Safety
[4/14/2022]Is there a price high enough to pay?
What is safety, anyway?
As a philosophical point, I think the question is at what point is the price of safety too high? That's what ultimately causes good men to stop doing nothing. But perhaps I miss your point.
Holy Week
[4/15/2022]It does not feel like Holy Week today.
I do not see the death of God at noon,
Nor hear the Tenebrae and know blood’s boon.
Two thousand years are just so far away.
It seems less like the cross, and more like Silent Saturday.
This poem feels sad, but I learned a new word. I had never heard of Tenebrae.
Safety
[4/14/2022]Is there a price high enough to pay?
What is safety, anyway?As a philosophical point, I think the question is at what point is the price of safety too high? That's what ultimately causes good men to stop doing nothing. But perhaps I miss your point.
Ok, yeah, apparently I didn't convey the point very well.
My thing was less about a price for *personal* safety, and more a question of whether there was any way I could buy safety to give as a *gift* -- how do I protect struggling friends when I feel helpless to do so?
This poem feels sad, but I learned a new word. I had never heard of Tenebrae.
Hooray for new words! I love it when that happens. 🙂
Childhood's Fruit
[4/26/2022]
Berries dot my childhood memories,
Peering out from bushes, vines, and leaves.
Blueberries earliest of all,
Frosty-pale and summer-sweet in farms.
A bigger, older hand to hold -
Perhaps grandfather in his white sun-hat -
And reckless seeking out of treasures,
Tempted into eating as I pick.
Black dewberry-creepers next,
The risky treasure,
Twined through neighborly chicken-wire.
Edge down the house’s alley
By the climbing-rock named Peter,
Pick carefully, or the thorns will take their price.
But most beware the Christmas-red,
Soft globes, yellow-white and sticky inside.
That red is a warning, a bright stoplight,
They are poison to children we know.
Good only for crushing underfoot,
Or decorating mud-pies,
Still stubbornly they grow.
My Ward
[4/27/2022]
You are armed, little friend,
But for now all your weapons are sheathed.
You curl up softly, trusting me,
So vulnerable.
So small and soft, even fully grown.
You turn and close your eyes,
Believe in me to watch
Your downy back,
To bring you all good things
For the mewled asking.
What's In A Name?
[4/27/2022]
What is the meaning behind a name?
How can you fathom and define it?
Always we think it must stay the same,
Telling your nature without blame,
So we can pin down and unwind it.
Into the depths of a heart it may wander,
Now we require permission to ponder.
Anyway we allow no ambiguity.
No calls in the house for self-definition
And no hidden facets or multiplicity
Make sense to a lens pinned down by rendition,
Entering language in synchronicity.
Egyptian Palette
[4/28/2022]
I gaze on this little tool,
And I am full of wonder.
Wondering curiosity, and awe.
What hands first held it?
Whose name cartouched above?
Three thousand years and change
The pigments lasted,
Have their colors never changed?
What paintings bear the signature
Of that rusty red,
That glowing turquoise blue?
It is a little palette,
Perhaps intent on details
The painter crouched
Above papyrus scrolls,
Or even painted figures
On some noble wall.
I realize I am inadequate in history.
It is still mysterious to me
How old this really is,
Who ruled the land when it was made.
What was the world,
To the eye of this one painter?
And who kept his colors,
Unfinished, past his death?
Granny O.'s Sunset
[4/29/2022]
A golden frame is gleaming bright,
But the true treasure is inside.
Pale horizon-flashing sunlight
The looming storm clouds cannot hide,
Reaches down the emerald sea.
The scene stands on the edge of night
And laughs out at pervading gloom,
Sun-gold splashing merry with might.
Though black weather may conjure doom,
Gold and green will still speak to me.
An artist’s hand I have not known,
Steady as a weaver at the loom,
Still illumines now I’m grown
A scene which watched in childhood’s room.
Great-grandmother, what did you see?
Calling the Stars
[4/29/2022]
Queens of the Night summon the spangled sky:
Silver beacons pierce the heavens’ veil
Answering the wanderer’s wondering cry.
–
The diadems of constellations fly
Above the world, and dark and swirling gale,
As Queens of the Night summon the spangled sky.
–
Hope glints amidst the dark, and nations sigh,
To see the grand infinity’s travail
Answering the wanderer’s wondering cry.
