With the onset of February, we begin with our series of guest hosts helping present our poetic prompts.
The title of our prompt is no reflection on our co-host by any stretch of the imagination. The guest this week has done much behind the scenes in the production of our anthology book(s). Paula Wanken is always willing to go that extra mile to assist us and was Marie Elena’s right hand in the editing of the POETIC BLOOMINGS: The First Year. You see her work around the sites most of us frequent and her acumen with Shadorma and Pi-Ku forms makes her work quite distinctive. On her blog, Echoes From The Silence , Paula splays her heart, emotions and faith in a most compelling way. Far from the neophyte she proclaimed herself to be when she first burst onto the scene, Paula has an outlook we all should look to emulate. She’s one of the truly good people! For more about Paula, visit her POET RECOLLECTION page under the Poetic Bloomings tab.
And with that thought, we tend to always look for the good in people (or at least we try). But sometimes it isn’t always a fairy tale existence. The rosiest colored glasses often fail us. Sweeping naivete to the curb, we realize there are some not so nice folks out there.
Yet still believing we “pay for our sins”, make a list of seven things that could happen to bad people.
Use one of them as the title of your poem. No one is asking you to judge anyone. Just come up with ideas and let your muse do the rest!
WALT’S SOLUTION:
APPEALING CONVICTION
From across the room she caught his eye,
winsome beauty in a pert upturned nose.
He chose her from the bevy and left no doubt
he was out of her league. He was intrigued
and determined to meet her, If he could unseat her
in the direction of the dance floor he was sure
he would woo her. He saw her as his new addiction.
Her appeal bolstered his conviction. He’ll plead insanity.
© Copyright 2014 – Walter J Wojtanik
PAULA’S PRONOUNCEMENT:
SERVING TIME (a shadorma)
For a year
he wronged her with lies
and deceit.
He now serves
a life sentence regretting
the mistakes he made.
© Copyright 2014 – Paula M. Wanken
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
DEALER
Come to me
with your cash in hand:
you get drugs;
you get highs
and I get all the riches.
Snitches get stitches.
copyright 2014, William Preston
You’ve tackled some of the most down and dirty of them well, William. Great start this morning! 🙂
Ooo … really nasty. Good one, William. All true. Well worth heading as a warning, wouldn’t you say?
“Bad to the bone,” indeed. You caught it in 6 short lines, Bill.
did your evil twin write this? You’re too sweet to be writing anything with “snitches get stitches” in it! Nice work, William.
This was bad to the bone!
Snitches get stitches 🙂
Ah…a shadorma. 🙂
Ha ha ha – good one William! Love it!
Snitches get stitches- hahahha. Walt, Paula, clever.
Fallen
We liked you
was happy she was happy
you were a computer whiz
very successful and driven
but no one knew about your…
sideline, tightrope walker
and juggler of clandestine
things.
Yes, you were confidant,
cocky even, worked without a net.
We saw you lying on the mat –
it was such a satisfying splat!
Leaves one a little quizzical but I like the images, very vivid! 🙂
This calls to mind an ex-something-or-other.
Exactly -my niece’s.
Oh, my, such satisfaction. Debi, I’ve got to give you credit for setting a scene and giving great direction to your word actors. Excellent.
Great use of word play, Debi!
Love the send-off. Such a pleasing use of the word splat!
ooooh…I like ” juggler of clandestine/things.”
Great images and delivery at the end
Great imagery. 🙂
Love how the story builds!
Wonderful poem!
PIMP
With the cars and the girls and the bling,
he seemed to have most everything
save a good reputation;
he was a pariah
but, all in all, the
quintessential
example
that crime
pays.
copyright 2014, William Preston
Wow. Impacting…well played, William.
Indeed!
William, have you been out trolling for bad guys or watching lots of TV? Another good example of what’s likely to find you on the streets if all you’re looking for is an easy time. Good for you.
The form fits the message so well here – like a stiletto, or a finger pointing!
Good one William !
