Leaves me confused, to the core of my brain
The same thing said, repeating a refrain
I try to expel it, but all to vain
It results in stress, puts me under strain
Oh, stop this dripping of thoughts, like slow rain
Remind me rather of things of some gain
Like times spent in the fields of gold, of grain
Running beside the huffing, puffing train
Lying still, thinking of fiends to be slain
But, no, don't remind me of all the pain
Promise me you’ll stay
Promise me you’ll stay, never go away
if from me you stray, my sky will be gray
not one single ray, will brighten my day;
my fears, please, allay, my tears don’t downplay
my love, don’t betray, lest my heart decay,
and crumble like clay, your loss would me slay;
goodbye never say, these words, please obey
tomorrow, today, forever, say yea
to this game we play, with me only lay,
for always, your prey, let none your love sway.
A syllable used in every fine line,
makes the sentence seem without repentance.
We write to write words
that fall on a page,
hoping the story
will be all the rage.
Verbs and nouns,
a strong use for the inked quill,
Pronouns and adverbs
create your own thrill
At day’s end with inked quill hidden away,
all the words written read how you would say;
now you go about other things to do,
tomorrow, the inked quill will wait on you.
I do not know how to feel
Goes so fast
It escapes me
It liberates me
Who am I now
but a hermit
A love for solitude and peace
Leave me here alone now
I don't know how
To explain the things I feel
Is it real?
I feel confused, yet free
a joy in me
I will follow the call
that I find sacred
I cannot shake it
Home for the New Year
Another day home, undisturbed and still,
a tug-o-war of idleness and will,
to seize and create, or simply waste time,
to achieve or fall short, to sink or climb,
but what is to seize when every next day
is sheltered-in-place, and duty’s to stay
home more time still, akin to a squatter
sitting stagnant in tepid bath water.
Quarantine for wellbeing shall prevail,
as many lives endure buoyant yet stale.
© J.A. Flintsmith 2020
#challenge #poetry #newpoetry #amwriting #COVID #pleasestayhome #pleasewearamask
What to do with these syllables you say?
Create a storm, a view, a swanky play.
Folks will love you for it, or hate the day.
They chose to spend the time rather than pray.
Sometimes it’s not what you meant to convey.
But what they read between the lines today.
That lead their hollow hearts to such dismay.
Your wish not granted, their will yet to sway.
Nature or reason the battle betray.
Win, lose or draw the thoughts will all be grey.
Structure Without Walls
There's something about structure that makes things
easier, and harder. So will you spring
a trap for me, or let me fall off this
bridge? And what's underneath? Will you not miss
my spiraling descent to long-winded
madness of words uncurling; rescinded
fantasies will linger on. But worry
not, I'll take this bait and let the flurry
falling faster be the next paradox
flight; until then, here's a beautiful box.
“Do you know,” I say, “that this is your one-hundredth birthday?”
“My what?” Stella crows, her white eyebrows furrowed, the translucent blue-green-pearl colored skin of her forehead puckered into wrinkles.
“You’re one hundred today,” I friendly-shout.
“I can’t hear you,” Stella says, nose wrinkled, its drooping tip unhappy with me, “do you know, though,” her thin lips turn upward, lifting the white hairs on her upper lip, “it’s my birthday today.”
Just say “NO” to ‘the most likes’
I considered going round on my trikes,
But decided on riding on my bikes.
I rode along on many busy pikes.
I saw a kid with thumbs in dual dikes.
I tell Prose people to go take the hikes
When they say I must garner 'the most likes'.
(That gives me a swift kick in all my psychs.
I want their bikes to ride over some spikes.)
I contemplate hollering o’er the mikes
‘Likes’ are unfair, so we'll all go on strikes.
In and Out
I staggered through a fractured dream, and in
The depths were, angelic and glistening,
A dozen mothers; each one free from sin.
Said I, to the women I found within
This dream my imagination did spin,
’I love you all, of that there is no doubt,
This from the rooftops I would gladly shout.
You should not fret, neither worry nor pout,
For those who would condemn thee, I will rout.
In reply, they said: absolutely nowt.