–
Vast voyagers across the dark may spy
To see if there is truth behind the tale
That Queens of the Night summon the spangled sky.
–
The music of the stellar dance asks why
Ladies of dark and moonlight will not fail
To answer to the wanderer’s wondering cry.
–
Bright cosmic artifice on high
Rises above the firmament to sail
Where Queens of the Night summon the spangled sky
Answering the wanderer’s wondering cry.
Sandcastles
[4/30/2022]
Mountains, castles, and cathedrals rise
Up from the sea-damp and sandy shore,
Their bulwarks imagination’s prize.
Fleetingly they stand, and then no more.
Bitter wind will batter fragile walls,
And come scrape the sculptured edge away.
Still in the time until vision falls,
Small joys are found where the sea holds sway.
A shell window, hole an empty door,
Fingerprints a crenelation high;
Gull’s feather tree from lost land before,
White and proud beneath an ice-blue sky.
Echo of a tower holds no bells
To sing out the hour on Sunday morn.
Mountain keep is far from all its dells,
Sole image from some loved book reborn.
Katabasis
[4/30/2022]
Dark and warm as the womb of the world,
And vulnerable as a wound
Is my heart’s kingdom.
I descend to my hideaway down a long stone stair.
The caves of my soul harbor living gems,
But its citizens are ghosts and memories,
Visions of maybe-worlds
And misfit monsters.
My teeth shall be stalactites to defend them.
I came by this kingdom by leaving
The sunshine and flower-children
For the safety of deep night and bioluminous stars.
I do not regret it, though the juice of my choices is bittersweet.
Though our springs run yellow as citrine,
Our fruits gleam of garnets.
I will not be sole princess of this land.
My monsters and my ghosts are heirs and sisters,
Adopted monarchs of the caves we roam.
Sorry it's taken me even longer than anticipated to read these, Lily!
Return: I like the descriptions you used to build up to the explicit idea behind the whole of it.
The Changeling and I: There's a wistfulness to this one. I don't know if that's part of the inspirational source, but it's what I get from your poem.
Ode for a Poet: I quite like this one! The imagery is lovely, and with a touch of fancy. There's also a heart-cry in it too, especially if I'm right about the other person's identity.
Bookbag Magic: Ah, delightful! Especially the metaphor of the books being doors elsewhere!
Kintsugi Friend: You've taken the beautiful concept of kintsugi and applied it beautifully yourself.
Safety: Ooh. This one resonates (especially given the last two years, as far as I'm concerned). It's simple but crafted with lovely language.
New Friend: *chef kiss* It does rather seem this way with some friends, doesn't it? 😀
Dr. Hero: Is this about who I think it's about? Either way, yeah, this feels like familiar territory.
Warning: Nice! Reminds me of a prompt I wrote for last year with a similar kind of vibe.
The Darkest Hour: That last stanza had me all 😮 inside. The reverse rhyme of the first stanza and the reversal of tone were fantastic.
When I'm not the giver anymore: It's sad. Makes you want to reach out and give all these things to the one who gave them before.
Untangling: Ooh. That last stanza. It hits. I'm not totally sure how, because I have no context, but at the same time, I don't feel as though I need one.
Exploring Together: It's a sweet treatment of the difference in opinion on the subject.
Granny O's Sunset: Lovely imagery in this one, and I like the ancestral connection.
Sandcastles: I really like this bit: "Echo of a tower holds no bells/ To sing out the hour on Sunday morn."
Thank you kindly for the input, Ariel. 🙂
Ode for a Poet - I would say there was some heart-cry in there, but think it is fairly unlikely you know the poet's identity, as he is neither ultra-famous nor TLC affiliated.
Bookbag Magic - glad you enjoyed. A friend has been asking me to draw the hallway with the book-doors and I just might need to try eventually...
Dr. Hero - um. Possibly. I wasn't trying to be particularly subtle and that *is* someone more well-known. I am not completely certain if we're on the same wavelength though.
The Darkest Hour - I am so pleased the intended effect came accross for this one!
Thanks again for all the lovely comments. <3
You’re welcome. And good job completing a poem a day! I forgot to applaud you for that earlier.
Fair enough! I’m definitely wrong about the poet then. The doctor, who knows. Maybe we are on the same wavelength or maybe he’ll remain shrouded in vaguery. 😀
