that's mrs. mediocrity to you

is contemplation

e x  a   g    g    e     r     a  t  ion

the epic fail of epic

on a trip to Misnomer

any other name gets you to the same place

a beginning (seed)

a middle (flower)

an end (pod)

and you can’t separate any one of them from the other

without breathing in someone else’s perfume

crushing stem and spilling life

but you try anyway

again and again and again

and all the words you cannot say

(because i said so)

take root

in the cracks of cement

that line the path you’ve chosen

to pave with your rules

and your yeses and your nos

no!

but all you see is your own

vision

through those rose-colored glasses

of derision

mocking  the singsong silence

of the empty vowel left raining

from the mud-caked corner

of your tongue

.

.

Linking in over at dVersePoets for Poetics today,
where Shanyn has us imagining poetry as seed.
Join us!

there are 51 ways to leave your lover
but only if you’re good at math

a tree learns early on that survival
depends on your ability to bend

the penultimate beat of a dying heart
echoes perpetually through its last

odd numbers belong to odd people
and we’re all stuck at seventeen

being less than whole takes up more space
than the chance of being well rounded

there are zero degrees of separation
between you and your last neighbor

if you look into the eyes of pi
you will meet eternity’s maker

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

for twenty years
you kept a frame on a shelf
always out of reach
and tilted just so
encasing a photo
of nothing

no one ever asked
and you never
mentioned why
and eventually
your dust
colored it forgotten

but nothing ever dies
without revealing bones

and one day
the earth
grumbled just enough
to tip that empty square
into transparent
shards

slicing
through silence
with the clean
cold precision
of yesterday’s
knife

to reveal
a second picture
always hidden
from view
screaming
the truth

in lost time

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

.

.

listen

some days, that’s all i want
to say

listen

or show me
what’s in your

heart

beneath the stone
you’ve left unturned

tell me

how it feels
to be the seventh billion
snowflake

falling gently from a sky
made grey with uniquity

holding on

until you melt
raging into rivers

groaning with overflow

howling

losing voice and veracity

whisper-stamped and
season-dated

by a mouth
that’s always
open

.

listen

.

I’ll take deep shadows

and the light that causes them

over the blank-faced wall

of forgettable grey

any day.

.

.

.

spaces close up and voices grow louder
the din of existence an ever-present echo

i see you
i hear you
i approve of you

or not

there is no off button
no way to unplug
(though we all pretend, often)

we are slicing hearts open
and living out loud

from a distance
cacophony bleeds music

.

Everything in life feels off center and crooked. Odd angles jutting here and there through a forest of misguided direction.

Of course, you can’t see the big picture when you hover so low to the ground. Too many shadows, obstacles, possibilities.

Rise above.

Rise above.

Look down at yourself and laugh at how tiny it all becomes.

Soar higher, until all detail is lost. Until there’s just a quiet quilt far beneath you, waiting to cushion your landing.

Don’t land until you have to. Tail wind, tailspin, kite flyer.

Holding on to air is just as difficult as clinging to nobody’s hand.

Don’t let go.

Coast.

Dive.

Coast again.

You are the compass in an ocean of sunlight. Your shadow points in every direction.

Light, dark, light, dark through a checkerboard of miles.

Pack lightly. Travel far.

Circle back.

Begin again.

Remember.

::

AugustMoon2013:

Have you accomplished your goals for the year?
What do you need to prioritize to end the year on a high note?

::

New growth becomes old growth.

Seeds are set and spread,
leaves and petals are discarded.

Old growth makes room for new growth.

::

.

.

.

This post is part of AugustMoon2013. You can find out more about the project here.

some i’ve known for years and others
i’ve yet to be introduced to

i’m walking down this road
that always leads me home

remembering faces and places
and voices long forgotten

whispers on wind telling tales
no one ever stops to hear

the white waving flag of
existential discourse

extend your hand
take my place
lend an ear
a shoulder
an old pair of shoes

this is the forest we all live in
trees and concrete and wisps

of tired translucent souls singing
songs less music than ballad

into the surrender of sky and grey
and blue smoke metaphysical ribbons

all these lost stories folding deep
into rivers and seas and oceans

returning later, much later
to rain down upon us

.

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!

tick tock goes the clock with the certainty of proven
………….your heart is the art of discovery
………….and we play the blame game
………….as you are driven
………….through the trees to the track
………….of distinction
………….eyes blindfolded

…………………..not to keep you lost
…………………..but to prevent
…………………..the hound of found
…………………..from following
…………………..your eyes

………….down the paths
………….you did not take
………….to all the promises
………….you could not make

…………………..and you are lost as the
…………………..silence in a sea of dead souls

………….which is to say
………….i hear you

…………………..singing

.

.

.

.

A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.