[…] PROMPT # 140 – BAD TO THE BONE : GUEST HOST – PAULA WANKEN […]
Worry About Yourself
~
Misfortune can mean opportunity
adversity could be our university,
trouble overcome
becomes life’s ultimate lessons
for ourselves
and maybe
an example for others.
We get to decide how we’ll respond
to our specific set of circumstances.
Will we allow difficulties to be a disability
or choose to embrace the plan?
What was considered to be a weakness
has the ability of transforming
into our greatest strength.
Will we shape our own plot?
Will we choose
to make a university from our adversity
or will we hinder our personal evolution
with doubt and despair
becoming our own worst enemy?
Will we step forward with courage
earning our deserved diploma honorably?
We’re the student of our one individual life,
we must only learn our own set of lessons
we needn’t impose our curriculum upon others
they have their own design and time-
their own free will and choices.
Worry about yourself.
~
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
And this is sure to make you laugh…or at least smile… 🙂
Happy weekend poetic peeps!
Opps…I didn’t think it would embed, my intentions were to have a clickable link to the video. Remove it if it’s bothersome. 🙂
OH MY GOODNESS! I AM TOTALLY CRACKING UP OUT HERE! Precocious little thing, isn’t she? Thanks for sharing!
And as for your poem: Brilliant. 🙂
I think this is wonderful, and I love the play on adversity and university.
Wonderful, Hannah. So true and poignant. This could be a short lesson with big impact for every student in at least middle school, to give them something to think about as they move into high school. It would be a lesson well worth the time spent on its study.
Excellent.
I agree this would be a wonderful lesson for everyone to learn but Claudsy is right esp wonderful to learn it early. Great job Hannah
“adversity could be our university”… very true, Hannah
And oh my, that video is a riot.
This is too cute. The video, I mean.
Been there, done that, got the cap and gown.
🙂
I echo the sentiments about the pairing of adversity and university – well done! (And…I LOVE the “worry about yourself” video!)
Good one Hannah!
Ha ha ha ha! Great little video Hannah! Love that matter of fact little voice! Great poem too!
Thank you for the co-hosting and examples Paula and Walt!
I second Hannah on this.
Oh my — a busy Sunday for me and little time to be online…and I log in midday Monday to over 150 comments…looking forward to catching up on my reading! So happy to have the opportunity to co-host. 🙂
SIN OF THE HEART: DECEIT
He loved you.
Three simple words
At which you laughed
As if your heart
Were made of stone.
He loved you.
You led him on.
You made him think
You truly cared
For him alone.
He loved you.
He told you so.
You wore his ring.
Why play that game?
You broke his heart
And now he’s gone.
He loved you.
Three simple words
You used to hear,
But not again.
You’re on your own.
#
How many times this plays out. Marvelous poem, Sal. I loved it. Reading it aloud gives it even more power. It would make a good epitaph, don’t you think?
Sal, I think you nailed it for this prompt. Well done.
this poem reminds me of someone I know. So sad.
Love is too precious to damage by deceit. So sad.
Great one.
Deceit. Yes. Turn the pronouns around (he’s to she’s and vice-versa) and a great tie-in to my little sample about serving time.
Dang! Pile driver ending.
Good write with emotion.
SIN OF THE HEART: FEAR
It is not a packaged gift
You unravel and voila!––LOVE!
That would be too easy.
The fearful and the lazy
Would line up, take all they could
And keep love hidden in a chest.
To find love you need to search,
Not the Earth, but Heaven on Earth,
Sacred places of fertile ground
Where love can flower freely,
Blossom color miracles
Meant, not to hoard, but give away.
Above all, you must be brave.
Cowards go through the motions
Pretending they will vow their hearts,
But never do. They die loveless.
Fear becomes the sin they answer for
Somewhere in a fiery ring of hell.
#
This reminds me of a person who said to me, when I congratulated her on her upcoming marriage and hoped all would be well, “I hope so. I’m betting my life.”
Fear will always take you in the end. It creates the rest with its presence and yet, most of the time, we can’t even see it, much less acknowledge it.
Good one, Sal. It’s powerful, with impact.
Solemn, sad truth. SO well told.
