No one knows the clandestine yearnings of my soul, The weight of an albatross, takes a heavy toll. Duplicitous or righteous nature, I know not which, Machiavellian or altruistic, change like a mercurial switch. An elegy perhaps for who I was, or maybe who I could’ve been, Weeping a wail of tears, trailing invisible down my chin. No eulogy for me, dead or alive, there will be no praise, A gift or gift, so much dependent on a simple turn of phrase. A writer tortured by words, hand bound by lack of time, Dancing whirls of ink, producing a little poetry and rhyme. A figurative filament burns, electric through my veins, Held captive by an unchosen life unable to break the chains. There is no incandescence at my journey’s closure, Yet, I walk the cobblestone’s the picture of composure. A flameless candle echoes, beseeching a hint of light, Purposeless in living, if it has not fire to fight.
Conquer now the darkness, the secrets of the soul, Stave off the raging powers, let your thunder roll! Naysayers and contradictors, syphon hopes and dreams, Layer yourself in armor, deafened to their screams. Write your words of power, let them proliferate, Cast in stone your dreams, be the master of your fate. Your ship is your command, you alone can lay its course, You have yourself to blame, if you live only in remorse. Don’t be a tortured human, everyone gets knocked down, Do you choose to get up again, or let go and drown? Don’t follow the mariner, in his ancient curse, Adversity is advantage, write a new and stronger verse. Life is perception – good and bad are hollow, No master and commander, ever had time to wallow. Pain is a hard teacher, but a great training ground, Heroics are exacting, bodies littered in the mound. Endeavor to excellence, assuage not the strenuous, Eloquence always favored over loquaciousness. Expect not enigmatic answers to life’s great mysteries, Simple secrets often lead, to the greatest eulogies.
Your life is an example or a warning, you choose, Sleuths often notice – Success? It leaves clues. Be the clue to someone’s Sherlock, unlock the mind, Altruism is easy to give, don’t make it hard to find. The weight of the albatross is lightened by many hands, The yearnings of your soul, God will understand. The clandestine cracks hide, in the heart’s crevices, But that’s where strength is born, in the dark recesses. Joy is in overcoming life’s challenge and obstacles, Happiness is fleeting, so aim for lasting goals. Forget the failures, learn from all you’ve tried, Set sail on the ocean of tears that you’ve cried, Let the filament burn white hot, electrify your drive, Don your dragon armor, thank God you are alive.
NaPoWriMo Day 29 Challenge: “Taylor Swift has released a new double album titled “The Tortured Poets Department.” In recognition of this occasion, Merriam-Webster put together a list of ten words from Taylor Swift songs. We hope you don’t find this too torturous yourself, but we’d like to challenge you to select one these words, and write a poem that uses the word as its title.”
Okay, so I didn’t follow the prompt exactly but I did use six of the ten words and kind of used one in the title. So, you know, coloring outside the lines but still in the sandbox so to speak!
The candle burns, flickering and flameless in the window’s edge, Fire conquered as if by magic, it’s hard to see the ledge, Beginning and end – so hard to find: trust not the eye of the mind.
NaPoWriMo Day 28 Challenge: “write a sijo. This is a traditional Korean verse form. A sijo has three lines of 14-16 syllables. The first line introduces the poem’s theme, the second discusses it, and the third line, which is divided into two sentences or clauses, ends the poem – usually with some kind of twist or surprise. You could also write a sijo in six lines – at least when it comes to translating classical sijo into English, translators seem to have developed this habit.”
Willpower doesn’t work, not in a real sense, Good habits are the fabrics, that give us license, To make better choices, better decisions each day, Nothing is worse than letting discipline slip away. At the end of evening, energy all used up and gone, Better to pay yourself first, diligent work at dawn. What could you accomplish, with a morning routine, That put’s priorities first, instead of the machine? At the end of the day, no time to delay, so drained, Before breakfast is the time to realign, less strained. Too taxing to wait, too much on your plate – Fate, cannot be left to chance, set your course straight. Make mornings matter, no room for chatter – At last, disciplined dreams are accomplished before breakfast.
