Hateful and wishful to cut all links
to teasers and trolls;
Live-streaming to fear from the rat race
chasing the thunder;
Peaceful indulgence for cherry-pie loves
and all the accompanying college-girl spite
tires me out-of-the-worldly
bringing the cosmos together on this very plate just under my nose.
© Mariya K, 2020
Process notes: I suppose, with the month’s end coming, I get more tired of poeming seriously. So, this is just a playful word weaving.
Yesterday morning, I saw
the beautiful beta fish on top of the fish tank
Lying there, hardly breathing
The superb colourful fish that draws
everyone’s look onto itself
with all its gorgeousness
was simply lying there,
in the middle of the glass roof,
far from any opening,
under the hot lights –
on the brink of death.
Was the fish tank too small?
Did it feel like a trap?
So silent and listless,
the fish isn’t inclined to chat.
The high wind
Gasps loud through the door
Twigs whirl in.
Recently, I haven’t been able to make up my mind whether I prefer to produce a haiku or an American haiku. So, here it is.
A moment is a lick at a chocolate candy
where you get a blast of taste, a puff of smell, a sticky melt
in your hand, seeing the brown disgrace it, but
Or was it a smell of the brown and seeing the stickiness?
No matter which, you still hear nothing.
Or that isn’t so similar, after all, as a moment can be so much more.
How much more exactly can a moment be?
Blimey if I have the answer to that.
The brown stickiness of a moment
can fade with no memory of eternity.
So the candy will be eaten and all life will pass
as a string of licks until its wholeness is exhausted.
A string of green licks will end a poisonous crescendo
crowning the moment with a poem lasting longer
than the moment itself.
For this poem, I used the prompt ‘Moment’ from Poetic Asides and a long list of instructions from the NaPoWriMo site called ‘Twenty Little Poetry Projects’. I didn’t use all the project prompts from there, but got enough to make poeming very entertaining. Check it out and try to follow the instructions to your own fantastic poem.
Follow the instructions –
after each tactile contact
wash your hands profusely
and with soap.
Then, I follow my own instruction and
apply hand cream with generosity.
With so much use of cream,
I hope the supplies won’t deplete
because my skin just isn’t complete
when it doesn’t beyond-all-retreat
soak in it.
In Day 3 I offer you this attempt at looking at the current emergency with a sense of humour. Poetic Asides offered the prompt of ‘Follow [blank]’, and NaPoWriMo site suggested poets to generate a list of rhymes/near rhymes from a set of words of our choice. I looked around and picked up words like desktop, face cream, file. Then, I used my original ones, to be honest, although I checked the generated word pool and was quite intent to use those, as well. As usual, I did simply follow my poetic pen.
I’m Waiting in A Tiresome Line
Looking down at my shoes
with their fine lace of cool design
(Which are not actually mine, but that’s a matter of another story)
While at the same time
A young and no-doubt-sweet-for-his-mother child
Dressed in cute green overalls,
A cruel spear in his right hand, which I hear is tenderly called ‘magic wand’,
Takes a bite into a sandwich much relished,
Mumbling crumbs and vegetable pieces through
His tirelessly prattling mouth.
A moment later, crumbs and spit are on my shiny shoes.
Trying to wipe them away tangles the mixture deeper in the lace
(not mine, remember?)
On which I decide to chase
The poor mother to a bitter end for why she didn’t mind her beast.
Looking at her face,
Takes my anger off the messy trace.
And I wave off her distressed question if she should pay
For cleaning of the lace,
As I continue waiting in the line
(c) 2020 soulmary
Written for the Sunday Whirl #444. There are some great pieces shared there, check them out.
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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