Official DUP NaPo/GloProWrimo 2018
Anonymous
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[center]
Eclipse *24/30
(a Sonnet of betrayal from long ago)
I scan galactic coastlines that reckon,
Stretching endlessly through time warpage thus.
For how your pale crusades lull and beckon,
As I seek parallels in quietus.
While my own floats free near your fingertips
With each passing nano second's death knell,
Doub'ling the length from my scarified hips
Where a flaming phoenix once rose and fell.
There never were past lives serenity,
Since the way I think there are no seashores.
Nor siren song's echo’d meant so for me,
Why ergo I'm drifting further from yours.
And there's no more time for night's passing ships
To distant equators. Make sail! Eclipse!
Copyright©️Jade Pandora 2018. All Rights Reserved.
*NaPoGloPoWriMo 2018
[center]
Eclipse *24/30
(a Sonnet of betrayal from long ago)
I scan galactic coastlines that reckon,
Stretching endlessly through time warpage thus.
For how your pale crusades lull and beckon,
As I seek parallels in quietus.
While my own floats free near your fingertips
With each passing nano second's death knell,
Doub'ling the length from my scarified hips
Where a flaming phoenix once rose and fell.
There never were past lives serenity,
Since the way I think there are no seashores.
Nor siren song's echo’d meant so for me,
Why ergo I'm drifting further from yours.
And there's no more time for night's passing ships
To distant equators. Make sail! Eclipse!
Copyright©️Jade Pandora 2018. All Rights Reserved.
*NaPoGloPoWriMo 2018
[center]
23.30 Red-Breast
A robin sits on the left side of the tree,
showered in blossom,
staring out across the lawn feeling
the changed wind
sweep across the setting,
low in the valley.
Crisp calls echo through the space,
telling stories to their winged friends and relatives
as I sit at the breakfast table, looking out, sipping overbrewed coffee
admiring the greenery, pondering my next job, making lists
and quickly
scratching them out
as my teething urchin
finishes another raspberry
as screams at me for more
like so many chicks in Spring.
Ah, there are many, very many things
my hands, my head, my legs could do here
but likelihood is her skin will be on mine
as I stare out on robins, my dear, reliable warbler,
going about their day.
A robin sits on the left side of the tree,
showered in blossom,
staring out across the lawn feeling
the changed wind
sweep across the setting,
low in the valley.
Crisp calls echo through the space,
telling stories to their winged friends and relatives
as I sit at the breakfast table, looking out, sipping overbrewed coffee
admiring the greenery, pondering my next job, making lists
and quickly
scratching them out
as my teething urchin
finishes another raspberry
as screams at me for more
like so many chicks in Spring.
Ah, there are many, very many things
my hands, my head, my legs could do here
but likelihood is her skin will be on mine
as I stare out on robins, my dear, reliable warbler,
going about their day.
24.30
Wait, Rose.
I was in the vastness of the web yesterday, reading recipes written by a well
loved British chain
when there
some young fool, tasting their need for right-ness, for the brag brigade, for her moment of gain and glory
took a screenshot, which is a sort of photograph of the web within the web, all very Inception if you ask me,
not that you did.
Well, she circled her lovely screenshot with red pen, demanding the supermarket chain acknowledge their spelling mistake and alert their marketing team,
funnily her designated self-absorption space told me she was in marketing herself.
She said that they should 'have a better reign' on their team
but something was off,
something sat wrong like a bloody bad itch.
Reign?
Reign?
Game on.
You really shouldn't
point fingers
without checking your hands are clean
first,
kid.
Wait, Rose.
I was in the vastness of the web yesterday, reading recipes written by a well
loved British chain
when there
some young fool, tasting their need for right-ness, for the brag brigade, for her moment of gain and glory
took a screenshot, which is a sort of photograph of the web within the web, all very Inception if you ask me,
not that you did.
Well, she circled her lovely screenshot with red pen, demanding the supermarket chain acknowledge their spelling mistake and alert their marketing team,
funnily her designated self-absorption space told me she was in marketing herself.
She said that they should 'have a better reign' on their team
but something was off,
something sat wrong like a bloody bad itch.
Reign?
Reign?
Game on.
You really shouldn't
point fingers
without checking your hands are clean
first,
kid.
24/30
Music’s Hand
If I could write a poem
bend the words to my will
creating stanzas that express
rapture captured by music's voice
these songs evoke a different land
one more beautiful than bland verse
soaring high as eagles may
while I trudge low with lame quatrains.
