Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 148

Sometimes there is much to be gained from trying to build something new out of something familiar. For this week’s prompt, write a remix poem. That is, take an existing poem (could be yours or someone else’s) and remix it (think of music remixes). If you use your own poem, link (or paste in) the original. If you use another’s poem, give credit for the original (poem title and poet name–and link would be great).

Here’s my attempt:

“anywhere we went”

we only worried about ourselves
as the stars danced out of the sky
and covered us in copper memories
discarded by strong hands and skin
so soft the birds cried into branches
that held up the rain against evening

(Remix of my poem “anywhere we dare go,” which originally appeared in the August 2010 issue of MiPOesias)

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54 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 148

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    To Bury a Horse
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Bury your beloved in a secret spot so that,
    though shy, she will still come when called.
    Nicker softly so that she may have sound
    to navigate across dark-lit pastures.
    Speak her name every now and then
    so that the other ponies still breathing
    will not resent her ghost when she
    comes to visit for family is still family.

    There will surely be those that scoff
    at such devotion, but they are to be pitied
    for never knowing the softness of an
    equine’s lips brushing across open hands,
    nor the scent of warm oats gently breathing
    against your cheek as you check the bit.
    Smile at the privilege of knowing such secrets
    like where the best place to bury a horse is,
    of course, in mid-heart of her master.

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Remix of original poem, “Where To Bury A Horse”
    by unknown author
    Link: http://hoofbeats-in-heaven.com/praise/Where_To_Bury_A_Horse/

  2. SalvatoreButtaci

    A SNOW-POEM REMIX

    holding each other’s hand
    snow playground out there
    afraid to slide on ice
    to venture outside
    and be forced back inside
    we walked in the white
    when it was safe again

    #

    Original:
    AFTER THE SNOWSTORM

    when it was safe again
    to venture outside
    we walked in the white
    snow playground out there
    holding each other’s hand
    afraid to slide on ice
    and be forced back inside

    #

  3. AC Leming

    Late, but the revamp was written several days ago…

    The original, circa July 2007

    “Me and the White Canvas”
    painting by Taiyo la Paix

    Paint like spattered blood on the floor.
    Paintbrush held in his hand like a knife

    fighter awaiting his opening thrust — slash.
    In a fighting stance, his weight fifty-fifty

    on each leg, ready to advance on or retreat
    from his opponent. The empty canvass

    beckons, mocking, white. Grey shadow
    looms large, menacing, blocky, Picassoesque.

    Necklaces thrown back for safety, in case
    the canvas grabs him. Nothing dangles

    to invite a hand at his throat or knife
    in the back. The canvas awaits first blood —

    drawn in anger, fear, curiosity or delight.

    The revamp:

    Me & Taiyo la Paix
    the white canvas

    He stands before me, his blocky shadow
    mars my pristine surface. His paintbrush,
    held back and low, drips red paint on the floor
    like blood from a wound. He has not yet marked
    me as his possession. The paint threatens me.

    I don’t know what he intends. Or how he will scar
    me. Or what we will eventually become as we
    interact in this empty space, once our time
    together ends and he sends me out into the world
    with my face painted, his needs superseding my own.

    Here’s link to the painting: http://taiyolapaix.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/04/me-and-the-white-canvas-2003-oil-on-canvas-95-x-50-inches.jpg

  4. Bruce Niedt

    [i just realized I left a word out of this exercise, so here’s a minor revision:]

    So this is what I did: I took all the words from William Carlos Williams’ “This Is Just to Say” and mixed them all up, then picked each word of that poem randomly, used them in the new order, with some of my own words filled in to make sense of it. It’s interesting that it seems to retain the element of love that Dr. Bill’s original poem evoked.

    The Plums (WCW Deconstruct)

    “Delicious,”
    I said,
    haven eaten them,

    which would forgive me
    from anger,
    a saving grace.

    You have that
    certain something,
    and like the icebox
    knows the plums,

    what I feel for you
    is probably sweet enough.

    They were so ready
    for breakfast that morning,
    the cold so pure,
    and we were too.

    We were in such
    a sweet winter .

