NaPoWriMo 2018 day 18: the wind on a not so brilliant day

I tried to tend it, but nature overwhelmed my efforts

What’s the point of even trying

with all that withering around me.

Yes, take the leaves and petals, leave the ground free and clean

as I want to face life, not death.

All the flowers are gone, and I want them back

No, you can’t take their smell away from me

and I’m not sure about your odour of jasmine.

If it’s meant to be the call of my soul

then I’ll wait for the wind to blow it in.

 

This is an upside-down take on original poem The Wind, One Brilliant Day, by Antonio Machado

The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

‘In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I’d like all the odor of your roses.’

‘I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.’

‘Well then, I’ll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.’

the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
‘What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?’

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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…