This piece is inspired by Baker’s Introduction Poem
The meetings
The idealists
Oh how annoying
Hands waving
Pick me, me , me
Machine gun firing ideas
Who is gonna get down
and carry out the plan
And who will pick up the pieces
scattered around the finish line
At least
I have control over poetry
I started one
and I definately finish it
Even sometimes it reads rubbish
I may not get recognised for brilliance
I certainly get a medal for persistence
I ranted
like bursting a pimple
What a relief
Feeling, you fickle little thing!
How did you deceive a heart so strong to break?
How did you hide from the mountain of sadness
to portrait such a bright grin
each and every day?
How much do you give out to the world to see?
How long do you want to stay behind the bars
of your own tangled web?
Feeling, I thought you were my watch tower.
And you truned out to be the red flags
that I couldn’t see.
Kitty is rubbing himself incessantly
on the corner of my mobile phone.
I am holding tight to stop sending
the sandwich text prematurely.
It will be bad, very bad
if you only get the flimsy bun
and the brunt of the meat
without the spongy esteem.
Kitty doesn’t like me ignoring him.
No, no, not a bit!
He progresses to lie between me
and the phone screen.
It’s hard to perfect a message ensemble
while ducking my head left and right.
Aaaaaachoo!
Gone the message with scramble words.
Oops!!!
This piece is responding to Lucy’s word prompt – Disconnected
Day shines into night
Ivy clings on and thrives
Sunday transits into a buzzing week
Cool moon elevates into the crack of dawn
Old men see themselves in babes
New born hurries to grow up
Nomality in life expires
East wind overlooks west in demise
Continents united underneath the valley of seas
Treetop rooted by underground mechanism
Empty rooms filled with love day by day
Disconnection is far from nature’s calling
We do life
in such a rush
let beauty
slip through time
Our minds are racing
in such speed
leaving ideas
stillborn
People are
less tolerant
missing out on
the wisdom
of the prudent
We exist
this mere existence
drowning in
short supply
of joy
This piece is a translated meaning of Jun’s original poem in Chinese. Jun is a loving husband, a proud father and a successful business man. His love for literature and tea remain throughout his life.
I only know this life even reincarnation may be real. The rain stopped as tears also dried out in my hollow and withered frame. I may sit in solitary and mesmerised by the past. And yet no amount of sweet memory surpasses my speck of reality.
Time drifted away and aged me. I still broadcast my love to the clouds. They echo within the walls of my ears, so loud and clear. But I wake up every morning and experience the same realisation that they are just dreams. I cannot defeat this mundane life. Poetry and prose are my only hope to keep on living.
äžèźșć äžä» äžçïŒæłȘćčČéšæè±ćé¶ïŒ éćżæ æ©äż±ćŸæïŒææ èææ§çäșșă äžèźșć éŽćČææźïŒćŻčäșćŻèŻć ćżæïŒ ćéłćŸćĄäž€èłéžŁïŒćČç„æąŠéäžćșç©șïŒ æćæ¶ç©șæäżćïŒćŸ ć°äœçćæèŻă
We were free spirited teenagers
rolling in the fresh hay
We had just grew out of rough and tumble play
and learned to blush while our skin lightly touched
Those days there were curfews in the village
Watches were not in our posession like time
While our parents folded the night in sheets of peaceful sleep
We were left out in the barn under the October harvest moon
Neither of us knew how to wind down
from that restless playful energy
Our hands shifted from tickling to messing of hair
Our laughter drowned out the cricket’s anthem
Eventually darkness cast over us like a heavy blanket
Our breaths became auditable
rapid, rushing, out of sync
the build-up and pre-warning of a tsunami
The calm moon was unable to rein in the untamed young blood
Being misunderstood on a specific matter
I have the courage to explain
Being accused of bearing ill intentions
I have no need to engage
Believing lies is a choice you made
Believing us is a mistake I made
It's the prelabour
of something precious
and beautiful
The gushing wind uproots
young trees
Mother earth is wailing
for her final push
In one second
of absolute silence
born a new babe
with amber hair
blonde eyelashes
and hazel orbs
The prophecy is fulfilled
Tara from Raw Earth Ink created this piece based on the name of my blog. It took me to a scene deep into a story I so wanted to read more…
“in a way, it was savage
the way you held my hand
a little too tight
a little too firm
nails biting into
the back of my hand
in a quiet corner of my mind
there stood a tiny thing
just a flicker of thought
in the recesses, shadowed
shrouded in doubt
yet true nonetheless
and I knew, I really knew
there was no mystery
Iâd read the signs
you stood a little too close
breath heavy, hot on my neck
I swayed but stood my ground
every movement you made
a veil lifting behind my rapidly
blinking eyelids
memories marching forth
revealing all your true intentions
every phrase holding hidden meaning
and the flickering thought brightens
the idea, a plan, formulating
I will break these shackles
one
by
one
the weight, the savagery will lift
your influence will, like reins, loosen
I will see my freedom
if only I feed the courageous flame
tara caribou | ©2021
Another in my series of using blogger site titles or tagline as a writing prompt. The poem has no relation to the blog or blogger other than using their title (in this case, âFlicker of Thoughtsâ from Cassa Bassa) as a prompt. I hope you enjoy!”
Flicker of Thoughts 