So the balloon of numbers,
so shiny on New Years Eve,
loses lustre on day two of the year.
What do you do?
Give up and just stare?
Or commit to the process that life’s not fair.
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.
We’re broken and bruised,
battered from birth,
we were built so fundamentally wrong.
The world makes life so bloody hard.
Just give up trying to
create or belong.
You break my heart
with your wounded ways.
We’re not defined by our past.
Yet you’ve kept me stuck for five decades
with your sneers, your pokes,
my sad little un-started drafts.
Too right there: I get my kicks
when I sit on your shoulder,
sabotaging all that you ‘write’.
You’re far too old for all that hope
now in life you’ve reached
That’s enough! I’ve had an idea
about wounds and abuse and stuff.
If I begin to transform all of our pain
into fables strong and true,
you’ll lose your hold over my head
and my heart will take the reins.
And so the month of memory
begins to tickle my heart.
A month to delve deep
and recover my soul;
for my barest branch
to grow plump-pink blossoms.
(pic copyright: Clairev)
You fragrance the warmth that resides in my heart.
Your heat is implicit in my aromatic words,
and yet consistency’s missed from your promised bouquet.
I dream of wild lily to spice your bouquet.
I pray for pale rose to prod my yearning heart
into blooming, creating a garden of words.
You hide in the trees, whispering the words
I need to capture and show in a scented bouquet.
Speak louder, please: help me speak from my heart.
Let me express my heart in a bouquet of ardent words.
My response to Day 7 of NaPoWriMo 2016: write a tritina
my creative heart has been
beating but not seen,
patiently not known,
hoping, lying in wait
that one day, like this,
I would notice its pulse
and take heed of its sounds
listen to its beat,
see all its signs,
act on its guidance.
Create, at last,
what makes it sing.
A full-hearted swing
at life’s infinite joy.
(pic courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net/cuteimage)