Oh, Sal. I love this one. Excellent work.
Indeed a sin not always easily recognized — well told!
THEY LEAVE THE MOUTH
Lies never shine
Like sun, or even moon.
They leave the mouth
Bats from a cave
Flapping dark wings
The wind carries skyward
Lies only harm
They never help
Those whom they malign
They drive a wedge
Between good and better
Making things worse
Lies can even kill
Or break a heart so bad
It longs for death
They twist the truth
Into a sharp stick
And stab relentlessly
Lies never die
They outlive the liar
And they seethe in dark stew
#
I love this!
Yes. Me too. This is a strong example of how mere words can be so graphically piercing.
Primo, Sal. Excellent portrayal of what such a seemingly small thing, without body or shape, without mass or solidity, can do to the human soul.
Yes, yes, yes! I think you have a winner here, Sal. The description, wording, emotion, message– all superb.
Sins of the heart-deceit, fear, lies. Yikes. You’re collecting all of ’em. I like your line “lies never die.”
All three of your poems are solid and direct-wonderful packages of truth. Love all three.
Lies are one of my biggest annoyances — and yes, they can break a heart! (Thank goodness for those who can repair such brokenness!) Love the comparison of lies leaving a mouth to bats from a cave.
Brought to Her Knees
She fell,
Brought to her knees
By the weight of her sin,
Hanging about her in thick shrouds:
She prayed.
© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2014
Erin, it is good to see you redeem this prompt just as Christ redeemed us.
Stunning, as usual, Erin. You are becoming a force to be reckoned with in poetry, my young friend. Good for you.
Oh, yes … well stated, Erin Kay. Thank you for this.
nice work, Erin
Good one, as usual.
Nice tight offering to describe the weight of sin.
Strong images with few words 🙂
There’s no justice in desserts.
Maybe honey, if you’re lucky,
maybe nuts; maybe not.
Love it, Barbara. It’s those desserts that will do many of us in, in the end. Amazing how large something becomes because of something so small. Little lies that say taste is better for you that conscience–or so I’d imagine Sal would say. 🙂
Ohmigosh … another Barbara gem!
Gem is the word for it.
This one made me smile – had to read it three times in a row, just for the fun and flow.
short and punchy, Barbara
Nope, no justice says the poet *stuffing mouth with ice cream.*
🙂
Yeah, I kinda prefer mercy myself. Wonderful little diamond here Barbara.
Mmm….honey AND nuts!? BAKLAVA!? 😉
May you write bad cat poetry
May you write bad cat poetry.
Bad, really bad – not just ho-hum,
but truly, objectively speaking, awful.
May T.S. Eliot turn in his grave. A lot.
May you feel eternally inspired
by all things feline, to the point
that nothing else matters, and all
you want to do is write poems about cats.
May it be the kind of precious
rhyming verse that fits perfectly
in oversized fuzzy-edged greeting cards
and Reader’s Digest collections.
May people love your cat poetry.
May it be picked up by Public Television
and turned into a regular feature
on a famous children’s show.
May your fans send you an unending supply
of cat-related mementos, so that your home is
overflowing with stuffed toys and blurry
five by sevens of animals named after you.
May you become known only for your
cat poety. May this not bother you.
May you embrace your identity to the point
that you purchse a vanity plate that reads “MEOW”
May your cat poetry plum ever-increasing
depths of inanity. May this please you.
When it occurs to you to write something else
may you think, Why bother? I like cats.
May you keep writing for the rest
of your life. Always about cats.
And nothing else. Lots of bad cat poetry.
An unbelievable amount.
Oh, Andrew. I laughed all the way through this poem. I read poetry aloud, sometimes in accents, to get the full presentation experience. This one was in Brit and sarcastic tones to match the subject matter. It was a hoot. Great job. Loved it. So much fun.
I’d love to hear your English accent sometime!
I wish it was really up to snuff. I manage some days to do it pretty well. My Eastern European accent is better. But my southern accents (several from different places) are better still. But then Dad’s from the South.
Thanks, Andrew. I’d like to hear you read your work sometime, too.
