Inspired by my friends, Marie Elena and Walt, on their blog, Poetic Bloomings. This is a list of words: walk, Autumn, carrot, lake, race, embrace, song, throw, annual, ego – and as the first step of the exercise, we need to write a sentence using each. Sentences are not connected, however, they need to have some poetic potential.
1. I walk alone in the garden of Eden where flowers bloom in fairy tale haze.
2. Autumn follows summer playing with it, not chasing, just singing in a duet of increasingly ragged tunes.
3. The best sun screens for children contain carrots thus making a jolly triangle of orange childhood.
4. Mirroring the snow-white peak is the lake, quietly caressing me.
5. You can’t win at a rat race unless you’re a rat.
6. Yoga teachers always say, “Embrace yourself”. Are we allowed to pray?
7. Who can hear the song of the cricket?
8. Throw a ball of snow.
9. I used to take part in annual competitions, I used to be thrilled and wanted to win.
10. One’s greatest struggle is the one for subduing one’s ego.
To see other poets’ worthy lines, Poetic Blooming website is at a click distance.
I can’t wait to see what the next step will be.
Tired of your know-it-all, nerdy reputation,
Will you try to be a different one?
One that looks for any hot-chick’s sensual elation,
That much needed when you want to ride on with the gang?
Will you try it many times,
Every time believing you’ll succeed?
Every time you reach to what you need,
Will you find you change your mind?
What other people have is their own, not fitting you.
My love, you’ll know your own,
Of course, you doubt it now, I know.
And doubt’s what makes us free to choose our path.
Walk blind and try to make your math.
Wondering about the aftermath.
A Slippery Tongue
The lock chain was broken
all minutes flew away
in hysteric flurry.
A runner sent to look for them
lost all idea of time,
hard reality hit him in the back
(good his hour glass survived)
until he dropped in the grass,
his pants turning unwashable green.
The slippery tongue of the bell
dispelled shock to scanty listeners –
the village was dispopulated.
A boy with just one shoe
sat calmly in front of the late cinema screen
holding a shard in his hands.
Our broken lock chain,
which helped the minutes go away,
and then the years, then today.
(c) Mariya Koleva, 2017
This poem was written for Brenda’s Wordle prompt #330. Prompt there are used to bring extra pleasure, because of the variety of courses they can take.
Fire and Ice
Fire and Ice, or We, in a Devastated Land
our fire is still consuming.
the ice on the winter ground will melt.
What will be left of us,
in this devastated land
where emptiness wears us down?
(c) Mariya K, 2017
This was written after the prompt at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, for December 16, 2017
This is a poem for the Poetic United, of 22.03.2017, the prompt is Mirror
Shiny surface, never changing
With no image of its own,
With no value, but the one
That the looker brings in front.
Darkening surface, during nightfall
Casts no shadow of its own,
Has no depth, but the one
Carried in the soul in front.
Glowing surface, all ablaze
With no glamour of its own,
Holds no valour, but the one
Reflected from the knight in front.
I haven’t written for a long while. I also have issues when it comes to privacy protection. Most probably, it’s all in my head, but I feel unwell when plenty of people see what I do.
I stopped writing for another reason, of course. Privacy issues can be easily resolved when you use pen and paper. I simply stopped writing because I’m not immortal any longer. I lost my edge and the meaning of things I had in store to tell readers. My opinions don’t matter to myself even, let alone anybody else.
Personally, I was diagnosed with something I’d rather not talk about. My struggle moved to that line.
Having said all this, I don’t feel better and I don’t feel safer. Here are two small and rather badly written poems that made me feel I am about to enter poetry once more. After writing them, though, I hardly wrote one more. This is not the output I was used to. Therefore, I don’t consider it a come back to writing. I’m really sorry for that. Writing was one of my ways out. My resources are depleting.
The yellow stones of the facade across
Belie me of their ancientness,
Remind me of the cozy books
and kindly teachers.
Behind them – office sternness,
Three years after Brutal Minds
I get the courage to wake up,
start the journey back to myself,
© soulmary, 2017
Things have been strange.
Jobs have transformed.
People have changed
to look more like worms
and less like athletes,
to do their daily work
with whitish soft-skin fingers
not knowing how to handle a simple tool
Like a screwdriver, for instance.
Things have evolved
and the planet looks like trash
we crawl on our bellies
licking the mud
where chocolate chips have mingled
with tears, cockroaches’ blood and peaceful piss.
(c) MK, 2016
Tell Us What You Wish to See Here
Bring out the dreams
Tell us what you wish to see here
Sing it out,
or yell it.
Better out than in, they say.
Although they often speak
They often come across you wishes
And ignore them
They are embarrassed by you.
By your plain looks,
by the lack of special shine
in your hair,
or your eyes.
That’s why they ignore you
Until you start ignoring them
At which point they get annoyed
And start paying attention
in order to hurt you.
© 2016, MK
Process Notes: We often say in our office texts things like “We want to be useful to our readers, so tell us what you wish to read or see here”. That was how this came to be.
The Bloody Trail of the Bitter Shark
It came one morning with the mist
I washed my bloody hands
The ocean water spilled
Champagne-like around me
Then I saw the trail of tomato paste
Getting thick so fast
That I couldn’t make my best move
To the safety of the shore.
My hands were bloody
Red with fear and disgust
My throat swallowed lumps
Between choked breaths
The morning mist listless
The bloody trail of the bitter shark.
Lack of Creativity
Have I been asleep or awake for too long?
On the loose or under pressure,
I don’t know.
© 2015, MK