  5. Colette D

       ~ Re: ~                                                            ~ Re:mixed ~

    This prompt is                                                        This prompt is
      uninspiring                                                              so inspiring
    and i am spiraling                                                and i am spiraling
     into boredom                                                           into bedlam!
     in the bedlam                                                    There is no boredom
     of this prompt                                                         in this prompt!

  6. De Jackson

    Another Night

    We wear stars
    and soak our skin
    in ink and salt water
    abandon gravity
    loose Orion’s belt
    breathe in
    and out
    until all doubt
    evaporates
    into a moon
    fat with promise
    stars mapped out
    in front
    of us,
    tracing
    light years of hope.

    Original Poem, as posted for Poetic Bloomings:

    That Night

    I wear black
    and wish upon
    the constellationesque freckles
    of your right cheek
    breath held fast
    in clenched fists
    and trembling teeth
    as we talk it all away
    shrouded in our inky
    nothing,
    until the earth itself
    evaporates
    and there is
    only
    the lonely liquid moon
    and her starspilled tears.

  7. De Jackson

    Old one, for now. Tyrannical week. Missing you all.

    Baggage Claim

    i tried carrying your heart
    in my heart
    but I kept tripping on the
    root of the root and the bud of the bud
    and the sky of the sky
    kept raining on me
    and the tree called life
    didn’t really have a proper sign,
    and it’s kind of squishy
    so it kept slipping out
    past meaning moon and singing sun
    and getting sort of muddy
    around the edges
    so I finally bought a big suitcase
    but then I couldn’t find a way to lock it.

    so now I carry it in my pocket.

    <Original Poem: i carry your heart with me, by E.E. Cummings

    i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
    my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
    i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
    by only me is your doing,my darling)
    i fear
    no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
    no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
    and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
    and whatever a sun will always sing is you

    here is the deepest secret nobody knows
    (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
    and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
    higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
    and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

    i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

  8. Mike Bayles

    Lake Superior, the original poem

    The child of glaciers
    takes water as its own
    and wears reflections of sun.
    The hallowed place
    where water and sky meet
    wears a veil of clouds.
    Forever is as forever is,
    when the other shore hides
    from a child’s visions
    and stirs images
    of wayfarer ventures
    over an inland sea,
    a watery eternity.
    Life seems an endless horizon
    like promises of Heaven
    made in their prime.
    A child watches seagulls
    riding trade winds,
    an endless search to sustain,
    and waters hide layers of life.
    Windswept waves resonate
    nature’s rhythms
    and sing of greater things
    sought when I was younger,
    harbored in my heart today.

    A Shoreline View, the recycled poem

    A shoreline view
    shows waters never ending
    as they wear reflections of the sun.
    I look toward the place
    where waters and skies meet,
    where they wear a veil of clouds,
    and I ponder the Heaven,
    I’m too young to know.
    Forever is as forever is,
    another shore beyond my scope,
    while I look for passage lanes
    for great vessels and ships,
    great journeys and vistas
    beyond my vision.

  9. Dan McGarry

    Art Forms-
    Between the rise of the tidal wave, there came awareness.
    Enveloped in the truth of impending doom and subsequent demise, there could only remain but one thought.

    Life, masked in all perpetual sadness now appears one last time.
    The beauty of the gaze into that which I have only dreamed, now ascending in shattering crescendo.
    First haloed in black, fading into a spectrum that surpasses concept and shapes a colorless art form.

    Taken under in theory but unaware of the movement, I no longer belong.
    Time speaks relative fear to recoil emotion but I have gone beyond myself.
    Spiritual longevity is a shallow escape, yet remains the only one I have left.
    Between the flickering imagery and the slow haunting reverberation, I fall.
    Down into the infinite gaze wrapped beyond where the stars lay dead.

