Challenge that I am doing for National Blog Posting Month. Give me your thoughts on this piece, in the comment section below.
Badges and Battles She wore her scars like badges like an army captain wears ribbon bars they told of the wars her body had fought and won of the battles waged that you forgot about
1-21-2018 This poem was inspired on Twitter by a #WrittenRiver writing prompt.
Day nine’s prompt is to write about “something substantial” so I chose one of my longer poems. I am getting the really fine lines around my eyes. I am approaching 32 and I am feeling my age. I don’t feel old, but I don’t feel 21 anymore. I am definitely in a new phase of my life. There are fewer weddings and more divorces, more graduations, fewer births. The funerals are far less surprising and come as often as anything else. It’s not a bad phase, it’s a comfortable phase. It’s easy to be complacent and just do the same ‘ol thing every week. But I try to be spontaneous and fun for my young son, and I try to stay in the know. I’m not dead yet!
As I shook out the blankets this morning I found a black feather on the bed. I haven’t seen them, but I see their tracks. In the melting snow I see faint outlines of crow’s feet. The caw caw that rings from the trees tells me that crows circle overhead. Their shadows darken my days. Crows like shiny things. They weave silver into my hair as I dream about my youth. A shadow flutters across my face lands at the corner of my eye and I feel the wind on my cheek. I hear not just the sound of the wind but the sound of flapping wings. They peck at my back and legs while I try to cheer at ball games making it hard to sit and hard to stand. The tracks they leave become dry river beds that have flash floods. Their shadows chill me and make me pray for the sun and its warmth. I only catch glimpses of them from the corner of my eye but I know they circle me.
Today’s prompt for the Somethingist challenge was “something damaged.” To keep myself from burning out, some days I am just going to post a poem instead of a long post. Also, I already posted a short and sweet haiku, so if you’re looking for short and sweet go to the haiku category! If you want cute pictures visit my Instagram.
The wax runs down the candlestick and pools in its holder. It is burning bright, bringing light to the whole house. It is hot from working so hard and that is why it melts, because it is putting its whole self into the work that it is doing. The candle gives pieces of itself away thinking that if it starts to lean that someone else will come along and give it some support. But much to the candle’s dismay, no one shows up when it starts to lean. The candle droops over, then breaks, and falls to the table. It is hurt and surprised that no one was there, or cared to check on it. So out of spite, it sets the tablecloth on fire.
You’ve not got as much time as you think Life passes you by as you blink So practice your goodbyes now Practice while there is time to make mistakes Tomorrow may bring a dark sky Tomorrow may make you cry And all the time you thought was there Was spent without much care No more chances for that conversation It is, how it was So practice your goodbyes with vigor Life goes by faster than you figure So make the hugs long and tight Hold off goodbye with a fight Talk through the night into the day For our loved ones here, do not stay
I wrote this one a long time ago. I was looking through my poetry to find one I had written for my son and decided it was time to share my old stuff again. The break in the rhyme pattern is there to jar you, as death always does.
Aging crumpled post-it note the first of my classmates dies a shock to us all I forget how to spell her last name it seems all our names have changed
9-8-2016 RIP Ellen Doherty
It has been two years since the first of my friends, the first of my classmates has died. I know that I’ve been blessed, but it is still crazy to think that we have already lost a friend. She didn’t make it to 30. September is a sad month for me, I have had a lot of people die during this month. I seriously relate to that song “Wake me up when September ends.”
Tourniquet wrap a tourniquet around my throat keep poisonous words from flowing bind my hands with scarlet ribbon keep destruction from reigning blind me with the light of the noonday sun silence me with the sound of music even if the piano is out of tune play it until my fit is over protect me from myself June 2016
2016 was a really stressful year for me. So this is not dated and was almost forgotten. It is free verse, which I haven’t been doing much of. I am beginning to like structure in my poems.
You led me to the wilderness you said there’d be an adventure There was nothing but desert You left me with an empty canteen you left me to die of thirst I guess death is an adventure
I think I am getting confused about what I have shared and haven’t shared to the blog because people on Twitter interact with my small stones poetry and I remember that people have read a poem, but forget that I haven’t shared it to the blog. So here is a poem that I believe is new to the blog. I will be sharing several of my short poems soon, I hope none of them are reshared, but if they are oh well. That is part of running a blog, a Twitter account, writing randomly in virtual notebooks, and trying to keep a child alive and thriving, while also trying to keep up with social media so I won’t be out of the loop on the new jokes. Give me a like if you know the feeling!
Broken backs march to the next task Wondering how they got so broken On this path that was supposed to be so easy This path, littered with pain The birds sing the same year after year Their songs don’t seem to change So why am I aging Why am I feeling the need to sit down I feel the years clog my veins The misadventures stretch across my skin Shiny speed bumps to slow sensual thought Where are all of the fine things This broken back was supposed to bring me
I wish I had dated my older poems. I thought that if I didn’t date them they would seem more mysterious. What do you think? Do you date your poems? Do you share the date when you share them?