NaPoWriMo Day 16: playing at life

Video games give a great reminder of lives

too short, and too easily run over;

these days, easily re-built or re-booted,

according to your app, or whatever’s closer.

 

Your avatar lives as though a real you,

ducking, diving, dashing – always a fight

to save your last life, as though those before

the last one didn’t count for nought.

 

Except the reality of play is a metaphor of real.

Why play at life, when it’s a fragile gift.

Here and gone in a heartbeat, it is.

Like a game, life’s time is swift.

NaPoWriMo 2018 day 11: my future state of heart

I have two choices in life, as I peruse

the menu of the near middle-aged:

to close my heart, keep it starved,

or remain open to all manner of plates.

 

A closed heart is cruel, deluded,

refusing the delicacies of life,

complains about service, never leaves a tip,

self-righteously deprived of that extra slice.

 

An open heart can skip to the table

that’s rich with the finest cuisine,

selects the plump, the juice, the core,

and dines with the grace of a queen.

 

Hard-of-heart leaves me safe but cold.

An open heart is at risk of hurt.

Hard-of-heart picks at the bones of life.

Open heart eats starter, mains, dessert.

 

Waiter!

I’m putting my order in now…

a poem for my flames of fear

 

On a good day I see in the flames

a dancing horse, swishing tail

head upright, ears aloft,

prancing to the heat of the fire,

soul alight with joy.

 

On a bad day I see in the flames

a devilish anger that burns down

all my hard work, a ghoulish glee

that turns my dreams to ash,

hope depleted, plans destroyed.

 

NaPoWriMo 2018 day 8: the whispers of a tomb

Stand tall, stand true.

Find balance in what you do.

 My four diamond holes

to help find what you extol.

My three central blocks

to stay firm against life’s knocks.

The column at my core

to align with what you adore.

The security at my base,

to remind you to live with grace.

Tides come, tides go,

time shoots its arrows.

Stand true, stand tall.

One day you won’t be here at all.

 

NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 6: my anxious life

That sense of dread, that

pull in the depths of

my stomach that

absorbs my days and steals my nights, that

smothers my thoughts with a heavy

blanket of angst. That

happy life that eludes me, that

love that never truly feels

real, only that dread that idles and

festers is solid and true.

NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 2: a to-and-fro on commitment

 

 

Me:

I really love you, I want to commit,

But life has me stressed

up to the armpits.

 

You:

You love your stress, can’t live without,

you create it all ways.

In you I doubt.

 

Them:

If only they knew the short time they had left

they’d spend less on the lack,

nor let fear be their theft.

 

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my life raft that no longer floats

inktuition life raft

 

I looked to without, instead of within,

the buoyancy aid that no longer swims

 

an external holding that was

just an illusion

a made-up craft, a

fake sense of inclusion.

 

So why hold on so long to an aid

that clearly no longer served me?

 

Was fear of drowning

the option that made

me feel I should adapt

and, probably, pervert

my core value?

 

Or was it the fear of feeling adrift

in a dark ocean of lonely:

that swaying sense of sad, of swirl,

afraid to let what is, unfurl.

 

(pic courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net/fantasista)

Unlucky thirteenth?

Who knows how many times we’ve split:

Is it five, nine, twelve times, or more?

Whatever.

Each time, we end back right where we started:

Square one. No better, no further.

The same old reunion,

the promises made anew.

Waiting for the other to change,

and no change beginning to come.

Then the same old fights,

scrabbling down the same old paths

of recognition and delusion.

So I wonder if this time, when we finally split for real

– for probably the thirteenth time –

will it possibly be lucky for some?