  10. Jane Shlensky

    More parody than remix, but here’s a rethinking of Millay’s “First Fig”

    First Fumes

    My pot roast burns at both ends
    Its smoke obscures my sight
    But, oh, don’t fret, my hungry friends,
    We’re eating out tonight

  11. Jane Shlensky

    I nod to John Keats’ “When I Have Fears”

    When I Have Fears

    When I have fears that words may cease to come
    To me all gentled, like a corn-coaxed deer, but scatter
    As I approach, crooning love-talk, my hand out
    To stroke their muzzles and arrange them
    Into lawn art;

    When I imagine no words rising to my bait
    Cast onto still waters, no swirl of life beneath
    The surface, no sunlight glinting off a thought
    Sprung arching from my pond of being,
    Well,

    I have to say it scares me some

    Imagining myself in some sterile room
    With other oldies in progressive disrepair
    Staring into a colorless distance
    At nothing in particular
    A searching grin rippling my face
    As if I’m remembering something
    That could be a poem, a sublimity escaped,
    but I won’t be—

    Perhaps just a muscle twitch
    A shadow of reaction, an expression
    Like babies have when they’re breaking wind
    But doting onlookers are sure they’re smiling
    At them, delighted to be spending time with
    That big face and cooing voice.

    Looking thoughtful, I’ll be chasing after
    Some word gone rogue
    Hiding in the underbrush of my mind,
    Peeking through leaves, flitting, fleeing,
    Just visible enough to tickle my tongue
    And make me say, I almost had it,
    And oh, my, but it was
    a wonderful word, a poignant phrase.

    When these wordless fears come on me,
    Lying wide-eyed and fatigued with my imaginings,
    Sleep is dream, and so I rise
    And see what form my scattered thoughts
    Would like to take—if not word,
    Then note, or paint, or clay, or dish,
    Assured that Truth is not
    limited by fears.

  12. Joseph Harker

    Second attempt at posting this. This is after the second half of Walt Whitman’s “Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun”.

    New York Bridges

    Keep your great earthworm-tunnels,
    Keep your black depths, O underground, and the rattling steam through the soil,
    Keep your pools of rainwater and the curious rats, and your cross-legged dime musicians,
    Keep the cables lining the dark and the empty platforms of a permanent night;
    Give me the rooftops–give me wooden water towers and old parapets invisible behind their graffiti!
    Give me interminable lights–give me rivers–give me youths and madmen hanging out the windows!
    Let me see the city while I’m suspended from the sky–let me dangle from Christmas streamers and crow!
    Give me air and light–give me the Bridges of New York!
    Give me the D-train with its wide orange eye that gazes forever on the shape and sway of Coney Island!
    (The mermaids and carnivaliers call from the beaches–they swim upstream against the current,
    Some waving, some singing, up at us on the train; we follow from their good example.)
    Give me the pinnacles of the Brooklyn in a salt-spray dawn!
    O move for me! O an ecstatic life, full of chatter and lightning!
    The life of the huckster, bag-man, pole-gripping poet for me!
    The bikes on the Williamsburg! the Roosevelt towers for me! the J and the Q and their hot blood!
    The metal mouths of trains opening and closing, swallowing and spitting we rail-addled dreamers;
    Nothing but people coming and going, every element but the prison of clay,
    New York bridges like veins, umbilicals, the tramped-out procession of stories,
    The twenty-four-hour symphony of steel and cement (even in the lowest hour of the moon,)
    New York bridges, pressed up in sharp relief to the heavens!
    New York bridges forever carry me.

  13. seingraham

    Took one of Leonard Cohen’s poems (Peace – wrote it as it’s written first) and re-wrote it from a slightly different perspective …)

    Peace

    I’ve come clean
    I’m afraid you will have to bow down to me
    I won’t be able to breathe properly
    unless I am worshipped
    You though I was getting better
    didn’t you
    Here it comes again
    peace
    the hands of peace around my throat
    That’s why I’m letting you go
    that’s why I’m sitting here
    in my robes
    with my eyes rolled back into my head.

    Leonard Cohen
    Mt Baldy, 1980

    My version:

    Peace Elusive

    Coming clean eludes me
    As does breathing normally
    And peace?
    Its nature’s so ephemeral
    I fear it died with God
    When I refused to worship—
    Wait—you didn’t think
    I was getting better, did you?
    No—still sitting silent,
    In my robe
    My eyes rolled back
    In my head
    The hands of war
    Around my throat

  14. Andrew Kreider

    Here’s a remix of an old song lyric. I recast it in haiku.

