OpenLinkNight: Chains

How far
can we take these words
before over-extending?
blending to gray?
bending to break?

When desire is to create
release is sweet
until criticism brings retreat.
Who then, in this scenario,
is truly weak?

Words were meant to be spoken
not boxed and bow-tied,
but tongues cut loose
quickly wrap that noose
too tight to wriggle free.

We all want to know
we are seen, heard.
How many turns around to learn;
stop trading in freedom
for chains again.

*Written for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Please click over to read some brilliant poetry, and feel free to add your own to the mix. All are welcome.

Poetics: Transactions

Visceral reactions

infiltrate 

every whispered connection.

No suspension of reality is needed

when immutable discretion keeps 

one nomadic,

waxing inadequate

to break down walls built

by negative transactions.

No moment's irrelevant.

Entrenched we are in 

the plus and minus 

of day to day to day . . .

and wishing truth away 

won't make it all a lie,

won't hide the constancy of 

life's exchange economy.

Bit by bit we do affect change

(for better or worse rearrange),

but at your core,

you're more than give and take.

You make the choice to coordinate, 

tabulate the sum of your zeroes and ones, 

and you can be more than

stuck between stardust and misery.

You can re-write your test-i-mony

even if you tend to hang tight 

in the balcony.

Because

no 

one 

is a 

neutral 

insignificance.

**Written for Poetics: Third Eye Open at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Come have a look...

OpenLinkNight: Time

*Written for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Come join in the fun. All are welcome!

Time

Dreams are tricky beasts
sometimes.
Taunting, teasing, pleasing
one moment,
then confounding
making those surrounding

you doubt sanity.
And sanity comes and goes
when you dream big,
real big,
so big
your eyes squint

from bright lights, big city
dreams,
and it seems to sustain
one moment,
madden the next,
this questing to

hold fast to dreams
in real time
so your life can shine
the way you know it was meant to.
So wait for me, Love.
I'm still coming,

still running
to catch my
hopes deferred.
I just need
a bit more
time.

Tonight, I'm doing something I might later regret, but it's good for me. And, besides, I can always hit delete later if need be. Below you will find me attempting to cover Alexi Murdoch's, "Wait". It's for my Steven who has believed in me from the moment we met. Somehow he never tires of me, and I'm hoping he'll keep waiting for me as I attempt to live out my dreams. So far, he's the only other one that can see them as clearly as I can. And that, my friends, is a sweet, sweet gift.



Wait (cover 2) by storimusic

Poetics: Worn

A million thoughts wrinkle weary head. Crinkle-y lines
crease with consternation. Dots of sweat threaten
then tumble down jagged contours of face
well-worn by life's storms. Un-shorn,
stubble alongside sorrow stationed
firm in blue eyes pooled in gloom,
bathed in misery. Primrose skin
sinks deep into bone. What's
left shows man, empty-
handed, heavy-
hearted, well-
worn.

Written for Poetics at d'Verse Poet's Pub. The theme was textures. Read about it here.

OpenLinkNight: Burn

Words flow like dripping honey,

spinning like J to the B did 

once upon a time . . .

Can I keep my sweet-tart, naive heart from 

spewing truth, 

trickling, tumbling, stumbling over big heads?

Selfish bedfellows buzzing, hello, in sing-song voices, 

flipping scintillating syllables, 

wreaking havoc on more than a fantasy island.

 We need to tweak proud minds. 

Reality check, one, 

two twist our own titillating triads

over heads haughty. 

Shhhh . . . 

Still hushed  whispers swell to screams,

fatigued from being caught up in extremes, 

in-betweens. 

Bruised hearts, weak and wounded 

suffer while strong and supercilious,

pretentious politicians 

lord kingly over what they deem animals

beneath leading feet 

led to nowhere. 

Dropped.

Crazy mixed-up-side-down mess. 

Can we push a progression 

of the people,

by the people, 

for the people? 

Turn a tide of love?

Let rational minds rise to surface?

Reverse inevitable mass destruction

without apocalyptic melt down?

Or  should we let it all

burn?

**Written for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Click over to add your voice.

Ghazal: When Night Treads Strong

White weeks of tender trysts still labored days
Erase all wrongs expressed when night treads strong

Two hearts lock careful, listen now for grace
All fear reverts, recedes when night treads strong

Anger over reason never displayed
Sharp chords of chaos cease when night treads strong

All kindness stands up certain, does repay
Surrounds, sits sure, remains when night treads strong

Eterne never release the weary stray
The laurelled dare return when night treads strong

*Written for FormForAll - Ghazal. I will not try to explain this form, but you can read about it at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Hopefully, I didn't completely butcher this form. It was not an easy one, for sure. Oh, and I did fit my name in the last line. Lori/laurel means crowned. Thank you, Gay and John for quite the challenge!

Imperfect Prose: $5.00

Our little black Hyundai slows down at the stoplight off exit 5. I see her standing to the left. They always set up shop there, holding signs, needing, depleted, faces weary. Today, I am weary, too, but I can see I am not as weary as she. I look in her eyes from across the lanes of traffic, know that I want to give, know that some discourage this type of giving, know that better ways probably exist to give to her.