I'd join the masters of the verse
if music was a skill of mine
or words spilled from my mouth
mixing verse with harmony
sadly mine is weak tradecraft
with a lack of concert's kick
as I wonder into realms
shared by those who write the word.
I'm not sure what others see
observing songs' heritage
poetry grants a wide boon
to those who take up the sword
free form mocks a cousin's flow
like real life to a musical
when the grit is sole pursuit
carving words to the page.
I embrace this in my rage
or when grief strikes me down
stumbling on the lyricist's path
for a time before standing up
then I drift back to what I know
pretend I can write the song
without the tunes that would complete
what I seek in melody.
Music’s Hand
If I could write a poem
bend the words to my will
creating stanzas that express
rapture captured by music's voice
these songs evoke a different land
one more beautiful than bland verse
soaring high as eagles may
while I trudge low with lame quatrains.
I'd join the masters of the verse
if music was a skill of mine
or words spilled from my mouth
mixing verse with harmony
sadly mine is weak tradecraft
with a lack of concert's kick
as I wonder into realms
shared by those who write the word.
I'm not sure what others see
observing songs' heritage
poetry grants a wide boon
to those who take up the sword
free form mocks a cousin's flow
like real life to a musical
when the grit is sole pursuit
carving words to the page.
I embrace this in my rage
or when grief strikes me down
stumbling on the lyricist's path
for a time before standing up
then I drift back to what I know
pretend I can write the song
without the tunes that would complete
what I seek in melody.
(🍍= posted and counted since last update )
And we're holding steady at 18 participants!
Aloha, Poets! Welcome to DAY 24!
Only a week to go!
Forget about traditional countdowns and ball drops; see how these cities drop instead; next with Honolulu, HI.
Six! . . .
Hawaii is the epitome of fun and relaxation. With beautiful weather year-round, you can escape the harsh winter and enjoy your New Years Eve with the ocean breeze and waves. Hawaii takes a flavorful twist on the New Years Eve ball drop by raising a "Hala Kahiki", or Pineapple, up into the air. Sip on some pineapple wine and watch this oversized fruit drop in celebration of the oncoming year in the beautiful Mililani.
At least it's not a giant can of SPAM.
Here are our participants currently spamming their poetry 👈 insert ham handed segway 🐷
🍍1. Ahavati - III✔✔
🍍2. JohnnyBlaze - III✔✔
🍍3. JadePandora - III✔✔✔
🍍4. Viddax - III✔✔
🍍5. Mel44 - III✔✔
🍍6. cloventongue89 - III✔✔✔
🍍7. David_Macleod - III✔✔
🍍8. rowantree - III✔✔
🍍9. ImperfectedStone - III✔✔✔
🍍10. MadameLavender - III✔✔
🍍11. RevolutionAl - III✔✔✔
🍍12. Hepcat61- III✔✔
🍍13. poetryaccident - III✔✔✔
🍍14. Thetravelingfairy -III✔✔
🍍15. MisfitPoet89 - III✔✔
🍍16. Samael - III✔
17. Rosegold - II✔✔✔✔✔
18. thepositivelydark - II✔✔
If your name isn't listed, it's because you haven't posted, and we haven't heard from you in at least three days!
You can do it, Poets! 🎊
And, Mahalo for your participation!
17/30
Echoes
I grasped the neck of my lamplight
As I leaned closer
To another poem written.
Do they see?
Do they hear?
The echoes of you in here?
I jumped into the frenzied midnight show
Of me looking for fragments of the you with me,
And the me with you -
I ducked under my desk and banged my head -
I crawled on the floor,
My fingers scratched at every crevice.
I grasped at my chest, gasped
My eyes stinging with exhaustion and
The fruitless search
In a foggy memory.
It was cold, and damp was your trench coat.
And my gloved hand held yours as you pulled me underground.
You broke apart my pearls and made a mess
Of my dress,
My lipstick,
Me,
My heart.
The bottle of ink was knocked over.
Do they see?
Do they hear?
The echoes of you in here?
I guess this is
What lovers in darkness bleeds…
18/30
Close
His eyes and his smile sneaks into my dreams.
The summer sun on me is heavy but
Is no match to the flames of this
Thing.
Whatever this is -
If this is his.
I ache in the closeness of the distance
Between his skin and mine
And I
Think myself insane and
My heart -
Fool that it is -
Wants to call him closer.
My mind wants to never see him again.
I sway in the waves
Caused by him and his nearness -
Something new and could be beautiful -
And the shiny fleetingness of the bliss of this flight.