    Great white – Original

    Eleven o’clock, and the clouds are white
    On the semi-sweet sky.
    A brilliant moon, beginning to wane,
    Shines cool white bright light on my pool.
    You are, you will, you always were
    You are, you will, you always were with me.

    I float below the trees,
    Great white fish.
    I float below the trees,
    A great white fish with swollen knees.
    You are, you will, you always were
    You are, you will, you always were with me.

    Reflected,
    Refracted, in the teardrop of this hour
    I’m gliding, colliding, in your brilliant light.
    Could it be… Could it be that this is…
    Could it be that this is joy? Could it be that this is joy?

    Great white fish – remix

    Eleven o’clock,
    And the semi-sweet moon pours
    Down cool white bright light.

    I float below trees,
    In the teardrop of this hour
    And you are with me

    Gliding, colliding.
    Great white fish with swollen knees
    Knowing this is joy

  15. Walt Wojtanik

    ORIGINAL POEM:

    THROUGH THE MIST

    My eyes mist with memories,
    swatches of moments held dear.
    I can hear the voices whose
    life were filled with choices,
    good or bad, they have little bearing
    on these feelings now.
    Love means I carry them with me
    for no other reason than that.
    Faintly, vision becomes cleared.
    I feel nearer to you with time.

    REMIX:

    7HR0U6H 7H3 M157 8Y 7H3 NUM83R5

    MY 3Y35 M157 W17H M3M0R135,
    5W47CH35 0F M0M3N75 H3LD D34R.
    1 C4N H34R 7H3 V01C35 WH053
    L1V35 W3R3 F1LL3D W17H CH01C35,
    600D 0R 84D, 7H3Y H4V3 L177L3 834R1N6
    0N 7H353 F33L1N65 N0W.
    L0V3 M34N5 1 C4RRY 7H3M W17H M3
    F0R N0 07H3R R3450N 7H4N 7H47.
    F41N7LY, V1510N 83C0M35 CL34R3D.
    1 F33L N34R3R 70 Y0U W17H 71M3.

  16. barbara_y

    variations on the theme of worship
    http://briarcat.wordpress.com/2011/08/24/8580/
    variation #2,
    two variations for Poetic Asides

    Question:  which of the following can be made
    with a single roll of duct tape?

    a. glitter-gold, blue, and ruby fireworks
    b. a watercolor kite
    c. dark matter
    d. for extra credit spell duck tape

    ***

    Barroom puzzler:  form, without moving a match,
    with your fingers gray and stuck together

    a.  a black frock coat
    b. a cozy, shaped for sacramental wine
    c. a slipcase for the Good Book
    d. for extra credit spell duck tape

  17. ina

    Original: last stanza of David Bowie’s Bewlay Brothers (they have it not-quite-right here: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/davidbowie/thebewlaybrothers.html)

    Lay me place and bake me Pie
    I’m starving for me Gravy
    Leave my shoes, and door unlocked
    I might just slip away
    Just for a Day, Hey!
    Please come Away, Hey!

    Mine:

    We Will For Hunger

    Hey! An unlocked door and
    my shoes just slip away.
    Leave me for a Day
    to bake in place
    and Hey! I’m starving.
    I might come away
    just for gravy and pie
    just please lay me
    for gravy and pie.

  18. Sara McNulty

    Method

    Sharp are razors
    Shocking are tasers
    Jumping from ledges
    leaves you splattered in wedges.
    How many pills
    does it take to kill?
    It is far too uncertain
    to bring down the curtain.
    So put down that knife
    and go live your life.

    (Remix of Dorothy Parker’s, Rėsumė)

  19. cstewart

    My first Antigone:

    Antigone.
    When love,
    Becomes a criminal.

    —————————

    My second Antigone:

    My inspiration and my love.
    Gone criminal with it.
    My brave heart,
    Gone to the other side,
    Where you will die,
    Or be saved by love.

  20. DanielAri

    Heard “I Want To Tell You” by the Beatles on the way home and caught the spark of inspiration to write this:

    “To John Lennon”

    I’ve got all those words.
    I could tell confusing things
    to you.