But, in this moment, I just want her to know I see her, want her to know I don't think she is less than, want her to know she matters. Her poverty matters. Her sadness matters. I turn to my husband who already has his wallet out. He pulls out the  only $5.00 bill he has and hands it to me. The unspoken words hover between us mid-air, no need to verbalize. My heart is thankful to have a husband who wants to give despite losing his job the day before. His first thought isn't to consider us, but to consider her. This, to me, is the complete measure of this man I love.

He knows each day has enough troubles of its own, that right now we have $5.00 to give, knows tomorrow we might not. I motion for her to come, and she does with head down. I speak to her so she will look up, know that she is not beneath me. Embarrassed gratitude is uttered, and she limps back to her place on the side of the road, the marked place, the forgotten place, the place of resignation.

Light turns green, and my heart hurts as I drive away from her, wondering where she will sleep tonight, what she will do tomorrow if drivers keep passing her by. I know that $5.00 won't change her world, but I also know that not giving $5.00 might change ours.

 *linking up with Imperfect Prose today. It is a lovely place to visit if you've never been.

OpenLinkNight: Faith

Last Friday, my husband and I were faced with the news he no longer has a job. Even though it stings to know what we might face in the future, our news is trivial in light of the suffering of much of the world tonight. I've had a bit of a block with words the past few days. I didn't know if I could come up with anything tonight. I ended up going back to the form Gay Cannon taught us (Rhyme Royal). I needed some guidance to help me beat my words into submission. What I've written is not particularly unique, but it has brought a bit of comfort to my weary soul. Thanks for stopping by. 

Faith

If shadows tempt to shake, let peace remain
sustain through crashing waves, through slamming seas
Faith sees more than the billows of fierce pain
looks past where doubts exist, where strength recedes
Upholds the weary head, the heart that bleeds
Faith, prudent, knows how far to bend the soul
believes, surrounds when weak, and sanctions hope.

*Written for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Feel free to stop by and take a look around.

Poetics: Tarry

Mark Kerstetter has given us an excellent prompt for inspiration today for Poetics at d'Verse Poet's Pub. We were challenged to write a poem inspired by Giorgio de Chirico - the man, his art or one of his works in particular. I chose The Anxious Journey, 1913.

Tarry

Walls taunt
crepuscule haunts
vacancy mocks
windows stare
hearts beware
obvious evades
choices yet unmade
every door
heavy heads abhor
as distant whistle screams
crushing present dreams
travelers
journey,
world's unseen
freedom,
please
tarry


*Please take time to visit d'Verse Poet's Pub. You'll be glad you did.

Election

My poem for yesterday's Meeting the Bar has been mocking me all day. It seemed an even bigger suck-fest this morning, so I've had words ringing in my ears all day. This isn't as rose-colored as yesterday's poem, but when I write happy it often seems to fall flat. What can I say? I have to find a way to do happy poems. Until then...

Election

Love,

no stranger,

bangs 

wandering hearts 

into submission

without permission, 

straighten's 

crinkled butterfly wings, 

makes sappy songs 

ring with meaning, 

leaves grown men 

entrenched, convinced.

Fusion's urgency beckons, 

never lessens 

flames eternal 

'til . . .

melodies shift.

Lover's irksome 

quirks surface. 

Scales fall fast.

Thud

exposing crud, 

repressed confessions 

ink black blots

on white pages. 

Rage replaces 

adulation.

Genie won't cram

back into bottle

once throttled.

What then?

Begin again?

Can wrong erase?

Incriminate?

Exonerate?

Lovers 

left 

to 

elect 

fate.

Meeting the Bar: Stay

*If this is your first time visiting this poem, you can click here to see the re-write that I did the day after. I kept a few of the elements and started over.

Stay

Lovers leap

every day

make life, love 

work when trouble lurks

round corners

a, b, c, d

Love deep 

repeat 

when life's melodies shift,

make sunshine

less than

golden

When demands 

of dawn to dusk

crinkle butterfly wings,

bring 

too many cracks

to love's shaken ground

turn happy upside down

instead 

of right side 

up, 

loyal lovers 

love 

again

even after fatigue sets in. 

Through good or bad,

happy or sad,

lovers can

stay

together.

*I borrowed a little from the great Al Green at the end. Thanks, Al.

** This is posted for Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft over at d'Verse Poet's Pub. I know this could be more than it is right now. I did trim some fat, but to be honest, I've looked at this one too many times. I kind of want to trash it. Perhaps there's something to be saved in it or perhaps not.

OpenLinkNight: Perform

Can he deliver

as the clock

tick-

tocks . . .

or only peacock 

across

world's stage?

Maturity needs be

more than a seedling

when push comes to shove

or rubber meets road.

Does he know what it takes

to make

dreams

come true?

Does he strut,

muck up the call

to do?

Shut mouth,

perform

when it matters?

When all-seeing eyes

are fixed upon him,

does he

have what it takes?

*Written under the wire for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. There are many poems waiting to be read. Come over and check them out.