that's mrs. mediocrity to you

oh, i won’t be quiet

i will not go gently
or silently
or even gracefully

i will kick and scream
claw and writhe
curse and bite and
throws things at you

your thumb
may leave its print
on the corner
of my heart

but even if
i have to tear
that corner off

to get away

to be heard

to stand alone
in the forest of
farce
you call freedom

i won’t be quiet

and if you try to
silence me
shut me up
sing me to sleep

i will climb my way
into your dreams
reveal all your

secrets

to the monster
of your

nightmare
but i won’t whisper

i won’t be quiet

::

::

::

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

i’ve looked in every corner
upturned every stone
…………blended shadows
…………and reached into
…………black places

………………there is nothing to be found

………………in the darkness
………………i grasp and i grab
………………as everything you’ve ever said
………………slips through my fingers

………………mercurial
………………mirroring back to me
………………the echo of a voice
………………that never existed
………………a face i cannot know
………………a heart that has
………………no rhythm

………………i sing songs
………………in the cave of existence
………………i build you a fire
………………that burns without
………………smoke

………………i breathe in the dust
………………of your desire

………………hold my breath
………………hold my breath
………………hold my
………………………..breath

………………waiting for

………………the shape of you
………………to form
………………beneath my
………………………..fingers

.

.

.

In honor of National Poetry Month,
this post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.
and also dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

he rises every day in the hours of deepest
darkness without complaint and filled
with the satisfaction that duty calls

coffee is prepared the night before
a cup stands by as silent guard
clothes are arranged in proper order

morning’s puzzle is solved without variation

he is dressed while you are dreaming
and at work before the sun

sweat pouring from his brow
for no one else to see

from one day
to the next

steadfast

::

::

::

In honor of National Poetry Month, this post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

in my next life

i will be
a gypsy

live in a tent
made from petals
and jewels

sing all the words
on a butterfly’s
wing

whisper secrets
to each phase
of the moon.

in my next life

i will
bear witness

paint the night
with humanity’s
folly

crunch bones
in my teeth
for sustenance

birth hope
in the form
of trees

reveal nothing
to everyone

and everything
to no one.

::

::

::

In honor of National Poetry Month, this post is part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.

::

arches her back

stretches her arms

reaches down

an offering

of shelter

::

it is winter it is summer it is spring
all green and hope and
procreation
blind sun
squinting through branches
more bare
than picked over
bones

it is bird call and free fall
moss and shadow
growth that forces its way
in and out
of yesterday’s
vision

it is
fuel for the fire of tomorrow
seed for the next generation

fecund with promises promises

that will all

be

broken

repeated

believed

broken

it is winter it is summer it is spring

::

.

.

.

this post is part of:

the scintilla project. see more here

Today’s prompt:
Talk about breaking someone else’s heart,
or having your own heart broken.

and

dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

::

Write a list of 23.
(I chose some of my favorite words).

::

rapscallion and serendipity

infinite

monkshood and ranunculus

mediocrity

zephyr and perpetual

phosphorescent

desiderata and flibbertigibbet

periwinkle

bivouac and supercilious

onomatopoeia

harbinger and possibility

decorum

ramshackle and luminary

whimsical

reverberation

and

mellifluous

::

this post is part of the scintilla project. see more here.

spring comes
on the day
when i rise
to the surface
of the pool
that was winter

gasping for air.

the sun
warms my face
as i pull
myself up
hand over hand
clinging to vine

and veracity.

the grey ghost
regrets his decision
to give up
the reins
a week early,
but in the forest

the vulture

smiles.

.

.

.

.

::

this post is part of:

the scintilla project. see more here.

Today’s prompt: Show a part of {your} nature that you feel you’ve lost.
Can you get it back? Would it be worth it?.

and

 dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

::

when i was a child i found a rock
that shone with flecks of gold

excited (and thinking it was real)
i ran to show it to my father

who gently explained (in the way
that fathers do) that it was not.

he told me the name of my pretty,
sparkly nugget and i was sorry.

worthless, he said, trying to explain
the difference between pyrite

and the gold that circled his finger,
and together we imagined the

disappointment of miners who surely
must have thought they struck it rich.

yesterday, i walked through a garden
that was not mine and stopped in the sun

to chat with a friend and (listening) i looked
down to discover chunks of my childhood

sparkling up at me and i smiled as i stooped
to pick up three pieces to give to her girls.

i told her the name and the story, and then
placed one last piece in my own pocket,

because these days, i am happy to believe
that there is far more value in this stone

that glitters just enough to remind me
of a long ago moment with my father

than there is in any amount
of the real thing.

.

.

.

this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

i watched a seagull fly over a field of snow
and the word metaphor flashed through my mind
though i refused to take it any further
because all i really wanted to do was watch it fly.

by mid-afternoon the sun had melted all the snow
into a watershed running through my fingers
down over my toes and i thought that perhaps
i had imagined that shadow of white on white,

sun glinting off wings built for shores less frozen
but then (of course) i found a feather in my hair
that i am certain was as black as any raven’s
and the wind tore it from my grasp precisely

at that perfect, beautiful moment when
i recognized the color of hunger.

.

.

.

this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!