I know we'd have to say goodbye.
I try to crush the thoughts of
Another day with him and
Accept the fact that my heart could have been
Close to falling -
That we were close...
But never quite close enough.
*Double post it until you make it.(hopefully!)
Echoes
I grasped the neck of my lamplight
As I leaned closer
To another poem written.
Do they see?
Do they hear?
The echoes of you in here?
I jumped into the frenzied midnight show
Of me looking for fragments of the you with me,
And the me with you -
I ducked under my desk and banged my head -
I crawled on the floor,
My fingers scratched at every crevice.
I grasped at my chest, gasped
My eyes stinging with exhaustion and
The fruitless search
In a foggy memory.
It was cold, and damp was your trench coat.
And my gloved hand held yours as you pulled me underground.
You broke apart my pearls and made a mess
Of my dress,
My lipstick,
Me,
My heart.
The bottle of ink was knocked over.
Do they see?
Do they hear?
The echoes of you in here?
I guess this is
What lovers in darkness bleeds…
18/30
Close
His eyes and his smile sneaks into my dreams.
The summer sun on me is heavy but
Is no match to the flames of this
Thing.
Whatever this is -
If this is his.
I ache in the closeness of the distance
Between his skin and mine
And I
Think myself insane and
My heart -
Fool that it is -
Wants to call him closer.
My mind wants to never see him again.
I sway in the waves
Caused by him and his nearness -
Something new and could be beautiful -
And the shiny fleetingness of the bliss of this flight.
I know we'd have to say goodbye.
I try to crush the thoughts of
Another day with him and
Accept the fact that my heart could have been
Close to falling -
That we were close...
But never quite close enough.
*Double post it until you make it.(hopefully!)
(pantoum)
formule poésie érotique 24/30
In soft washed clouds, let storms electric come,
With scents of earth and forest must describe.
We lay entwined, engulfed, a wonder’s sum,
For two as one that wait the storm’s revive.
With scents of earth and forest must describe,
Again to fill ourselves in thunders’ crush.
For two as one that wait the storm’s revive,
Our airs descend in fog of love’s lost blush.
Again to fill ourselves in thunder’s crush,
It came in shrills and groans of deep woods’ flume.
Our airs descend in fog of love’s lost blush,
Brought from the slightest graze of summer’s bloom.
It came in shrills and groans of deep woods’ flume,
In rose that opened full to know that fuller reach,
Brought from the slightest graze of summer’s bloom,
That prior gush that rose with our beseech.
In rose that opened full to know that fuller reach,
We lay entwined, engulfed, a wonder’s sum.
That prior gush that rose with our beseech,
In soft washed clouds, “let storms electric come!”
24.
Dying as an Art.
Who was it that killed the poetry?
Quenching the fires of inspiration
and butchering the art form,
who did this?
Because today my words fail me;
not through rage and anger
where they spew forth
with volcanic fury
in inexorable natural outburst,
but through a lack of motion
and a lack of emotion.
Where each word crawls
and sentences drag
their limp lifeless selves
across the page that refuses to be filled
in a maddening annoyance.
It is simply a mystery
why the well of inspiration
has run dry
and why I must now scrape the barrel
clawing for some sense of design
beseeching lightning inspiration
to give my creation life,
as it jerks and bucks
in its death throes.
Vicious petty small voices
seek to blame something or someone
bitter at the world,
which will not grant the poem
a lightness and life
mocking the intention with misty clouds
and shallow breezes
that with their insipidness
provoke no breath of creativity;
only a cumbersome
trudging slog
that mimics a poem
but has been murdered by neglect
warranting no meaningful investigation.
(Unique words: 129.)
Dying as an Art.
Who was it that killed the poetry?
Quenching the fires of inspiration
and butchering the art form,
who did this?
Because today my words fail me;
not through rage and anger
where they spew forth
with volcanic fury
in inexorable natural outburst,
but through a lack of motion
and a lack of emotion.
Where each word crawls
and sentences drag
their limp lifeless selves
across the page that refuses to be filled
in a maddening annoyance.
It is simply a mystery
why the well of inspiration
has run dry
and why I must now scrape the barrel
clawing for some sense of design
beseeching lightning inspiration
to give my creation life,
as it jerks and bucks
in its death throes.