OH.
MY.
WORD.
You’ve littered my mind with wild cat-astrophic imaginings! Will they stray from me? Perhaps tom-orrow.
Hiss. You, my friend, will be sentenced to write bad puns for eternity.
Hahahahaha! My lot in life!
That’s what I thought too, Marie, a catastrophic curse! 🙂
Jeepers, Andrew!!!!! This just turned my morning and put a grin like a Cheshire cat on my face and a chuckle in me tummy.
Seriously, Andrew, I secretly harbor your animosity toward . . . dare I whisper? . . . Mister Whisker’s and his sister’s poetry blog.
I think this is great: starts with a meow and ends with a roar.
I absolutely LOVE this (but never want to make you mad). Every time I see a cat I will think of your poem and grin.
Perfect: cats and poetry. *smiling*
Wanted:
Posers for glossies Posers for film
Paid in cash and Super-model fame.
(Paid in peepers’ want and need)
Head shots. Body shots Wanted
to lure myriad minions, yearning,
beguiled Just smile Just pose
Just slither and glide One black strap
over-the-shoulder slide, One stiletto
and one long-legged twirl, One slow-mo
swirl of blond-streaked curls.
Wanted:
For glossies Wanted for film.
Promoters Photographers of
Underage girls. Wanted: your
mug shot. Wanted: your hide
on a post like a roast locked
behind bars.
Janice, this was unusual but effective. I like it. It does get its point across.
Janice, this is brilliant. So well written and such a disturbing topic, it is nearly too difficult to take in. Bravo.
Love how you turn this one in on itself – from glossies to mug shots, and then that roast locked behind bars – wonderful!
Totally agree!
wow, Janice. Did an article inspire this poem? I’d never thought of going this direction with the prompt. I love the “paid in peepers’ want and need”.
This strikes its target accurately and powerfully, in my opinion.
Yes, especially liked that last verse.
Loved your use of the various kinds of shots: head shots, body shots (more than one kind, that), mug shots. Well done.
I have to admit to cheating, guys. It happened this way. I read this immediately before the Friday Flashy Fiction prompt for the week. The one overlapped the other and voilà, a poem is born, though not what I had anticipated. Here you go.
Soul Cycle
They called it art;
A circle of metal
Standing between roads
Moving in opposite directions.
They called it art;
Spikes, bars, darkness and light,
Flowing in circular movement
A never-ending dance in view.
They called it art;
Though few spoke of the
Smaller circles pierced by spikes,
Forever climbing toward the next.
They called it art;
Never knowing souls climbed there,
Ever-pursuing rungs not achieved
On roads moving in opposite directions.
I have to admit that this one escapes me. I’m trying to envision … trying to grasp. But although I can’t claim to understand it, I find it disturbing. Especially the final stanza.
MEG, I don’t doubt that you find disturbing, especially that last stanza. My thought on it was that for all the scrambling man does on this world to climb the rungs of success, few of those scrambles are without harm to others in some way or another, some more ruthless than others, and that in the end, the soul of those who seek such things, the cycle or the hunt doesn’t cease, but continues throughout eternity–in a circle of continuous striving without fulfillment.
I hope that says it a bit better.
My Thought Verb challenge for this month kept me from using words I would have normally used to express the ideas. Maybe that’s why it felt so foreign to you.
That is what I was envisioning, so you actually did a great job at it. But it also had a story quality to it, so I thought there was a background I might be missing.
Well done!!
And yes, the thought verb challenge looks daunting to me! Great exercise in restraint. 😉
Oh, good. Truth is, MEG, I used it for the flash fiction entry as well. It covered both territories that way, but it fit, too. Glad you liked it.
I read this over and over and enjoyed exploring it. I wasn’t sure of your intended message but came up with a few ideas of my own and loved the layers and mystery to it.
thanks, Linda. I’ll have to go back in and get more specific, I guess. I’m glad that you liked it though. That’s a good thing.
Yep
The thought that keeps coming to me as I read this, “they can call it whatever they want, but….”
