VSSPoem, Week 1

Once again, it is a day later than I planned, but it’s for a good reason. I’ve actually been engaged in social activities with family members for once. This is very rare for me as I am that kind of loner who sits at home in front of the computer.

However, maybe this all is a sign of things to change. Maybe I will have a bit more of an adventure from the safe walls of my home. Who knows?

anyways, this is one of those new prompts I started doing over the past little bit. I hope you enjoy these very short poems!

 

September 5th

I long to #push past

these obstacles made of doubt

that sabotage me

 

September 6th

Her #shadow cast

by the evenin’ sun

was the giant

she wished

to be.

Its footsteps larger

than the nightmares

that came to call

in the night’s

dark hours.

She tried to remind

herself of that

tucked under

her covers

but

her fears grew

until they consumed her

once more.

 

September 7th

On swift wings

#Nightfall approached

Its pitch black feathers

fell in swarming shadows

and chased the light

in a playful game

 

A girl sighed

head rested on hand

in her windowsill

At peace in the dark

she moved to her desk

and lifted her pen

to write

 

September 8th

In the cold room

he relived memories

picking them apart

for the #omens

they contained

Will-o-wisps

seemed prevalent

dancing on the edge

of his life

but never touching it

 

He could recall

deaths in vivid detail

of friends and family

until he was alone

 

In the cold room

 

September 9th

Emotion is danger

too much

too little

tips a scale

both divine

and cruel

It can fill

the cup

to the brim

or evaporate

both host

and vessel

empty

 

Let go the

anger

hate

rage

jealousy

envy

they say

it causes damage

to your mind

wears it thin

with time

 

Teach me how then

 

September 10th

Waters #follow

the bends

curves

hills

of a land

marred

scarred

defaced

by human hands

 

Soon Fires #follow

the dried

leaves

trees

rooted in ground

unloved

forgotten

forsaken

by human hands

 

Then Deaths #follow

the lack of

food

water

on a barren Earth.

 

September 11th

Good and Bad

Happens in threes

The #Attraction

Forms the link

Like dominoes

 

Positive attracts positive

Negative attracts negative

 

It’s a cycle

And it will last

Longer

Than

Time

 

I say it’s a game

But then

I’m stuck

In the cycle of Threes

 

September 12th

Walk into the

#Shallows

Walk into the

Hollows

 

of your own

Heart and Soul

Take a gander

Take a stroll

The mucks and mires

are there to console.

 

Search through

Cracks

Follow the

Tracks

 

You’ve made them

Inspired them

Colluded with them

 

Walk into the

#Shallows

 

September 13th

Leaves spin and twirl

Like dreidels in the wind

Teased and taunted

By nature’s whim

 

Crisp flakes of snow

Kiss #green grass

Burying it in warmth

As time begins to pass

 

Seasons dance as long lost friends

Sharing the same tune

Until the world’s end

Savagery’s Cost

Blood fed the barren ground

Bodies decorated it

Like discarded toys.

Swords pierced the Earth

Beside the crippled, lifeless corpses

And yet

There was a Beauty in this Darkness

In the Savagery of War.

Life fled this land

Once rife with the green blades of Grass

Replaced now by blades of Iron and Steel.

For what, they ask

The Glory of Battle, the Honour it gave.

No structures of stone or wood

Stood in sight of the horizon.

A vast Nothingness claimed these lives

And Nature would take its Victims.

Limbs bared to Bones, sinking in dirt.

Rust from fruitless rains would claim the soiled metal.

The Shadows of carrion birds’ wings filled the sky

Their caws shredded the Silence, deafening.

Beaks ripped at stripped Flesh

As the Sun set, its rays of Light frightened by the field.

It seems a Horrible Dream.

An Evil that Desecrates the Human Soul.

Wars are waged, the Cost ignored.

 

 

 

 

Rain

Drops of water free fall to the Earth

Racing their brothers and sisters

Hurrying in their plummet to the ground.

 

This simple beauty called Rain.

 

The dry dirt soaks them in, eager

Until roots are bathed in the Sky’s tears

Joyful or sad, I dare not ask the Clouds.

 

This simple beauty called Rain.

 

A beat forms as Thunder growls across the grey

Lightning flashes, forks of searing hot converge

And here, I dance barefoot in the mud, because of

 

This simple beauty called Rain.

 

 

Deadland (A Huitain Poem Attempt)

Lost in this wasteland of a mind.

It’s Earth burned, scarred, and dying.

Leaves are rusted streaks in rotted vines.

Ground now barren, plants left drying.

How to fix what is now horrifying?

Wish for rain, and till the pained land.

Turn ashes to life, so gratifying.

Surely prayers can save the damned.

What I Am Reading

I have officially started reading A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin. I am only two chapters in, but I am enjoying the writing style for sure. I expected it to be similar to J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series yet I am appreciating the fact that it is not.

When a book hooks me, I tend to finish it pretty quick, unable to stop reading it. However with books like Lord of the Rings or The Prince of Nothing series, it took months to read. I did enjoy them the whole way through, but they were painstakingly dull at times.

I can’t explain why I felt A Game of Thrones would be similar to Lord of the Rings in terms of writing. Maybe the hype? Its genre? Anyway, while I find it more modern, or easier to read, it does have a formal tone in its language that I envy. I believe it makes it sophisticated, and somehow makes a book more attractive to readers.

Readers may like easy reads, but many enjoy a more complex story, settings, character development. I want to build worlds like a great many authors do outside the confines of our world, or even revealing fantastical layers of it. I guess that is why I am trying to read the books I am, to figure it out.

A Game of Thrones has inspiring phrases, or fragments of sentences that I might just use for some more poems, or maybe an attempt at a short story. After all I do believe all writer’s go through a period of trying to find their own voice, and mimicking their favourite authors on the way. It is educational, I think, and might do me some good in the end.

 

 

Demise

Oh dearest friend of mine,
Use this stick and draw line,
Stand there til the dawn of time.

And when bright light shows its face,
You may then leave this place,
Yet find that all has been erased.

I charge you now, to start again,
To write the stars that now defend,
What broken will be made to mend.

When the end returns once more,
And destroys the earth back to the core,
We’ll heal what is now left sore.