Half-way through the month, and today’s prompt comes from Jared Davidavich.
Here’s Jared’s prompt: Write a tradeoff poem. Could be an exchange, forfeit, or swap.
Robert’s attempt at a Tradeoff Poem:
“From the trees”
I’ll give you this poem for applause
or withhold it for even more. This line
is for the next one, this day for smiling
at the world I love. No trade is perfect,
but I’ll give you this hand for your hand,
and we can dash into the forest forever.
*****
Thank you, Jared, for the economical prompt. Click here to learn more about Jared.
Click here if you prefer using the WD Forum for commenting.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
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For my mommy…
I’d remember for you,
I’d give you my mind
So you didn’t have to struggle through another sentence
So you didn’t have to forget who you are and forget me too
I’d remember for you.
I’d give you my mind
If it erased the fear from your eyes and the anger from your voice
So you wouldn’t stand a nameless face in the mirror
I’d remember for you.
I’d give you my mind
So that you didn’t have to feel yourself slip away
Wondering what’s wrong, not knowing, but knowing that your gone.
I’d remember for you.
I’d give you my mind
For another game of cards, for another conversation you’d understand
so you could actually enjoy what’s left of your time,
I’d give you my mind.
I’d remember for you so that you’d remember me too.
Erratic Dance
As our eyes anxiously wrapped themselves
tightly about one another
mutually parading trading
manifest secrets so effortlessly
across visible spectrum
our hearts enthusiastically
stood erect
and danced erratically
throughout the night
Feverish Exchange
I’ll trade you…
My heart for yours.
And we’ll see who has
the greater love. May our
affections wildly compete
against each other
as in the first day of battle.
Surrender our shields.
Drop our armor
and indulge ourselves
rightly, moment by moment;
or rather minute by minute
in this feverish exchange.
Fair Trade
Insulted she was – until
it hit her: an honest mistake,
after all: a volunteer, picking up
trash on the side of the road
is all too easily taken
for a lost & homeless soul
seeking aluminum assistance;
honestly, she was dressed rather
shabby – scruffy, even – and
(having seen some homeless folks
sporting seedy furs & three piece suits)
she couldn’t help but wonder:
what would proper attire entail –
if one were aiming to avoid
a case of mistaken identity?
so she tendered a nod and a smile
(after all, why not accept a gift
in the manner in which it’s intended?)
to the guy in the pickup truck
who tossed two empty
Red Bull cans into the street
at her feet
stealing color
from the sun
autumn ginkgo
This is a trade no one can win.
Gaza for Jerusalem
or vice versa.
So stop it.
Fair Trade
I’ll give you my time…
when you need me.
I’ll help you out …
when you need me.
I’ll give away our castoffs…
when you need me.
I’ll give a little extra…
when you need me.
I’ll donate supplies…
when you need me.
I’ll drive you where you need to go…
when you need me.
Even if we’ve never met,
I’ll do these things and more –
Just for the feeling I get inside…
when you need me.
Swap for Eternity
If I could trade anything at all
in this world for something
better, it would be this world
for a better one. Exchange the
brokenness, the breakdowns,
the insecurity and heartbreak
for something bigger than
anything I could ever imagine.
What am I offered for my
time here? Only the chance to
find myself healed at the hands
of the One who knows me
better than anyone ever will.
A bruised reed he will not break,
and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. (Isaiah 42:3)
Just You
I wouldn’t trade you in,
swap you for another.
How could I when you
are all of me, all
that I am – without
you I don’t exist.
Trade Off
Another call in the night,
And I was thinking and almost said,
I wish just once you would call
and not be asking for money.
I was thinking and almost said
Don’t call and now I wish I could trade thoughts
You weren’t asking for money
And I wish you were
Now I wish I could trade thoughts
And void the news of more cancer
I wish you were
Healthy and free of pressures
Void the news of more cancer
I wish you will call
Healthy and free of pressures
Not another call in the night
Heart
Like Midas, I was foolish to trade
my living heart for one of stone,
tempted by alchemists’ tricks.
Not even purest gold fills as well
that space housing my soul,
as my poor, lost, feeble heart
Now I miss its fragile warmth, nestled
like a frightened bird beneath my ribs,
quaking, but so warm, so alive.
Old Joke
I notice your ad
on the board: “Husband Wanted”…
feel free to take mine
“Assisted living”
A permanent new home
She doesn’t recall
FOR A BETTER LIFE
They left behind
the familiar – the known.
Taking a giant leap forward
into the strange new world
where everything is so different -
sounds, smells, sights.
But the tradeoff came
with one glorious gift -
freedom!
I skipped over the “obey” part…because, really?
Reality Vows
My Beloved
On this day, I take you
to have and to hold;
forever – and you alone.
If I alone might have control of the remote
so that I may watch All The Sports.
Dearest Love,
I will give thee the one remote,
if thou whilst promise
to rub my feet while thou watchest The Game.
Except on Fridays
when thou must watch a rom-com I choose.
My Dearest,
I will rub thy feet,
and watch Tom and Meg – again;
if thou whilst make me Nachos Supreme
and rub my belly when I eat too much.
Seriously, Love?
Yes, My Sweet.
Will there be cuddling?
Yes – if there will be cold beer.
I swear it will be so.
‘Tis good then. Done?
Babies?
Of course, but when?
mmmm…..someday. Soon.
But just one, right?
I was thinking three……
How about 2?
one of each! that would be nice.
mkay.
Whilst thou change some diapers?