Yeah, but … The circle, with its protrusions and rising symbolism, looks like something that should stand in front of a concentration camp. Sorry, just my opinion. Thanks for the comment, William.
Though few spoke of the
Smaller circles pierced by spikes,
Forever climbing toward the next… that is the strong image for me and could be interpreted in many ways as Linda stated. I esp think what you mentioned about it standing in front of a concentration camp is powerful and accurate.
thanks, Deb. I agree that my meaning can take on many colors. Perhaps that aspect helps make it what you see. When I look at that “art,” I see struggle and pain. No beauty or positive aspects shine forth for me. It helps that others react to it as I do.
I love when prompts overlap to produce ART. 😉
Hahaha. Paula, my hope remains that my “art” doesn’t approach the pain portrayed in the picture of the statue shown as the prompt.
But you hit the point of the exercise. Our inspiration comes unasked and we take advantage of it while it stands before us. I enjoy writing to image prompts, since no two interpretations ever coincide completely.
PART OF THE PROBLEM (Haiku)
Sometimes the worst thing
a human being can do
is nothing at all.
So very true, Linda. It happens most because it’s the easiest thing to do, too. Nice use of the form for this. I like it.
Spot on, Linda. Spot on.
so true, Linda.
Bravo!
Bingo!
apathy
and fear.
Exactly!
Oh, so true Linda…definitely one of my hardest things to accept…doing nothing when I know there’s something that should be done, said, acted upon…good poem.
Erosion
Drip
drip
drip.
Like water dripping
from the rain gutter
wearing down
the rock underneath,
guilt beat a rhythm
in his mind,
you
did
it
until he had to show them the rock
which marked the grave.
Oh, Connie … this is amazing. The title makes it even more so. BRILLIANT!
Thanks, Marie.
You tell such a story in so few words, Connie. Wonderful.
Amen to that.
nice work, Connie. Love how you wrapped it up with those two last lines (which weren’t what I was expecting).
Yes, Linda, I agree.
Beautiful. This has a touch of suspense. Love it.
thanks all
I like the way this one LOOKS, even! NICE!
This wonderful Connie! Nice twist at the end that I wasn’t expecting…and a great title as I think others have said as well…
Sheriff Renkins
By David De Jong
Been a few tales about these parts, still bein’ spread
Mustang horse an’ saddle, long Hawkins lead
Old time sheriff, star on his buckskin shirt
Ya’ll draw on him and ya’ll be eatin’ dirt
Renkins and Chennoah still on the trail
Ridin’ so law an’ justice always prevailed
He’s tracked killers an’ gamblers, thieves, and scum
Brought em back to trial, where most were hung
He was honest, stern, and a darn good aim
Could just as easy kill ya, as make ya lame
Be best to stay clear his sights, wary his lead
If he comes a-callin’, yer good as dead
Mind yer manners, give listen to yer ma
Best keep yer boots on the right side the law
Be mindful, whate’er deed it is you do
Last thing ya want, is Renkins trailin’ you
Oh, David … I LOVE your work. This is another I’d love to hear in your voice. Please?
Love your story-telling here – I can see the pictures in my head.
I couldn’t help it…I had to read this one out loud. With a southern draw. 🙂
I hear a folk song here.
Yes, that would be great. A TV western show theme.
love it
Sounds like some of the Texas Rangers I’ve heard about since moving to Texas! Well-told, David!
You have real cowboy poetry in these lines David…I’d love to hear them read as well…very cool.
Thanks so much everyone – glad you enjoyed it!
AFFLICTED
I wallow in depravity.
A hand reaches out to me,
Willing to lift me from the mire.
I respond with closed eyes
Clenched fist
Padlocked soul.
For I am weak, ill
Of heart, suffering defeat
Of my own making.
© Marie Elena Good, 2014
great work, Marie Elena. Your good choice of words sums it all up with brevity.
Thank you so much, Linda!
I can almost feel this one flowing, or rather, spurting. Wonderful.
yikes
Padlocked soul – wonderful image.
Padlocked souls…indeed a defeat of one’s own making. Nicely told.