I would like to alliterate on that which could obliterate, the sound my conscience does assonance. There is no mind, quite like mine, when it comes to explication of explanation, in frustration and infuriation, but assonance is not dissonance, and therefore, unlike a U-Boat hiding, let’s stay law abiding, and not let our consternation, become damnation, through some simple alliteration which with diligence and consonance, can ring with recognizance, if in cyphers we can decode, that secret sprawl that Git’s hub around so frequently in public commits, or is it committees? Whither here or whither there, tilting at windmills accomplishes nothing in the end except to make the wind feel superior and the tilter more inferior but alas, the time has passed and now the clock strikes into someone else’s slot because the tilter could not step down from the podium until well past the allotted hour – much like this poem has run it’s course numerous lines ago but continues to blather on like a blatherskite, but at least no owls (or was it vowels?), were butchered in consideration of this not quite alliteration and so at last, since the time has past, ado is bid, and the poet hid.
NaPoWriMo Day 26 Challenge: “write a poem that involves alliteration, consonance, and assonance. Alliteration is the repetition of a particular consonant sound at the beginning of multiple words. Consonance is the repetition of consonant sounds elsewhere in multiple words, and assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds.”
So I didn’t exactly follow the prompt but I did take inspiration from it.
Sitting in the castle window, breezes flowing like a melody, Book, half open on my lap, notebook open under my pen, letting the stories escape at last, out of my mind and onto page. Places I can only dream come alive in swirls of ink, dancing beneath my fingers. Giving life where before was barren, sharing my imaginary friends with the world, relaxed in my stone fortress, safe from life’s stormy harbors and jagged rock and hard place pains. A knight in shining armor standing guard at the door, disturb me not, he will ensure. A sword with blue bejeweled hilt hangs at the ready for me to wield, wicked as any pen, though perhaps, not as mighty. Content to bask, at least for a moment, in the peace and quiet stillness, silence like a melody playing in the wind – a song of the high tower. Jealous perhaps, if only for a moment, of Rapunzel in her peaceful respite. A perfect day, writing away, all the mysterious adventures tilting at windmills in the deep recesses of my mind. The ideal life of a writer, at least, for a day. Or two.
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— It came from out the dark and dreary night beyond my door. It came, it came from out of nowhere, from whence I know not, it flew out of shadow into my castle shallow, and scared me to my core. Staring at it’s beady eyes, black as tempest and beguiling, I was caught,
frozen, frozen, and unmoving I could not break away from the sight I bore. Captured by it’s gaze so startling, there was no sign of parting, no way to ignore. Color drained from my parlor, from my face, my neck to collar, as though shot. I knew not what had happened, when that Raven came a rapping, with a soar. Out of the night so dreary, through the mist, a bit leery, know not what’s in store. The Raven, he spoke, yes, he spoke, sounded like a hollow croak, yes, it ought,
it ought to be so easy, bird language, light and breezy, but what it said I am not sure. The language of Ravens, it is fickle, sounds written like a sickle, sounds like nevermore. Oh, what could it mean, is this bird a thing or fiend, how will I know if or not? Why would he fly so far and high to seek me out upon the river’s shore? What good am I? I wish to cry! And ask my questions, let him not ignore. But staring at his beak, I hardly speak, in uncertainty I am frozen, caught.
The bird, he stares, almost unawares of the silence descended upon the floor, Or perhaps that is the game, maybe even why he came and flounced from the shore. If it be death he’s selling, the grim reaper will hear me yelling, his elixir unbought. I will not be beguiled from like some bird-fearing child, no matter what may lay in store. Ghastly grim and ancient creature, in my night, shall not feature, out comes the birdshot.
I will not stand to be frightened, oh my senses, oh so heightened, I cannot ignore. That which is or maybe isn’t, why couldn’t it be a pheasant? That come through my door. As from it’s gaze I pull away and stumble back into my castle, oh it’s such a terrible hassle, but I cannot be made to such behavior allow uncaged, and so the Raven shall not linger, as I rest the trigger, my finger, and the barrel of the gun, aimed to make that Raven run, but in a flash of midnight feathers, I am pulled from the levers, as a shadow hovers where there was none before …
In this moment of demise, is when I realize that the Raven was to come before, he was but the messenger, not the harbinger, for what was to come from the shore, No, the Raven is not the fiend, something worse than I could’ve dreamed, is what came in shadow through my door. The Raven, he was the warning, if only he’d come in morning, but I did ignore. Now the shadow slowly creeps, into the castle deep, and I am the new Nevermore.