    Begin? I don’t mind
    if I seem to act unkind.
    around time.

    I want to tell you,
    “I could wait forever.
    I’ve got time.”

    Maybe you’d understand.
    That is,
    maybe next time.

    I don’t know why,
    but sometimes I wish
    I could wait forever.

    Then I feel hung up,
    but it’s all right.
    I speak my mind.

    I’ll tell you:
    I knew you well,
    but I don’t know why.

    When you’re here
    you seem to slip away
    when I get near.

    My head is filled with time.
    I’ve got things to say.
    I’ve got me, my mind.

    The games make you feel hung up.
    They drag me down.
    I don’t want to mind,

    and I want to tell you:
    it’s not I;
    it’s only time.

    DA

  21. RJ Clarken

    The first (original) version of the poem is in the form Passerat Villanelle. I wrote it long ago for some competition or other. (I cannot remember what it was.) The second version of the poem is in the Nove Otto form, as highlighted on Walt’s and Marie’s Poetry Bloomings site.

    Clockwise & Counterclockwise
    (On Further Reflection)

    Most clock hands move in deasil direction.
    That’s a fancy way of saying ‘clockwise.’
    It has to mean, on further reflection,

    (but with a smidgen of circumspection –
    and this should really come as no surprise)
    when clock hands move in deasil direction

    the opposite word, per recollection,
    is widdershins. Logic surely defies!
    It has to mean, on further reflection

    the word-gods have a strange predilection
    with coinage of terms so they can advise:
    “Most clock hands move in deasil direction…” ???…!

    Would it be more fun to mix up flexion?
    Say weasel … or … diddershins? I’d surmise
    it has to mean, on further reflection

    they’ve simply made a lyric election –
    ‘though it makes me want to just cross my eyes.
    Ergo, clock hands moving in deasil-y direction
    move time-wise, quite feasibly, on further reflection.

    ###

    Tik Tok

    So, deasil’s just another word
    for clockwise, which is more preferred.
    And how did they come up with this?
    But on the other hand, admins
    of lexicons say widdershins
    which otherwise one might dismiss
    since counterclockwise means the same
    as widdershins (a better name?)
    Yes…hands on clocks tick tock like this.

    ###

  22. Bruce Niedt

    So this is what I did: I took all the words from William Carlos Williams’ “This Is Just to Say” and mixed them all up, then picked each word of that poem randomly, used them in the new order, with some of my own words filled in to make sense of it. It’s interesting that it seems to retain the element of love that Dr. Bill’s original poem evoked.

    The Plums (WCW Deconstruct)

    “Delicious,”
    I said, which would forgive me
    from anger, a saving grace.

    You have that
    certain something,
    and like the icebox
    knows the plums,
    what I feel for you
    is probably sweet enough.

    They were so ready
    for breakfast that morning,
    the cold so pure,
    and we were too.

    We were in such
    a sweet winter .

  23. taylor graham

    My original:

    HOME GARDEN

    Strange lush new foliage on the tomato plant.
    Look closer. It’s segmented green, caterpillar
    almost as fat as my finger. Pull it off –
    muscular as a tiny snake, it whips its mouth
    around to bite. See how it’s stripped the vine.
    Smash it – feel the live resistance against my
    heel. Only then, try to find out what I’ve killed.
    I google: big green garden pest. Tomato Horn-
    worm. In God’s good time, a Sphinx Moth.
    Once I found that wide-eyed speechless oracle
    unfurled against the cabin door. How could
    I move till I’d studied it, and lost my
    thought in brown-black patterns of wings
    for the moment motionless unblinking as life.

    TREE OF KNOWLEDGE

    Lush new foliage on the tomato vine
    but segmented – green, muscular
    as snake. Eve’s tempter among ripe
    red fruit. Tomato Hornworm
    transforms, in God’s good time,
    to Sphinx Moth.
    I remember giant wings
    designed with eyes
    unblinking as life. Speechless
    oracle
    to watch me lose myself
    in thinking.

  24. foodpoet

    usually when I do a pantoun I am expanding from a shorter form. This time with remix I went the other way not sure what the finished poem will be. It is titled raining joy written in memory of Laurel Burch I write a lot of my poems in her beautiful art journals.