Vicious petty small voices
seek to blame something or someone
bitter at the world,
which will not grant the poem
a lightness and life
mocking the intention with misty clouds
and shallow breezes
that with their insipidness
provoke no breath of creativity;
only a cumbersome
trudging slog
that mimics a poem
but has been murdered by neglect
warranting no meaningful investigation.
(Unique words: 129.)
23/30
"Dressing up daydreams as dead bodies for viewing pleasure: this life is a shoe box in the hole hoax"
There will be eight Armageddon's not eight ladies dancing.
hounds of heaven unleashed from the clanking of shifting chains holding back remaining Titans unfit for frolic,
tired plane engines have failed and a safe landing is not on schedule for the itinerary.
chariots of hell rise up off the throne and infernal councils will,
there is no waking from the dreams darting back and fourth
as mouses in Tyron's maze;
cannibalism caters the wild,
calls us home as caretakers cutting the oxygen lines.
choke on water,
what are the telltale signs you've stopped caring for a lover?
the weight of this earth is killing,
and so these shallow graves will surface from the wet;
and skeletons will swarm as you swim and try to escape.
crash upon my enemies;
becoming friends,
fiends,
fragmentation from the shrapnel.
butterfly figments of our imagination.
dissection is nigh
as mud walls consume you with the dead pulling in from the horror movies of my childhood.
damp chloroform cotton handkerchief
in pockets of passing assailants
looting of the heart,
define the apprehension of customs,
cartouches warning of the ancient fear that overtook the old gods
that now knocks at our door.
this busted rear transmission of a world,
leaking fluid,
its a matter of sorting red return trip string from wrong blue wire snips
spilling liquid us across the floor.
the after shock rattles our bones to the brink,
arrows telling us where to walk when the wind could just as easily blow us into oncoming traffic.
split lips saliva song & dance.
so long i've heard the silent voiceless angels ringing in my head.
so long i've heard the shadows
voiceless demons pacing floors above the iron furnace rooms,
but they have no intention on going back without a fight.
alas they were one and the same.
the calm comes quicker than a pistol shooting silver,
surround the living in concrete and we'll watch it all die together.
one last buried alive trick for the history books,
but Houdini would have nailed it with a fourth attempt if given the chance.
"Dressing up daydreams as dead bodies for viewing pleasure: this life is a shoe box in the hole hoax"
There will be eight Armageddon's not eight ladies dancing.
hounds of heaven unleashed from the clanking of shifting chains holding back remaining Titans unfit for frolic,
tired plane engines have failed and a safe landing is not on schedule for the itinerary.
chariots of hell rise up off the throne and infernal councils will,
there is no waking from the dreams darting back and fourth
as mouses in Tyron's maze;
cannibalism caters the wild,
calls us home as caretakers cutting the oxygen lines.
choke on water,
what are the telltale signs you've stopped caring for a lover?
the weight of this earth is killing,
and so these shallow graves will surface from the wet;
and skeletons will swarm as you swim and try to escape.
crash upon my enemies;
becoming friends,
fiends,
fragmentation from the shrapnel.
butterfly figments of our imagination.
dissection is nigh
as mud walls consume you with the dead pulling in from the horror movies of my childhood.
damp chloroform cotton handkerchief
in pockets of passing assailants
looting of the heart,
define the apprehension of customs,
cartouches warning of the ancient fear that overtook the old gods
that now knocks at our door.
this busted rear transmission of a world,
leaking fluid,
its a matter of sorting red return trip string from wrong blue wire snips
spilling liquid us across the floor.
the after shock rattles our bones to the brink,
arrows telling us where to walk when the wind could just as easily blow us into oncoming traffic.
split lips saliva song & dance.
so long i've heard the silent voiceless angels ringing in my head.
so long i've heard the shadows
voiceless demons pacing floors above the iron furnace rooms,
but they have no intention on going back without a fight.
alas they were one and the same.
the calm comes quicker than a pistol shooting silver,
surround the living in concrete and we'll watch it all die together.
one last buried alive trick for the history books,
but Houdini would have nailed it with a fourth attempt if given the chance.
Greed and Tea
(NaPo #24, April 24, 2018)
They sip, daintily, from
demitasses
as if the world weren't
amiss.
How swift, memory
does fleet
when swallowing mouthfuls of
contenders
belching in victory
after each gulp and acquisition.
Ah, the Fat Lady sings
for us all
since her bloated bloomers
burst
at the seams, in glut.
The hypothermia effect
sets in
where to keep the core, warm
blood and resources
are siphoned from extremities
to conserve the Mothership.