There is such power at their disposal, superhuman strength and speed, Lasers and webs shooting out, a lasso of truth when there is need.
Jewelry that deflects bullets, skin like steel, near impenetrable, Super speed, super stealth, beings, near perfect, invulnerable.
Intelligence, crafty cleverness, abilities scientifically explained – Science and magic, not so different, to the eye more properly trained.
Choices made, good and bad, some used for benefit of humanity, Others choose a less noble path, use their gifts to create chaos for vanity.
Heroes too can be vain, even unkind, it is said we should never meet them, Real life is hard pressed to live up to fiction, ideals are hard to follow in the end.
We curse them, in our daily lives, why do they not rescue us? Have not time for our problems, too busy out making a fuss.
But if there are heroes, why do they not solve more issues of the day, Why are super villains the only bad, that they try to capture and put away?
Where are the superheroes when we need them most? They don’t come, Not for us, not for our mundane problems, for us, superheroes, we have none.
Except, maybe that’s the point, saving us is not the job of a superhero, Instead they inspire us on what can be, if we but believe and try to grow.
They show us an ideal to aspire to, they show us their flaws and pain, They show us the sad fall out, when a super villain is out for gain.
Super abilities make not the person, they only amplify what’s already there, It can make you super mean and greedy, or make you super kind and fair.
Superheroes provide the lessons, sort of like Santa’s little elves, They teach not to rely on rescue, but rather how to save ourselves.
An epic battle does ensue, it happens now and ‘gin, A terrible friction does exist, since time did begin. No one knows what started off, this feud since time’s beginning, Nor is it clear if ground is gained, or if either is winning. It is a war that has been waged, and watched by hundreds, millions, The whole world takes notice, it is sought to see by billions. The battles great, carry on, and blacken the whole Earth, Darkness covers all the land, when amid its dearth. Yet, people come from afar, to view this battle rage, A war between two massive beings, who’ll fight to the next age. The sky, it turns inky black, and a ring of fire glows, More than one has been blinded, by witnessing the throws, of this battle, as it beckons, so hard to look away, Never knowing who will be the victor, at the end of day. It is a hard conception, perhaps to understand, Why two things would fight, but not for wealth or land. Not for goods or services, no extra power gained, They are the two most powerful, creatures, the sky to reign. This mystery is a riddle, rewritten though never done, When the Earth is eclipsed, in the battle of Earth and Sun. Some might think Sol the winner, because he has such might, There’s still that ring of fire, but Luna brings the night. She will not be outwitted, our blue, grey, midnight friend, And that’s why this battle rages, from beginning of time to end. There is no hope for victory, both parties evenly matched, What could have been a friendship, is a feud that can’t be patched. In the meantime, people clamor, tis a sight few want to miss, As the world is cast in shadow, by a solar eclipse.
Silver and blue, entwined, never ending, stars sparkle, aligned, a union of two, under the eyes of one, a rope of three strands, not easily broken. Silver and blue, entwined, never ending, a symbol, a token. The shimmer of love everlasting, worn forever, it’s radiance, casting. Silver and blue, twisting and turning, living and breathing, a new life discerning. Silver and blue, so much meaning, more than two simple colors. A symbol to the union and to others. Silver and blue, adorned on the hand, few things hold more power than a wedding band.
One horse charged and then another, Lance’s clashed, a sound like thunder, There was a clang of swords clashing, Bodies slammed together bashing. Twas hard to tell friend from foe, Fields covered in bodies and snow. The grim reaper had a busy day, Two by two carrying the knights away. Few thought it would come to this, Except perhaps the lady of the mist. Who long ago possessed a sword, That now was fighting among the horde. No one knew this battle would be the last, The final string cut, fates die was cast. A mortal wound leveled upon the field, A king and kingdom’s fate both sealed. A king lay dying, in death’s grasp caught, His loss spelling the end of Camelot.
NaPoWriMo Day 20 Challenge: Write a poem that depicts a historical event.
Okay, so I may have cheated a bit, but I couldn’t help but go a little Arthurian here. Though this is a great prompt that I look forward to going back to when I have more time. I’ve written many historical pieces before and look forward to doing so again.
Rhyme N Review 