    Raining Joy free verse version

    Raining joy
    Fall trees shed green
    Drape the colors of the rainbow
    And dance in fall
    On carpets of shattered hues
    The wind blows through bright branches
    They arch up to the sky showing off shorn limbs
    Branches blow in the softly chilling air
    Raining joy

    first version – pantoun

    Raining joy
    Fall trees shed green
    Drape the colors of the rainbow
    And dance in fall

    Fall trees shed green
    The wind blows through bright branches
    And dance in fall
    On carpets of shattered hues

    The wind blows through bright branches
    They arch up to the sky showing off shorn limbs
    To the growing carpets of shattered hues
    Branches blow in the softly chilling air

    They arch up to the sky showing off shorn limbs
    Drape the colors of the rainbow
    Branches blow in the softly chilling air
    Raining joy

    Megan

  25. vjohnso1

    Still I Rise by Maya Angelou
    http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/

    Still I Rise (Remix)

    You may break my heart all around
    With your many deceitful lies
    You may even kick me while I’m down
    But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

    Does my eduation upset you?
    Or the fact that I’m smart and true?
    Or maybe it’s the fact that I keep saying
    That you and me are through

    Cutting off the severed ties
    Not knowing where my emotions lie
    Looking through my tearful eyes
    Still I’ll rise.

    Yes you tried to break me
    But far as I can see
    I’m exactly the same person
    God made me out to be

    Training my heart to love again
    Training my body to no longer sin
    Training my feelings to not hold a grudge
    And training my emotions to not even budge

    I will accept your apology
    and forgive you as a friend
    As I continue with my midnight cries
    But still, like air, I’ll rise.

    My time has come to shine
    I take back what’s rightfully mines
    From the beginning of time

    Uprooted from all the pain
    I rise
    Starved with the wisdom that kept me sane
    I rise
    Leaping through waters up and above
    Pledging my undying unconditional love
    Loving to hard was my demise
    I rise
    Leaving behind my love and fear
    I rise
    Preparing our daughter for a life to live
    With all my love to her I give
    I rise
    I rise
    I rise.

  26. vjohnso1

    Still I Rise by Maya Angelou
    http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/

    Still I Rise (Remix)

    You may break my heart all around
    With your many deceitful lies
    You may even kick me while I’m down
    But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

    Does my eduation upset you?
    Or the fact that I’m smart and true?
    Or maybe it’s the fact that I keep saying
    That you and me are through

    Cutting off the severed ties
    Not knowing where my emotions lie
    Looking through my tearful eyes
    Still I’ll rise.

    Yes you tried to break me
    But far as I can see
    I’m exactly the same person
    God maade me out to be

    Training my heart to love agan
    Training my body to no longe sin
    Training my feelings to not hold a grudge
    And training my emtions to not even budge

    I will accept your apology
    and forgive you as a friend
    As I continue with my midnight cries
    But still, like air, I’ll rise.

    My time has come to shine
    I take back what’s rightfully mines
    From the beginning of time

    Uprooted from all the pain
    I rise
    Starved with the wisdom that kept me insane
    I rise
    Leaping through waters up and above
    Pledging my undying unconditional love
    Loving to hard was my demise
    I rise
    Leaving behind my love and fear
    I rise
    Preparing our daughter for a life to live
    With all my love to her I give
    I rise
    I rise
    I rise.

  27. Buddah Moskowitz

    Here’s my original: http://ihatepoetry.blogspot.com/2011/08/businessman-speaks-yet-again.html

    and here’s my remix (as it were)

    “Formatted for Mobile Devices”

    The smart phone
    the iPad
    the iPod
    (the iGod?)

    the laptop
    bought from
    the big box
    crap shop

    and Bluetooth
    is not the
    new truth

    and last decade’s
    PDA
    is DOA

    and unless your
    USB
    is version 3
    don’t talk to me.

