January 28, 2010

The Throne (RWP#111)

December 21st, 2007 #25 by Sepulture (Mood Disorder)

Upon first seeing this picture, I had the immediate thought that it's central figure saw something much more than a broken chair. There seemed to be something darkly reverent about the entire composition… this is where it took me.
(thanks to singer/songwriter Mark Chestnut for the words, "broken promise land"...they have haunted me for years.)

A far expanse of nothingness,
baked bare earth, no comfort here.
Miles ahead toward dreams of sustenance,
in this, a broken promise land.

As weary travelers wander past,
each lost within their troubled minds.
Few notice else but their own road,
blinders focus each ahead.

A few may turn with questioned thoughts,
upon one straggler kneeling there,
long throughout the heat of day,
and into dusk and still of night.

They cannot see his focused gaze,
or understand his rapturous face.
His knowledge and blinding clarity,
to commune in silence and in prayer.

With deep resolve and steely spine,
locked in a struggle none can win.
To argue help and reasoning,
with One impervious to pleas.

This warrior with unbending soul,
determined never to concede,
but bestow his life to beg release,
for all the cattle who cannot see.

(Yes, it's a bit melodramatic...I think the news of Haiti was in my subconscious.)

January 20, 2010

The Gift (RWP #110)

(photo courtesy of Photobucket)

This week’s prompt left me with lumps on my forehead (from banging it on my desk!)
Here is what I came up with...

She wore her heart as a new spring blossom
Held gently in an open palm, ready,
Childlike, with all the best intentions.
Her gift, some small thing, yet significant.

Like all blooms, ultimately withering.
Colors fade, pollens dry and blow away.
Still she waited, now tentative; her eyes
Wavering, showing fewer tomorrows.

At last a taker. Not as first prayed for,
But a callused grasp; rougher, unequal.
No handsome prince; an honest offer still.

The contract sealed, a future now entwined.
Made to forget her dreams so innocent,
To live a life she truly never chose.

I had my “fluent in French” daughter-in-law choose a poem, (A Une Femme by Paul Verlaine), which I could not make heads or tails of! None of the words sounded even remotely like English (except one line I transliterated into, "My pendant contains egg salad"). So instead I chose to use the poem's structure, and as the French (to me at least) seem to be all about “amour” and yet seem so jaded about it, that thought gave me the idea for this piece.

January 14, 2010

Lost (RWP #109)

Something BAD happened with my blog and my original post of this poem was lost...here it is again in all it's bleak and morose glory.

To wait deep in silence
toward such things unseen-
pining for some minute
manna of hope and praise.

To pray for salvation
through sorrowful depths-
slope shouldered, now broken
flesh sundered from spirit.

To surrender, finished
to that slithering beast-
with syrupy poison
your soul now becomes stone.

January 06, 2010

Tick Tock (RWP #108)

(photo courtesy Photobucket)
No longer owning an actual dictionary, I instead used a few novels to randomly pick out words that interested me in a reverse alphabetical order. Then, since I am not one to follow directions very well, I scrambled them to MY liking!

Fickle Time.
ruthless, relentless.
electing when
to raise its
omnipotent head
and demand true

All but forgotten,
its sluggish trudge
becomes a
speeding train,
-wild and brakeless-
whistles blaring,
stopping for no one.

Anxious wait;
beloved loss;
unrealized dreams.
The ticking tyrant
chuckles, smile affixed,
quietly whispering,
“Pay attention”.

(the words I used were: whistle, trudge, servitude, ruthless, quiet, omnipotent, fickle, beloved)