Promptly poetry!

One of the most important questions has always been; did he come in the front door or the back door?

One person strongly suspected it was the front door, and everyone else wasn’t really sure.

Create a story, poem or explanation for which way you believe he came in, and why it’s so important. 

No. 206 – 25/7/16

Take a step back,

– and smile,

Pour yourself a cup of tea,

– stay a while.

Watch the moon rise on the back of the sun, 

Take a deep breath and count to one. 

Surely the world knows me,

enough to call my name,

So I think I’ll go now,

If it’s all the same.

When we wend the pathways,

I remember every turn,

But everything is different,

The way that rock is set up against that fern.

And the sky is smiling at me,

as I take a boast and set out,

to sea.

-zu

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Now you can see my terrible writing!! 😂

Also at the top you can see yesterday’s poem! No. 206 “Hope” 24/7/16

No. 205 23/7/16

Have all the words been spoken,
Have i used up all the space,
Given to me to fill with words?
Will the former words never be erased?

Or will they give me endless buckets,
For my everlasting word flow?
I’m not scared of getting buckets,
But what if my flow of words run slow?

What if I never fill a fountain pen,
Or half the notebooks I’ve bought?
Will I one day stare at pale skies,
And find that I have not even one thought?

-zu

No. 199 “Playground Sand” 10/7/16

Our playground sand was full of sticks,

And black dirt from other places.

It was made of splintered wood,

And metal.

The swinging bridge belonged to a castle,

Bold knights jousted.

We played on it in the dim time before school started,

And after.

I remember it being quiet,

After the buses pulled away,

It was a secret hour.

Later we got a new playground,

Shiny, perfect.

Much more fun to play on.

By our own efforts it was filled with new sand,

Flour, silky, sand.

That was a good day,

When the whole school stood shoulder to shoulder,

Shovelling smooth sand.

We gave the old playground to the younger kids,

Who we could boss around.

It never changed, beneath pine trees,

Sand, and dirt and sticks,

Below a refuge,

Of slides and other contraptions.

-zu

Aside

Prompt: A Peck of Gold by Robert Frost

Dust always blowing about the town, 

Except when the sea fog laid it down, 

And I was one of the children told, 

Some of the blowing dust was gold. 

 

I challenge you to write about something you were told and believed as a child.

-zu

 

No. 198 “I Live on the Ocean” – 9/7/16

A listing boat on listless sea, amber sunsets to catch,

Heading home by the long way to a house with a roof of thatch.

Made endless lists on the way home, noting all I have made,

Out in the glaring sun, the sail casts little shade.

Am I the least bit original? Out here I’ll never know,

I think I’ll lose the alphabet, the ocean can take it and go.

Do you remember that feeling? from no water and too much sun,

We used to forget to drink water when we were little and having fun.

Well that’s what I’m feeling now, scorched from a wood fire,

Homey wood fire is not crashing waves and how quickly of it I tire.

On land my words are off balance, used to the shifting waves,

They tilt an crash into porcelain cups then go off and hide in caves.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, come and play in the sun”

But I miss my afternoon oceans, each moment the ocean stuns.

Do you know when I love the ocean most? When it’s flat and quiet and still,

A luminous pale blue, tinged with green and pale yellow chill.

When there are never any waves and the breeze is made of candy,

Though the inky night will soon pounce, and all that is left will be sandy.

Which is not at all pleasant, so I rinse thoroughly in the dark sea,

And dry off under the silent moon, and go to sleep under olive trees.

-zu

No. 177 “None of this makes any sense” – 31/5/16

As I walk into the bathroom I am scared by the brown shower curtain rinsing in the abandoned bath water,

It looks like a giant sea monster, probably octopus, encased in resin,

So still and quiet, the bracken brown folds trapped in light blue water.

Later in the kitchen, my face is reflected awkwardly back from the shiny silver sauce pan,

That I have never made a sauce in.

I feel melancholy because I do not have any favourite words that bounce out of my mouth quietly fanning themselves into the world.

None of this makes sense, but maybe… when the clouds float apple green and sunshine turns to wispy marshmallow when it hits the ground.

Somewhere, sometime, this must make sense,

To have a sea monster in my bath, and a sauce pan that is used for soup.

But not here. Right here. Right now.

Here is a soft moment in the fabric of time, where it all seems to have rubbed thin,

And the universe is bottle blue, collecting momentum, as it rolls down a green hill towards a field of daisies,

Snapping the single thread,

That held this poem together.

-zu

Follow for One Poem Every Day! 

Ahem, yes, well. I seem to have given up in my idea of never posting a poem that wasn’t ‘good’. I have plenty of poems that, well, what makes a poem good anyway? This could be the best poem you’ve read all day (have you only read one poem today?) or the loudest, depending on how you read it. Art is subjective and poetry even more so (now I’m just trying to sound clever). I’m reminded of another poem, by Wendell Berry, a quote from it goes: 

Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.  

And on that note, goodnight!