Path to Certainty
On the path to certainty,
You’ll find many potholes.
The greenest blades of grass,
May point North, towards your goals,
But amidst the tallest strands,
Grow wicked stinging nettles.
Cross over where dandelion spores disperse,
And turn left when the last seed settles.
Mind the sheer drop.
Try not to hurry.
Stability and security
Fade when there is worry.
In response to the final “directions” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
It has been an absolute pleasure to participate in NaPoWriMo this year. I am so grateful for the opportunity to converse with fellow poets and explore everyone’s interpretations of each prompt. It has been delightful!
Little Pot of Courage
Nothing more than a self-pitying agoraphobe.
Lazing upon a little pot of courage
With a lid I claim is too tight to probe.
I can be fierce- I have seen it before.
If only I could loosen this thieving blighter.
Perhaps it is the fault of my own sweaty palms,
But I’m certain this fearful kitten is a fighter.
In response to the nineteenth “humourous rant” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
As we approach the end,
We become you and I.
We stood together once, but now,
You go your way, I’ll go mine.
I can’t look forwards,
Whereas you don’t look back.
You impulsively march onwards,
While I still wonder what to pack.
With steep mountains ahead,
I recoil, so afraid.
No sight of you in the distance,
I wish you could have stayed.
I need to be held tighter,
For longer, forever.
Even so, I wish you well,
With your courageous endeavour.
I still feel left behind,
Alone, in apprehension.
Until I find my own helm,
I’ll wade through this suspension.
Anxious thoughts tickle you into a state of paralysis. Remind yourself to take only small steps forwards.
Listening to the sound of rain
Busy minds tune into the lull.
A provoked tranquility:
Calm enough to ease,
Loud enough to dispel
Wish them farewell.
A raindrop is silent,
Until it splashes.
Like his internal plight,
Before he turns to ashes.
Image credit: Pixabay.com
In response to dVerse’s Rain Poetry Prompt found here
I sat beside a charming stream,
On the trunk of a fallen tree.
A perfect place to peacefully
Reconsider my latest dream.
I admired the water gleam,
Watching courageous ripples ride,
Toward the rocks, and then collide,
Meandering around the bends.
It taught me changes are not ends,
So I can drift, no need to glide.
In response to Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge Prompt No. 7 found here
My puppet master let go of the strings, granting me freedom, but I didn’t know where to run to, or whether to even run at all.
Instead, I cowered in a corner, until I could gather enough strength to breathe steadily.
I must become my own puppet master, but I will always hold my strings tight.
A longer extract can be found here
Image credit: Claudio Schwarz via Unsplash
In response to Only 100 Words: Three Line Tales #227 found here
Just relax as we journey into the deepest crevasse of your mind.
Slip past the danger sign; it’s only there for decoration.
Don’t be frightened, your subconscious is your true safe place: your childhood, your desires, and the key to deciphering all of your… Eccentricities.
Image credit: Pixabay.com
In response to Only 100 words: Three Line Tales #226 found here
The cheetah perched by the lake,
Cleansing her paws.
She scowled at the water,
For reflecting her flaws.
She rubbed at her spots,
But they wouldn’t disappear.
She loathed her matted coat,
And she shed a sullen tear.
An elephant came along,
And sat by her side.
“Just look at my wrinkles,
I wear them with pride!”
“How do you find the strength?”
The cheetah enquired.
“I found more to life than beauty,
And that’s all it required!”
Image Credit: Pixabay.com
In response to Wrinkle Writing Prompt: Sunday Scribblings #3 found here
We are parched of hope.
Two tulips in spring.
Lost in a field of poppies,
So wild, and unforgiving.
I falter, I wither,
In emotional turmoil.
I pine for your company,
Though anchored to the soil.
Where’s my refuge, my nursery?
I’m a solitary flower,
Come and quench my thirst,
With all the love I can devour.
I seek hope by the water,
Clear as a looking glass,
It reflects the damage of our parting.
When will this menace pass?
Oh, won’t you come and find me?
My strength, you can restore.
Let your touch console me.
You are still worth waiting for.
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt #21 found here
My puppet master let go of the strings.
My eyes absorbed the world with a fresh perspective. Everything seemed so unusual; less enticing and seeped in danger. I didn’t know where to run, or whether to run at all.
I tried tying knots in the strings, praying my puppet master would guide me once again.
The knots only frayed…
I cowered in a corner, until I could muster up enough strength to breathe steadily. Exploring had once been a dream of mine, but in my mind, it had been safe and wonderful.
I must now become my own puppet master, but I will always clutch the strings tight.