Do continue drinking your tea
hiding
guilty lips on cup rims, while
consultants
attend to our every detail,
Nazi raiders,
terminating
at will, those whose tasks
are deemed useless.
Not enough funds
to keep the appendages
afloat
but enough to pay the piper...
I'll be praying
yet again
in the midst of another
corporate hemorrhage.
(NaPo #24, April 24, 2018)
They sip, daintily, from
demitasses
as if the world weren't
amiss.
How swift, memory
does fleet
when swallowing mouthfuls of
contenders
belching in victory
after each gulp and acquisition.
Ah, the Fat Lady sings
for us all
since her bloated bloomers
burst
at the seams, in glut.
The hypothermia effect
sets in
where to keep the core, warm
blood and resources
are siphoned from extremities
to conserve the Mothership.
Do continue drinking your tea
hiding
guilty lips on cup rims, while
consultants
attend to our every detail,
Nazi raiders,
terminating
at will, those whose tasks
are deemed useless.
Not enough funds
to keep the appendages
afloat
but enough to pay the piper...
I'll be praying
yet again
in the midst of another
corporate hemorrhage.
I Am A Public Toileteer - - - - (24 / 30)
I’m a budding public toileteer
It’s rare that I show any fear
On entering a public loo
Maybe to pee, maybe to poo
I am always ready for the fight
I hold my breath with all my might
I walk towards the wooden door
I want to open, that's what doors are for
Pull not push, the door creaks loud
Like a robotic metal cat's meow
The door announces my arrival
I pray to god for my survival
The first to hit, the heinous smell
My nose and lungs begin to swell
A hint of Spam, the smell of piss
Pineapple cubes, are hit or miss
My eyes well up, I give a cough
I walk through piss to reach the trough
A place where men stand next to men
And piss like men who’re born again
Some pee left, some pee right
Some compete to get best height
Some pee long, some pee short
Most pee in here as last resort
As I survey the wondrous trough
My guts go tight I want to barf
It doesn’t drain it’s full of piss
The smell coats your lips with a kiss
Despite the feelings in your gut
You aim for the floating cigarette butt
Then a man stands next to you and stares
Clearly out of jealousy he glares
Shaking it dry I feel rather silly
This guy is still staring at my willie
He smiled and said "My name is Bob
I seriously want you to polish my knob
I said "It's not my fault; I was born straight."
"I prefer shampers and dinner before a date."
I kicked him hard in the scroat
My razor slashed open his throat
I said, "I am real sorry there Bobbie."
Realising I now really needed a jobbie
I opened the first cubicle door
Looked at the piss on the floor
There was piss lying all around the seat
The previous user wasn't exactly discreet
Let's see what's behind door number two
The china throne with a huge floating poo
Number three was the obvious next pick
Completely covered in alcoholic sick
The last cubicle smelling of pine and it's clean
Bum quickly sat down on seat my bowels are keen
There's no etiquette, there's no good manners code
In a public toilet when dropping your steaming load
Then I saw it fall to the floor; a round toilet tissue plug
My reaction the same as any mental kind of thug
Then an erect penis gets pushed through the hole
Then a deep, coarse voice asked me to suck his pole
"Sure." I replied; grabbed his cock and stretched it
Got Ronnie the razor out and completely wrecked it
Cut right in at the base of the shaft in this combat
Slice through length ways, there's no saving that
Kick open his cubicle door and repeatedly punch
Then off up to the cafe, I fancy sausages for lunch
Never, ever make an assumption that I am queer
I am an animal: a queer bashing public toileteer
I’m a budding public toileteer
It’s rare that I show any fear
On entering a public loo
Maybe to pee, maybe to poo
I am always ready for the fight
I hold my breath with all my might
I walk towards the wooden door
I want to open, that's what doors are for
Pull not push, the door creaks loud
Like a robotic metal cat's meow
The door announces my arrival
I pray to god for my survival
The first to hit, the heinous smell
My nose and lungs begin to swell
A hint of Spam, the smell of piss
Pineapple cubes, are hit or miss
My eyes well up, I give a cough
I walk through piss to reach the trough
A place where men stand next to men
And piss like men who’re born again
Some pee left, some pee right
Some compete to get best height
Some pee long, some pee short
Most pee in here as last resort
As I survey the wondrous trough
My guts go tight I want to barf
It doesn’t drain it’s full of piss
The smell coats your lips with a kiss
Despite the feelings in your gut
You aim for the floating cigarette butt
Then a man stands next to you and stares
Clearly out of jealousy he glares
Shaking it dry I feel rather silly
This guy is still staring at my willie
He smiled and said "My name is Bob
I seriously want you to polish my knob
I said "It's not my fault; I was born straight."
