POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

PROMPT #200 – SOMETHING’S GOT TO GIVE

Sorry for another late start. Situations dictate my connectivity! I’m still looking for a break and realizing something’s got to give soon. So using that as your inspiration, write a “something’s got to give” poem.

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29 thoughts on “PROMPT #200 – SOMETHING’S GOT TO GIVE

  1.  
     
    SOMETHING’S GOT TO GIVE

    Tight as the proverbial drum,
    How long can I bite my tongue?
    My quivering mouth is Novocaine-numb;
    The words are burning holes in my gums.

    Tactful as the day is long,
    I hesitate to rub them wrong,
    So here I sit and watch the throng
    Claim politically they are strong.

    Something’s got to give, I know.
    We can’t go on supporting schmos
    Like Trump and Hilary, two old crows.
    How did we manage to sink this low?

    If only there were a time machine
    To zip us back when D.C. was clean
    And politicians stood proud and keen
    On doing good, not greedy for green.

    “Go to the polls and give us your vote!”
    Okay, but tell me how do I cope
    With the heartburn deep in my throat
    And the lies that cause me to bloat?

    Tight as a drum and ready to burst,
    I think as a nation we’ve all been cursed.
    I know what you’re saying, Things could be worse.
    I’m writing it all down in blanket-blank verse!

  2.  
     
    Feel The Music

    When engulfment strikes
    with no break
    in site, stop.
    Breathe. Close your eyes, and enter
    your own magic world,

    imagination.
    Create a scene of leisure.
    Put yourself
    inside it.
    Fill space with music.

  3. William Preston on said:

     
     
    NO BIRD LESS BATTERED
    (apologies to Robert Frost)

    Two crows converged in a yellow wood
    and, sorry they could not scavenge both
    and be one scavenger, long they stood
    and looked each over as long as they could,
    there in the bent-grass undergrowth;

    then took the other as being unfair
    and, each having the much better claim,
    proceeded thereupon to tear
    apart the other for just standing there,
    and each rendered the other about the same.

    Then both that morning equally lay
    in blood that was turning sodden black.
    Oh, they should have waited another day!
    Yet knowing how birds are wont to flay,
    I doubted if they should ever turn back.

    I shall be telling this with a sigh
    somewhere, ages and ages hence:
    Two crows converged in a wood, and I
    minded my business and just stood by,
    not that it made much of a difference.

  4. William Preston on said:

    Thinking of you and yours, Walt.

  5.  
     
    THIS END UP?

    Making heads or tails of the morning,
    heavy fog warning and a desire to re-fire sleep mode.
    But, time marches on like bulimic picnic ants
    breaking diet. I try to motivate. God, I hate mornings.

    Finding my bearings is made more difficult since
    my marbles had vacated. Hard to discern between the two.
    It’s two minutes to, and my snooze alarm said “Screw it!”
    I should arise! I should do it. I yawn. I scratch. I wince.

    Finally, determination kicks into gear and it is here
    where my feet find the floor. But, now they’re sore.
    stubbing toes on the television stand. Hands clutch
    throbbing digits as I hop to attention. I fear

    this will take a while. Still wearing the mask from my CPAP,
    it yank everything from the night stand, landing askew
    and out of view since I missed where my glasses had scurried.
    Now I have to hurry. Time is fleeting and breakfast tastes like crap.

    Pants; one leg at a time. Socks are a catch until I find two that mate,
    Shirt and shoes refuse to give me a break. It’s has taken far too long,
    this routine is all wrong and the song on the radio is just noise.
    It toys with my sensibilities. I peel off shoes and crawl back to bed. I’m late.

    I think I’ll call in sick and stay in bed! It’s like I said. Something’s got to give!

  6.  
     
    Seasonal Segue

    The last leaves wave frantically
    Before they have to leave
    Trying to get my attention
    Gusts of wind roll by in waves
    Fall is changing the landscape
    Giant cinnamon-roll circles of hay
    Dot the fields
    Sagging scarecrows still play
    The role of protector
    I heard flocks of birds overhead
    Migrating to warmer climes like
    Herds of buffalo across the
    Prairie of the sky
    I watch a hawk as it climbs higher
    Sailing on a thermal draft
    And before the last leaf falls –
    Stores have moved on to
    The next holiday
    Leaving me to wonder
    Why

  7. William Preston on said:

    What a great title, and “cinnamon-roll circles” is perfect.

  8. connielpeters on said:

    I’m going back in time for this one, too.

    Overdue

    Something’s got to give.
    Somethings got to pop.
    It’s eight days past
    when this baby should drop.

    Grandma wonders when.
    Grandma wonders why
    that baby won’t come
    to give his first cry.

    I’m big as a blimp.
    I’m feeling lazy.
    Please come baby,
    before I go crazy.

  9.  
     
    Dreams Are Banquets

    Another aching sleepless night,
    wide-eyed. Not a dream in sight.
    Something’s got to give
    in this narrative.
    Poets live on dream bites.

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