jornales

for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

i dare you (for One Shoot Sunday)

1.
i ground my being
in search of truth
and found
a scoop of silt

superficialities
i basked in surfaces
the sun swarmed
beguiling

choked my truths
in flashes
glories in seconds
fallen as ash

my pretenses
morphing into
this mush slipping
between my lips

entrapped
in your weakness
i dare you
unclad who i am

2.
who am this
being a pallid skein
of desire tangled
in despair

words dangle
on tips of bones
their flesh i picked off
in my darkness

suns melt
on my breath
gods cower in fear
over my stink

stones corrode
from my tears falling
as flint on my trail
dead embers

rain pools
sizzle on my passing
burn secrets
my footprints bred

3.
taunt me
if you have grit
the songs i spew
rattle angels

wangle crests
of waves my stare
long petrified on seas
turned cesspools

dare to cleanse
the air i poison
my soul departed
litter ivy beds

comb my hair
your fingers hanker
for my silken scales
to root in spirit

grind your being
with mine scrape off
your bareness toss out
your soul i dare you

Photo prompt by Fee Easton

Posted for One Shoot Sunday from a photo prompt by Fee Easton at One Stop Poetry where poets and artists share their art and their passion for it, a nurturing gathering place. Check us out.

March 13, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

To write a poem (wordplay on an old typewriter for One Shoot Sunday)

image prompt by Jack AZ part2

is not to catch
the words unlatched:

it is to meet
a current against the sweep

against the words
the patterns on the board

the words imprint
that later fade so like river silt.

To catch a poem
you can’t, unless eyes firm

eyes glued to the vaulted
deep from where had bolted

these words you unleash
on lines that leap

your fingers balancing
thought on words that slink.

To catch the thought
that storms into desert draught

you choose the speed
or letters scrambling in the deep

delude the eyes
escape the mind on ice

old keys do creak when cranked
to catch the lines unlatched.

To catch a storm wreaking
havoc on a heart sinking

in a slew of silted dreams
rusting on dredged streams

where winds howl threats
of maddened sand and dust like breaths

the finger tips must kiss
the letters naming muses hissing.

To catch the muses
soothe their caricatured faces

bare your soul salvaged
from old thoughts once baggage

tear out the paper
spewing lies of hereafter

catch the words that spell
the truth about their names true to their spell

on you to write a poem.

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry where a community of poets and artists share their love for their art and continue to sustain each other. Check us out!

February 27, 2011 Posted by | poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 20 Comments