Late Again

Photo Credit: Peter Kratochvil

Photo Credit: Peter Kratochvil

If you don’t hurry, you’re going to be late again.

But I want to stop and smell the roses.

If you’d done it sooner, you wouldn’t have to rush.

But I enjoy the rush.

You don’t have time for that right now.

If not now, then when? We’re not promised tomorrow.

You need to think and plan ahead.

But I want to live fully in the beauty of now.

Hurry or you’ll miss it!

But I want to milk every last drop of sweetness from this moment

at the expense of being a little late for the next one

.

I Miss the Rain

Photo by Amy McGrath

Photo by Amy McGrath

When I feel a sense of normal

on board my crazy train,

When the shiny carousel is spinning

inside my manic brain,

I feel overwhelmed with too much joy

when I’m used to just the pain.

I know this feeling makes no sense;

it’s too hard to explain…

Though today’s awash in sun,

Sometimes I miss the rain.

 

 

Naive Explorer

fifty-shades-of-greyI love the prompt from OctPoWriMo today! Much like the playful approach to yesterday’s collage poem, today was about finding a poem in a page of someone else’s words. I am a dedicated book lover and believe I could have found a poem on a page of nearly any book. Given my background, I was even tempted to try it with a page from a math textbook, but decided I wanted something else… something a bit more… adult. I ended up using the first page of Chapter 2 of E.L. James’ book 50 Shades of Grey. Yes, the content of my poem lines up with the content of the book. What can I say other than it suited my mood tonight?

 

Blackout Shades of Grey

 

heart pounding scramble

fortunately cleansing what’s left

equilibrium affected normally

limits feel foolish, imaginary

on the surface, irritated,

gladly brief

cruising toward his cryptic agenda, I shudder

elaborate pink aftermath of breaking bounds rather intense

innocent idiot

I didn’t think

Confessions of the Woman Within

A fragment of my collection of clippingsA fragment of my collection of clippings
Leftovers after sortingLeftovers after
sorting

I was responsible for the prompt today over at OctPoWriMo. I had this idea a couple of weeks ago when I was working on a collage project for my Introduction to Design class. I’m sharing with you some photos of my process today as I began sifting through my own collection of magazine clippings to share some of the interesting combinations of words and phrases that appeared. I entered the process with no plan. I picked the words intuitively as I sorted through them.

Words that worked together, but not for this poemWords that worked together, but
not for this poem

Words that seemed to make sense together were placed together. After a short time (maybe 30 minutes or so), a theme began to emerge. The best part of this process for me is knowing that this is a poem that I would never have written any other way. The final image is my poem laid out on my sofa.

 

finished found word poem

May I have my attention, please?

Don’t judge! Try this…this works!

Avoid the mainstream. Go bold by stepping outside the norm.

Who needs perfectly cast, feast for the eyes,

death-defying, make-believe Mr. Nice Guy?

Holy cow!

I have a confession to make.

I dream of …

looking-for-fun-on-the-edge, hot or not,

there’s-a-joke-in-there-somewhere,

touch and be touched, passion into power

pink boyfriends.

We can work with that!

Enough without Fire

Image by Amy McGrath

Image by Amy McGrath

At OctPoWriMo today, we were prompted to begin with the familiar words “once upon a time” and end with “and they lived ________”. After a long(ish) week dealing with a fibromyalgia flare-up, I wasn’t up to writing a full story, so I fell back on one of my favorite poetic forms, the blitz. Other than the beginning line, no attempt was made to have this poem come together in any cohesive way. It is very stream-of-consciousness (welcome to how my mind works!). This form even prescribes how to make the title and I must admit, I do like the title. Maybe there’s another poem hidden there…

 

 

Once upon a time

Once is never enough

Enough for me

Enough said

Said too much

Said no one ever

Ever and ever

Ever after

After the loving

After midnight

Midnight train to Georgia

Midnight express

Express lane

Express yourself

Yourself or someone like you

Yourself first

First in flight

First place

Place value

Place setting

Setting sail

Setting the stage

Stage fright

Stage design

Design elements

Design process

Process of elimination

Process mapping

Mapping skills

Mapping the brain

Brain fart

Brain science

Science and technology

Science fair

Fair grounds

Fair trade

Trade places

Trade off

Off to see the wizard

Off with her head

Head in the clouds

Head of the class

Class system

Class ring

Ring the bell

Ring of fire

Fire island

Fire and ice

Ice…

Island

Halfway House

*We are halfway through OctPoWriMo! That’s 15 poems (after today) in 15 days! I’m so thrilled to have managed to keep up with the challenge and keep up with my full-time school schedule. Today’s prompt invited us to work with the idea of “halfway” and see what that brought up for us. Here’s what happened:

Created in Life Book 2014 with Effy Wild

Created in Life Book 2014 with Effy Wild

I spent half of my life

in half-hearted pursuit

of someone else’s idea

of who I should be.

I found the half-life of my heart

was about five years.

Completely depleted after twenty years

I stumbled into art.

Art-making and writing poems became

the halfway house of my soul.

I Beg Your Pardon, Da Vinci, Sir

By Leonardo da Vinci (File:Última_Cena_-_Da_Vinci_5.jpg) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

By Leonardo da Vinci (File:Última_Cena_-_Da_Vinci_5.jpg) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.”
― Leonardo da Vinci

I beg your pardon, Da Vinci, sir,

but I have to disagree.

To fully understand its sense

a poem must be seen.

A poem, you see, is more than words

to be skimmed or read aloud.

A poem is shaped like sculptor’s clay,

careful not to overcrowd.

 Further, sir, you must understand

how your paintings make me feel.

For example, the Last Supper

makes that moment oh so real.

I feel a sense of angst among

the twelve apostles there,

and I feel impending doom

in Christ who is aware.

Knowing his death is close at hand

offering bread for them to share

like his body, it is broken

I feel confusion as they stare.

I hope that now you understand

your paintings make me feel

As I hope within my poetry

a vision doth reveal.

**Written in response to the quotation above provided on the OctPoWriMo blog.