Amazing Marie Elena…a persona that’s quite different than I’m used to hearing from you…and very effective. Very.
Paula, I am just tickled pink to see you out here as the very first guest host! EXCELLENT, provocative prompt!
me, too! I love Paula and I love this prompt.
Linda – thank you! ❤ (and…the prompt is all Walt!)
Ok…then I love you both 😉
Marie – as you know, Walt is a master of prompts. This one was all his!! And — thanks! I’m tickled pink as well. 🙂
Walt and Paula, you both started us out in grand style. 🙂
Thanks! 🙂
A Black Mark against Her
A new one the shape of Lake Superior surfaced,
swimming across the front of her left leg,
a raw red stain that will soon change
to a patch of purple body paint,
gradually turn to a mix of green and yellow,
eventually fade to a smaller brown fleck.
These bruises come again and again,
linger on her skin the way you sometimes,
without warning, sweep into her memories.
She remembers the day the two of you
argued, how you cursed her like she were
the epitome of evil for speaking with your sister.
She didn’t know how to explain or how things
even came to that point, just that all the colors
of the rainbow kept falling from the sky
and swirling together in one big pool of black.
You thought this was her true color.
Until then she’d always looked upon you
with giant rose-colored glasses, likened you to
you to heavenly love, but the memories are now
tinged with a broader spectrum of colors–
golden sunshine moments,
pretty pink fields of heather flowers blossoming
then turning bitter burnt sienna, their dried petals
sprinkled across white sands of time like a bunch
of tiny bruises right before they heal.
Each time a new bruise shows up on her body,
she’s reminded that some things never heal.
Burns can leave permanent scars. Broken
friendships remain lodged somewhere deep
within the chambers of one’s heart, and
terminally ill women one day die, whether
old lost friends are looking or not.
oops! I see a typo but don’t know how to edit it. The third line of the third stanza should beging with “to” (omit “you”) so that it reads:
Until then she’d always looked upon you
with giant rose-colored glasses, likened you
to heavenly love, but the memories are now…
Linda, this piece touches deep spaces. Wow.
Yes, that’s what I was thinking too. Deep, indeed.
thank you, William 🙂
thank you, Marie Elena. Your comment means so much to me.
This one should be published. Great to see you poeming, Linda.
yep, it’s been a while, Connie, but either this prompt really hit something deep within me or I just had words stored up that needed to get out fast because I sat down, started typing, and before I knew it, there it was. Looking back at it now there are some changes I would make but I am so glad the poetic juices where flowing again, if only for the day.
Oh my, how powerfully the colors speak. Great poem on a tragic topic.
It started as a black and blue theme (the bruise and how lost friendships are sometimes like bruises that never heal) but then all those colors started popping up so I just went with it.
ooohh….the reminder “that some things never heal.” Well written, Linda!
thank you, Paula 🙂
Wow – I keep reading and re-reading this…bruises have so many meanings here, so many layers and levels…well told Linda, a very fine poem.
thank you, Sharon
Troubled
His slack hand caused rapid poverty
His weary feet tread a darksome path
The heavy hand of law slaked his thirst for trouble
But he only stirred the pot and tasted wrath
Oh. Ouch. Benjamin, this is well done, but especially your final line. Bravo.
Hi Marie! Thx
Great job.
Thx!
It seems to me to speak to an epidemic in America. So many angry young men and women.
This is so true unfortunately
I love how these words sound aloud. Especially that 3rd line.
I’m enjoying the prompt “bad to the bone”
🙂
Losing Everything
He worked the Street, Wall
by name. He achieved fame,
and fortune by fiddling
with other people’s money.
With glee, he plundered
pensions, stole life savings,
lived well. But, I’m here
to tell you that he was caught,
brought to trial, vileness
of his actions spoken aloud,
printed in papers. He finds
no kindness in prison,
and many enemies
less evil than he.
Hear, hear!
Thanks, Marie!
Your short lines are like thumping punches. Excellent.
Thanks so much, William.
Powerfully written
Thanks, Connie!
Maybe some desserts are tinged with justice… I’m glad.
