Nice Man

Girls 
play
out
side. 
Can’t 
be 
more 
than 
the 
age 
of 
five. 
The 
hot 
sun 
beats 
on 
their 
feet. 
They 
watch 
a 
mint 
melt 
on 
the 
street.  
The 
man 
in 
the 
car, 
he 
seems 
nice. 
One 
of 
the 
girls 
does 
not 
think 
twice,
when 
all 
he 
wants 
is 
a 
quick 
hand
shake.  
Some
how 
she 
makes 
a 
break.  
Two 
young 
girls 
run 
from 
the 
threat, 
but 
one 
of 
the 
girls 
does 
not 
for
get.

Form prompted by NPM Nonce Scavenger Hunt hosted by Murisopsis. I chose to use nonce form #1: “The Tail by Michael “Mouse”Murdoch – a poem of single syllable lines. Words of more than one syllable can be broken (but only if the broken syllable is a real word). Loose rhyme is expected. The theme should be a “tall tale”or at least a tale!”

Subject inspired by NaPoWriMo day nineteen daily prompt: “Now, cast your mind back to your own childhood and write a poem about something that scared you…”

Pick Me A Wildflower

Would you pick for me a fresh wildflower?
Any of the many colors will do.
A yellow cluster as a bright sunshower. 
Perhaps some white lace or a blossom in blue.

An exotic bloom might be compelling;
Though the native flora are quite nice too;
A tall stemmed flower like the vendors are selling;
Of course the choice is up to you.

Perhaps you’d choose one that is sweet-smelling.
But not such a scent as to overpower.
Please now explain why you are rebelling;
When all I seek is a fresh wildflower.

Essence

Strip away the armor;
Raw.
Exposed.
Peel away the many veils;
Naked.
Humble.
Wipeout the programming;
Open.
Free.
Here I am!
There you are!

Nature Boy

Little nature boy;
Impossible to stay cleansed;
Mud is your grindstone.

A ‘Senryu’ written in response to W3 Prompt #50: Wea’ve Written Weekly’s poet of the week, Jane Aguiar. The poem must include the word impossible.

Yellow Eyes

Yellow eyes watching,
Observing the observer,
Lost in their beauty.

Written in response to dVerse author Sarah’s poetry prompt: Everything yellow.

No Control

I know it appears I’m staring incoherently as I process the meaning of those jarring words. I understand what is happening; likely better than the specialists surrounding my bed, uttering conciliatory sentiments. These well-intentioned practitioners are determined to make me complacent. It is not an issue of coming to terms with my predicament. It’s a matter of losing control. Behind my stupor is a type of awakening – being in control is a farce.

Oh, we certainly have our in-control moments. We pat ourselves on the back when we curb an urge to engage in harmful behaviors or make decisions that result in positive outcomes. When life’s going well, we believe it’s to our credit. When things truly fall apart, our lack of control becomes evident. Within this harsh reality, “[t]he seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart.” It’s called resignation.

This is a rewrite in response to dVerse author Mish’s prose prompt, incorporating the line: “The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart.” A line taken from Winged Words by Valsa George.

I wrote the original piece of prose after learning my mother’s last cancer treatment option was not working. While looking at my mother’s face as she took in the news, I felt the seed planted in my heart, waiting to bloom through written words.

Killdeer

She begs the predator moves along;
For the protection of her young.
Her mate often by her side;
But he is searching for food.
Gone!  Will the hunt be successful?
When he returns, her young shall beg for nourishment.
Will it be too late? The predator approaches the ground-built nest,
The killdeer has but one option, offering herself,
She abandons the nest and appears to be an easy meal.
Flailing around with a broken wing, the predator follows the injured bird.
She offers the predator an opportunity to pounce,
A bit of excitement, as she leads the predator away from the nest; the Killdeer fluttering helplessly toward the edge of the meadow.
The moment the predator leaps upon her prey;
The bird takes flight, landing in an empty clearing;
Her nest is in view, the predator retreats;
Her chicks beg for her return as she offers a promise of sustenance to her young.

Written in response to dVerse’s MTB: Cleaving to Antonyms in Contrapuntal Lines. I have chosen to incorporate the antonyms (or forms thereof): beg – offer. The portions in bold are written from the perspective of the Killdeer and the unbolded portions are written from the perspective of the predator.

Beautyberry

A beautyberry is on the tree,
A snake below is glaring at me,
I dare reach out my hand,
On the berry I land,
As the snake wraps its coils around me.

W3 Prompt #49: Wea’ve Written Weekly poet of the week, Aishwarya, prompts us to write an American Sentence or a Limerick on the theme of beauty. I’m not certain the limerick actually qualifies as beauty themed, so I have included an American sentence as well.

Inner Beauty

Beauty may endure from within, but no doubt will wither from without.

Focal Point

Have I lost focus?
Or, is it the lens through which I peer?
It seems the closer I look, 
the more distorted my perception becomes.
The zoom is of no benefit.
Perhaps I should take a step back;
And refocus on the whole picture.

Written in response to dVerse’s Quadrille prompt: “Grab your plume, and let your words zoom across the page to form a poem of just 44 words (not counting the title), and including some form of the word zoom.”

Elusive Bird

Elusive little bird,
Why must you taunt me so.
Not very colorful are you,
Nor of a rare or unique variety.
But your cute little antics,
Are difficult to ignore;
And the challenge you provide,
Makes you all the more intriguing.

I am relatively new to photography and have had the pleasure of spending several weeks in a subtropical environment photographing shore birds. I did not realize how cooperative those birds were until I returned home and attempted to photograph the little songbirds in my own backyard. These have proven quite the challenge, incessantly flittering amongst the trees.

Some cooperative shore birds:

Green Heron
Little Blue Heron
Snowy Egret
Brown Pelican