My latest creative work… Prompt was “feathery and/or leathery”
Deeper than wide, but both deep and wide,
the archetypal image of roots, resides in mind.
Your oak, not my maple.
Deeper than wide, but both deep and wide,
the tendrils of mind reach back in time
further than they spread in space.
Deeper than wide, the watcher gazes
at the tangled roots that are,
rather than the
teasing pyramidal archetype.
Deeper than wide, truth may be known.
Deeper than wide, truth has its tangles.
Deeper than wide, for now.
One day, the roots will spread,
grow wider than deep.
My maple, no longer your oak.
Wide and deep, deep and wide.
Truth eternally tangled.
Tangles once formed, tangle
forever.
Daily Prompt: Parallel
Reach, reach, reach. Reach for the stars!
No. I’m tired. Why should I?
It’s what we do.
It’s what you do.
Look, look, look. Look around you!
No. That’s boring. Why should I?
It’s what we are born to do.
It’s what you were born to do.
See, see, see. See what’s there, in front of you.
No. I can’t. I’m blind. I like it that way.
No, you’re not. Take off the dark glasses.
No. I live by my own inner light.
Wait, wait, wait. Patience is rewarded!
No. I inhabit the now.
We are creatures of our history and our future.
I am the creation of my own time zone.
Mid-Michigan Word Gatherers Prompt: Reach
Daily Post: Warning
Human condition
Ahead. Take care. You can’t know
what the future holds.
To live is to kill,
to enjoy, to be set up
for pain down the road.
Our total life’s way
is the average of all our
perceptions and acts.
Frantic, I looked up.
Dismayed, looked out, then around.
No help was in sight.
Panicked, I looked in.
Confused and confined, I peered
through my clouded mind.
Fearing, peering through
familiar mist, truths emerge,
exits call my name.
Suddenly, I wept
with joy, the agonizing gone.
Now truth controls tongue.
Isn’t fabric a
better metaphor by which
to live than coin?
Events can be strands
in individual lives,
lives, strands of world cloth.
Both have two sides, but
fabric is flexible; can
be folded, or crumpled, and
so become
multi-dimensional. We
can hold it up to the light
and see right through to
the weaver’s skill.
The dark, the hidden portions
of the strands are just as important
as the clear or easy to spy.
How you sounded then,
and how you sound now.
How you walked then,
and how you walk now.
How you looked then,
and how you look now.
But what you know today,
and didn’t know then.
And how you now think,
but wouldn’t back then.
And how you now see,
but couldn’t before.
Oh, how you shine
a different light
now.
Which came first? The chicken or the egg?
Are you talking about this chicken?
Or the first chicken?
Are you talking about this egg?
Or the first egg?
Questions clarified, answer self-evident.
JULY 16, 2017
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hexanchus_nakamurai_JNC2615_Eye.JPG
A year or so ago, our writing group was challenged to write a sonnet. I completely failed. Fourteen lines of iambic pentameter (the rhythm of the heartbeat, the rhythm in which Shakespeare wrote his words) with a rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef gg. I could not get a single four lines in the required format. Then I had an idea a few weeks ago that my brain had reorganized itself and figured I could do it. It flowed. Unfortunately the second stanza did not make much sense. I let it sit and reworked it. Writing a sonnet is like working a crossword, our instructor informed us. Here is my first sonnet!
To cloak desire, to hide your fire, to leave
no trace, no trail, no hint of what went right;
to walk as one who fears the grass will grieve
if blocked a moment’s time from rays of light;
No life is this.
I cast a shadow dark
to shelter others from the sun that blinds.
The shark goes where it likes; it leaves its mark,
and spares no tears for fish or human kinds.
True sharks seek blood. We judge their action not.
It takes all kinds to make the world. Some day
we homo saps might learn the truth of what
God tried to show the prophets of his way.
An afterthought, the holy blessèd life;
Embrace the pain you cause and skip the strife.