Maybe it is not exactly as described, but it Is how I see justice.
Love the internal rhyme of caught/brought and trial/vile — kind of punctuates the scene for me of being caught.
Thanks, Paula!
Doesn’t that speak the truth…”many enemies less evil than he” …small comfort that, I’ll bet; as others have said, lovely internal rhymes…I like the whole gist of this…
Thanks, Sharon!
Ill-Fated Merchant
Crime payed him well
But robbed his soul of wealth
Committing all to the game
But in the end the game played him
Like a fool he craved a name for himself
Toiling in pain reaping only the vanity of dust
He thought he made his bed in stout paradise
Yet arising in thorns his dream was a curse
Spot on, this.
yes sir
Youch…good one.
Hey William, thanks. Enjoyed several of yours
Good one. Packs a punch.
Love how it all fits for whatever “game” the merchant is into…nice!
Thx Paula
SEQUELAE
Sinful days
yield
primeval ways.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
Had to look up the meaning of SEQUELAE…perfect.
me, too!
A harsh variation of what goes around comes around? It’s such a powerful word…it feels like it could take me many places, none of them good…great short poem…I so envy you your ability to be succinct.
[…] Written for Creative Bloomings […]
Mine is at http://miskmask.wordpress.com/2014/02/03/a-shady-weasel/
I loved that one, especially “Tilted head / so the world seems straight”.
Thank you, William! 🙂
I agree. Love that tilted head line.
I agree with William — the tilted head/straight world reference is perfect. Especially with the accompanying picture! 🙂
RETRIBUTION DAY
So often have I dreamed
of this day, this hour
Imagining you on my lap,
your warm body resting
against mine; you sleep, your
chubby thumb firmly in mouth.
There is an air of reconciliation
about the place that almost
covers the scent of death,
and the stench of men afraid,
men preparing to be put to death.
I arrive as early as they
will allow; the moon is
well up, and fully waxing
It seems to bode well;
“a good night for dying”
I whisper as we enter
the prison
Time seems to both
race and stand still
as we wait with the others
All of us on those hard
wooden chairs
Still, light as air, you sleep on
Finally, the sound of doors clanking,
locks being shot open,
and I know he’s being brought in
I sneak a peek at my watch; almost midnight
We hear them strapping him to the table…
The well-worn drapes are screech-owl
loud when drawn
I shift you carefully before I look up
And into your killer’s icy blue eyes.
As if beseeching something from me,
he stares into mine
Minutes tick off the wall-clock audibly;
I hold my breath, know an eleventh
hour phone-call can still save him
And, you will never be free
He holds my gaze
unblinkingly and tears
slide down the sides of his face
Do you stir? I glance away
for a moment
and miss something
His last words…?
I look back and
he still seeks my eyes,
but the poison is flowing
and there is such a sense
of loss…
I feel you float up
off my lap at exactly the
same moment all life leaves
his eyes and he closes them,
and also leaves the earth.
Even though you are both free
I feel such a sense of peace now
I wonder why I didn’t expect
that…
***Sent to Six Fold’s January 24, 2014 contest
I almost fear to comment, lest I be glib. This piece moves me deeply.
Incredible. Thanks for sharing this here with us — so fitting for this prompt!
quite a story you’ve told in that poem
Regarding “Retribution Day” – it’s not supposed to have the “Six Fold” info on the bottom (the contest was cancelled for Jan and I’m pulling this poem before the April round…) Sorry about that…
It just occurred to me: with Paula and Walt working together, I guess we could say it’s Christmas time in the garden.
Indeed…
🙂 Love that!
ho ho ho!
THE NECESSITY OF WHAT FOLLOWS
When love
is counterfeit,
it cannot countenance
passion without its counterpoint:
disdain.
© copyright 2014, William Preston
In Exile
Removed
from society,
physically disowned
but mentally linked, forever,
by invisible chains of memories.
good work, Mik
I love this. It calls to my mind John Howard Payne’s Home, Sweet Home.
I like how the layout of this poem brings a weight/heaviness anchoring the last line.
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