"I prefer shampers and dinner before a date."
I kicked him hard in the scroat
My razor slashed open his throat
I said, "I am real sorry there Bobbie."
Realising I now really needed a jobbie
I opened the first cubicle door
Looked at the piss on the floor
There was piss lying all around the seat
The previous user wasn't exactly discreet
Let's see what's behind door number two
The china throne with a huge floating poo
Number three was the obvious next pick
Completely covered in alcoholic sick
The last cubicle smelling of pine and it's clean
Bum quickly sat down on seat my bowels are keen
There's no etiquette, there's no good manners code
In a public toilet when dropping your steaming load
Then I saw it fall to the floor; a round toilet tissue plug
My reaction the same as any mental kind of thug
Then an erect penis gets pushed through the hole
Then a deep, coarse voice asked me to suck his pole
"Sure." I replied; grabbed his cock and stretched it
Got Ronnie the razor out and completely wrecked it
Cut right in at the base of the shaft in this combat
Slice through length ways, there's no saving that
Kick open his cubicle door and repeatedly punch
Then off up to the cafe, I fancy sausages for lunch
Never, ever make an assumption that I am queer
I am an animal: a queer bashing public toileteer
24/30
duvet dunes
sand in my eyes,
the cozy kind,
while his comforter outlines my side.
I am still soft inside
from being taken,
taken well;
the oasis swells.
A cigarette behind his ear,
jacket on;
it is only the desert of sleep
that buries me,
keeps me from being
professional nicotine company.
he pauses over me,
sitting bedside,
and I'm catching the ice-shard eyes
on their way to melting.
Some truth inside me
is welling;
I tell him, then,
"I really like you."
A rustling of palms
as the dunes over my shoulders
slip down
in desert wind, and then
his smile does enough to tell
me he knew what I meant.
in that icy accent:
"I like you as well."
duvet dunes
sand in my eyes,
the cozy kind,
while his comforter outlines my side.
I am still soft inside
from being taken,
taken well;
the oasis swells.
A cigarette behind his ear,
jacket on;
it is only the desert of sleep
that buries me,
keeps me from being
professional nicotine company.
he pauses over me,
sitting bedside,
and I'm catching the ice-shard eyes
on their way to melting.
Some truth inside me
is welling;
I tell him, then,
"I really like you."
A rustling of palms
as the dunes over my shoulders
slip down
in desert wind, and then
his smile does enough to tell
me he knew what I meant.
in that icy accent:
"I like you as well."
24/30
To Live is to Grow
Pain often necessary for transformation
suffering a teacher, affording reorientation
learning through exposure to life events
products of our past and all its contents
not destined to be imprisoned in single chapters
incidents and tragedy not planned to be our captors
character develops through vulnerability
finding there is freedom, with humility
letting go of what others want to see
to become exactly, who we’re meant to be
life begins unfolding one day at a time
offering opportunities, untried mountains to climb
potential to explore beyond our limitations
a new way of seeing, not a destination
To Live is to Grow
Pain often necessary for transformation
suffering a teacher, affording reorientation
learning through exposure to life events
products of our past and all its contents
not destined to be imprisoned in single chapters
incidents and tragedy not planned to be our captors
character develops through vulnerability
finding there is freedom, with humility
letting go of what others want to see
to become exactly, who we’re meant to be
life begins unfolding one day at a time
offering opportunities, untried mountains to climb
potential to explore beyond our limitations
a new way of seeing, not a destination
24/30
Afterimage
In my wildest imagination lies
the cutest Grace Kelly of ladies
pulling double duty
When shuttering my eyes
I don't have to seek out beauty;
she remains to be seen
plain as day
a gift that keeps on giving
never going away
a pageant queen living
and breathing on screen
in the holographic
universe of my mind
scenes of which
I can rewind
at will
I give in
resigned to having my fill of being
starstruck
for Ahavati with Love
💜
Afterimage
In my wildest imagination lies
the cutest Grace Kelly of ladies
pulling double duty
When shuttering my eyes
I don't have to seek out beauty;
she remains to be seen
plain as day
a gift that keeps on giving
never going away
a pageant queen living
and breathing on screen
in the holographic
universe of my mind
scenes of which
I can rewind
at will
I give in
resigned to having my fill of being
starstruck
for Ahavati with Love
💜
