The pencil, always so poised,
so sharp, so in fashion,
came, one day, to feel its own lead.
The spine within became buckled,
about its own death.
The point became lost,
worn down to a stub, where
nothing, but nothing, was left
but the scratchings of a soul
looking to transcend bereft.
A poem for day 21 of NaPoWriMo 2015: the erasure
I’ll sit with what I’ve got
rather than ruin what I’m not.
Techie stuff will play my brain
to the point I can’t or won’t.
Dementia took my mother:
it was goodbye but still here.
A decade of sobbing
could never bring her mind back.
Ten long years it took her
to let go of reasons to live.
Cancer took my father:
it was goodbye and nothing left.
Ten short months of wailing
couldn’t rid him of his assailant.
It ate him up, cell by strand,
and we watched him disappear.
Yet though I’ve said goodbye
Inside, they’re still here.
You’re so transient and so cute,
your button eyes squinting and sunk,
your pert little nose so pointy and pert,
your mouth a happy half-moon.
No matter you started from average choc chunks
or your taste is vanilla ice cream,
‘cos you manifest as so ingenious, gorgeous:
your creativity can only dream.
It’s been a rhyming four weeks
with only tiny hints of fatigue.
I will miss the daily beat
of grace, joy and intrigue.
The exuberance of Easter has faded in a week.
Their marshmallow tummies are showing signs of tweak.
The middle chick is cute, and finely still pristine.
The other two distorted, their messy beaks terrine.
The leaning does confuse me: who is zooming whom?
Who believed, and who doubted, the rising from the tomb?
This is my post for Day 27 of NaPoWriMo
My car is pathetic, purple and slow
yet my accelerating thrust
can be devastatingly annoying
to the fast cars I leave for dust.
My athletic girl is diddy and slight:
her running gear shows her tiny waist.
Yet, with her spikes, her ferocious grit
leaves the rest to give her chase.
My spirit was crushed and left for nought
after I dealt with one death too many.
Yet I still live my heart and express my soul,
because the blessings I count are plenty.