    Technology dictates
    how we think
    and create
    and share
    and sync

    and I don’t want any scrapple
    from the fanboys at Apple

    and I’m kind of frugal
    so I roll with Google

    and in principle
    I like things open source
    but only when they work
    of course,

    still, all these
    gidgets and gazmos
    polluting the cosmos

    obscure the reality
    they don’t want us to see:
    that we do not possess them
    they possess us

    we are their slaves
    and in them
    we all trust.

    and if this thought
    causes you to frown
    then
    power down

    and repeat this

    not once
    nor twice
    but rather, thrice

    “I am not a mobile device.”

  28. Connie Peters

    My original poem:

    Walking in the Rain

    Enjoying the dramatic cloud paintings,
    chilled but exhilarated.
    Glad to relive childhood experiences
    when walking in the rain was a common thing.
    Pelted by hail, but not minding.
    Half wishing someone would offer a ride,
    but knowing I’d refuse one, anyway.
    Entering our property the back way.
    Coming in dripping wet,
    changing into warm, dry clothes
    and brushing my wet, tangled hair,
    A little disappointed at my family’s lack of concern,
    but most of all thankful for walking in the rain.

    Remix (Nove Otto from Poetic Bloomings)

    Walking in the Rain

    Dramatic clouds paint the slate sky
    Walking in rainstorm feeling high
    Memories near from childhood days
    Hail pelts me but I do not mind
    A ride may come from someone kind
    But I’d refuse it anyways
    Home, I brush my tangled, wet hair
    Stung, my family shows no care
    But my childlike rainy joy stays

  29. Nancy Posey

    So much of beauty, music, poetry, art
    depends upon
    paying attention
    to a lonesome cloud,
    a single note
    just the right word,
    a keen surprise,
    one that catches
    the looker or listener
    by surprise
    like a knife under the ribs

    or appears as a familiar
    remembrance–
    a red wheel
    barrow, a flour sack dress,
    a song so old,
    the melody appears
    like an old recurring dream.
    no museum could hope
    to catch the light
    quite like sun does,
    some simple object,
    glazed with rain
    water,

    no note resounds
    in a concert hall
    in quite the same way
    it might in a pasture
    turned parking lot,
    the fiddlers warming
    up under the tent,

    while out behind the bar
    a woman stands alone
    with her mandolin
    beside the white
    chickens,
    picking out
    the first few notes
    of “Cluck Old Hen.”

    I tried to decide how to highlight the words of W. C Williams’ “so much depends,” but I’ll just trust they are familiar to most.

    http://writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/wcw-red-wheel.html

  30. Walt Wojtanik

    My original poem: HEARTSTRINGS: TETHERS AND LIFELINES

    A length of cord attaches,
    wound and secured to the center
    of your emotion. A stretch
    to say the least, that all tied up
    can keep the rest of you from unraveling,
    hearts traveling at the speed of light,
    second star to the right, and straight on
    until morning. Without warning your senses
    drop all pretenses and leave you hanging
    precariously, daring to wear thread thin
    and snap at the first sign of pressure and doubt.
    But, therein lies the crux of your dilemma.
    What had once connected to a fleeting past;
    a love for a lifetime, again joins you to your
    very survival and you strive to hold on,
    both hands clutching and hoping for your vital signs
    to be as vibrant as the day is long.
    You are feeling stronger every day.
    Heartstrings remain in tune; their symphony
    is the song for an all-consuming love.
    Hum along if the words escape you.

    http://aleerily.wordpress.com/2010/04/28/heartstrings-tethers-and-lifelines/

    HOLDING ON FOR DEAR LIFE

    Heartstrings treadbare and tattered;
    your song has diminished to an out-of-tune ditty.
    That all-consuming love was not pretty,
    for it offered no room to grow. Wouldn’t you know
    that hanging on for dear life may have been the error,
    the lapse of judgement you stumble upon from time-to-time.
    So you clutch your rhyme and time-worn verse
    and curse the day survival became all-obsessive;
    a possessive piece of property over which you had lost control.
    No more selling your soul. You have found that inspiration
    will find you even after you’ve stopped searching.
    Out of the lurch and swinging from your perch. A canary
    with nary a care but to express what his heart envisions.
    Always whistling a new tune. Hum along if the words escape you.

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