Pursuit of Bold Dreams
A warm husky voice calms me,
Brings me memories captured in resin.
Nostalgia engulfs me,
And carries a worthy lesson.
Pursuit of a dream
Takes effort, with no bounds,
A furious rhythm foists me to seek,
To search, to pine, for bold sounds.
My tangled earphones surround me,
Reminding me of soft childhood tunes,
But we must leap over stepping stones,
Exploring far from the banks,
Even on rainy afternoons.
In response to the tenth “junk drawer song” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
Instructions can be found here.
My chosen song was Hugh Harris’ Rhythm of Life, and my junk drawer contained: wires; shells encased in resin; old music devices; and a ring pouch.
A Cat’s To Do List
I must remember to wake my human,
Before I bumble downstairs.
I prod her face, with my gentle paw,
And purr until she cares.
When I hear her footsteps,
Along the staircase,
It’s time to wiggle my rear, jump off the bed,
And then begin the race.
I always beat her to the door,
But I must remember my belly.
So I will rush to my bowl, in the kitchen,
And demand the food most smelly.
After chasing the birds, I must not forget,
When it’s time to come inside.
I must cause a raucous, with my yowl,
But this damages my pride.
So when my human opens the door,
Her patience I must test.
I stretch, I lick, then I strut inside.
And at last, I will need a rest.
In response to the ninth “to do list” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
Based on the antics of Jake, my childhood friend, who blessed my life for sixteen years.
The tide was not completely in,
There had been no splashes on the sea wall,
All along the west of the beach.
And yet I heard the moon call.
I saw her enticing light,
But it was not my time.
Still, I lie buried beneath spades of dirt.
And for what crime?
I am fuelled with anger,
I, like the tide, never finished my round.
Now I have no power over you,
I’m just decaying in the ground.
I hope my love will not move on,
There’s no better man than me.
I knew what was best for you,
Tell my story right, I plea.
I never hurt you, never once.
I only taught you right.
Your wrongs were corrected,
Each time we had a little fight.
I can’t bear to watch over you,
When I have no control.
Instead I’ll walk across the sand,
As the untimely waves roll.
A continuation of Vic’s Haunt, a previous poem of mine!
In response to the eighth “Return to Spoon River” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
Inspired by the poems featured in Edgar Lee Masters’ Spoon River Anthology.
When we forget to try, love runs and hides.
There is no bribe for love, as she decides.
Cussing and a sharp tongue scares love away.
In the same way that forgetting to say:
I love you, will cause love’s laces to fray.
If you love, in existence love will stay.
If she buries herself deep within,
(And there is little you can do to win),
She is worth patience, so leave love free to roam.
When we forget to try, let love find home.
In response to the fifth “The Shapes a Bright Container Can Contain” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I chose Tennessee Williams’ “We Have Not Long to Love” as a structural reference for this prompt.
Wind rattled the hedgerows, and gentle meadows.
Brilliant light pierced the velvety night;
Eating away the glittering stars.
An owl whispered in the sky calling solemnly,
Before reluctantly retreating to his leafy roost.
A stoat whipped the buttercups and grass,
Feeling the early morning heat.
The sky was silent,
As the world awaited the break of dawn.
– Andrew Chandler
A heart-warming poem written by my boyfriend, obviously waiting for his sunshine (me) to wake up. Ha! With his permission, I’m sharing this on my blog to celebrate his beautiful poetry!
Here is a thank you for your left hip,
The curve of your waist and the shapely bone.
I love to hold it when we lean in for a kiss,
And it’s the one that I cling to when I feel alone.
Here is a thank you for your left shoulder,
The one that I rest on as we learn to dance.
The devil perches himself upon it, and whispers,
To hold me more tightly and show me romance.
Here is a thank you for your left hand,
The one that I squeeze when I need you to stay.
When I’m fearful, it guides me far, far away.
It’s the one that will wear my ring someday.
Quietly rocks the garden swing, swaying in time with the autumn breeze. My eyes fixate on the seat, clutching to the chains, longing to see delicate fingers wrap around them once again.
The porch door clatters as the cat shoots through the hall, stealing my attention. As my eyes wander back to the garden swing, I see it lift up with a gust of wind, as if a child had leapt from it, up into the air, grasping for freedom.
Footsteps. Sodden footprints and bits of tarnished leaf are scattered through the kitchen, leading to the lounge. I follow the trail, forever hoping it will lead to you. I miss you so much that my heartache echoes into my every thought.
The problem with a slow dance is,
It’s flawless – besides when it’s not.
Time heals, forgiveness, forgot.
The dilemma with a trance is,
Giving out infinite chances.
March down a disappointing track,
Waiting for your disguise to crack.
Each final straw, each iceberg’s tip,
Expectations finally slip,
And now there is no waltzing back.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge found here
I have had another poem published, entitled Our Summers, in the Visual Verse anthology.
A short poem celebrating childhood summers.
My inspiration came from my own childhood, which was spent knocking on neighbours’ doors and spending all day outside playing hide and seek.
I vow from this day,
To always find a way,
Through life’s obstructions.
With no interruptions.
To see them as the thrills.
Like cyclic, rolling hills.
I promise to respect and trust,
To never let our love rust.
When I look into your eyes,
Sparkling lapis lazulis,
There is an open door I see,
To which I say “open sesame”.
I’ll always stay true.
Honey, I love you.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt Challenge #34 found here