I can do that.
And some night feedings?
I can do that too —
— he’ll watch the game with me.
But what if it’s a girl?
Then she’ll learn to love hockey.
*chuckle* you’d better teach her to dance one day.
*smiling* She’ll stand on my feet.
And early mornings at the ice rink…
…..that will be rough.
Aye – some days will be tough.
But also – wonderful.
And we’ll be happy?
Ever After, My Love.
Always beloved
All right then….
….spit and shake.
Meanwhile, on some distant marble,
We barter moons.
You pilfer glow and I pocket useless reflective rocks, cast them loose to
puncture some new holes clean through this tired sky. This breeze and I,
we’re weary of spinning things with molten, lying cores, tilt and twist of tongue.
Everyone murmurs gravity hurts but no one’s told us why and I am no longer
certain they are coming back for us at all. You play pool with the planets to
pass the time and twiddle idle thumbs; I dream of hitchhiking, and ache
to swap these sighs for stardust.
.
Ooops. Missed my italics. Apologies for repost:
Meanwhile, on some distant marble,
We barter moons.
You pilfer glow and I pocket useless reflective rocks, cast them loose to
puncture some new holes clean through this tired sky. This breeze and I,
we’re weary of spinning things with molten, lying cores, tilt and twist of tongue.
Everyone murmurs gravity hurts but no one’s told us why and I am no longer
certain they are coming back for us at all. You play pool with the planets to
pass the time and twiddle idle thumbs; I dream of hitchhiking, and ache
to swap these sighs for stardust.
.
Oh. My. Word. SUCH imagery here!!! Incredibly well done.
Trade-off
Sometimes you must wonder
who got the better end of this deal.
When it comes to love, she’s the MVP,
and you’re the player to be named later.
A tradeoff, exchange, forfeit and swap
I gave you my love
and you gave me yours
a judicious exchange
formally
divided
I gave you my love
and you gave me yours
a tradeoff
it seemed
loquaciously
confided
I gave you my love
and you gave me yours
a forfeit for both
though the game
had just started
and thus was decided
my love is all mine
your love is all yours
so I pushed you hard
and you pushed right back
back and forth pushing
swinging higher
and
higher
each taking turns
until
both of us
soared
I like how you paced this, it felt like the start of a flight…
Poetic Asides November Challenge – Day 15
Write a trade-off poem
Scam
Then there was that deal,
I will take
Manhattan
in exchange for these lovely
trade beads and trinkets.
I arrived with hope,
with skills and tools,
intelligence and potential;
with wide-eyed wonder
and an open mind
I had value, freedom
from the confines of nature,
I had purpose and abilities
to change, to progress;
I had dreams
I forfeited my freedom,
submitted to control
in exchange for more, faster;
a value assigned to me,
my dreams erased
i am an instrument,
a mere commodity,
a cog in the wheel
that turns society;
dependent, expendable
surplus eludes us,
but We must seek it,
the machine demands it;
We are the machine,
We are busy
Great attempt at your own prompt! I like the underlying message in this: We are all in it together, demanding a better exchange. If I can offer a small suggestion, use a period (or no punctuation) instead of a comma after “We are the machine” to call more attention to that declaration. Well done.
My poem is here… http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/11/15/365-creativity-project-day-311/ Thank you for a challenging prompt.
Life With The Queen
He built a great castle
filled it with his life
then he gave it away
to make her his wife.
He did what he had to
and answered the call
for a life with the queen
he sacrificed all.
By Michael Grove
The Swap
Let’s make a swap, you and I:
Your nervous tick for my lazy eye.
My psoriasis for your pimple.
My unibrow for your pretty dimples.
Your lovely smile for my pesky frown.
My generosity knows no bounds.
Your hunger for my stomach flu…
I only want what’s best for you.
An Exchange
If I smile at you,
Will you smile back?
You do, and I have
A heart attack.
If I say hello,
Will you do the same?
You do, and I think
That I like this game.
I ask how you are,
And you say you’re fine.
Is your heart pounding
As quickly as mine?
I hold out my hand,
And you take it in yours.
Our love is so strong
It will probably end wars!
Then all of a sudden,
You start to beep.
I turn off my alarm
And go back to sleep.
Day 15: A trade off poem at 11.50pm
If I write a haiku
can I be let off today
and go to bed now?
Genius!
I was likewise tempted.
Horse Traders
My great Uncle traded
his horse for a wagon.
He traded the wagon
for two mules. At the
end of the day he rode
home on his original
horse with $25 in his
pocket. From that day
forward he was a local
legend on the horse-
trading front.
“Pistrami on topsy-turvy”
My Zeda always had
the habit of eating
sandwiches with the bread
slices misaligning.
He liked them foot to head.
He wasn’t past turning
one slice the other way
even when dining out
in a luncheon café.
Now that Zeda is dead,
I think to wonder why.
What was the origin
of the charm on rye?
Why the superstition?
Or did it taste better?
Wherefore the discipline
to give sammies his spin?
Deals
You will never star in Titus Andronicus,
but on the other hand, your hair will
never be flat, and you will be impervious
to insult, real or perceived. Most of us
will hate you, but how you will deal
with that is to build yourself a hut
out of Styrofoam in the middle of
a major grocery store somewhere
in a town of your choosing, and
hand out cocktail franks on picks
until you are escorted out by
store security, your hut broken
into tiny pellets that someone
will have to sweep up. But that’s
not your deal, the sweeping.
That’s up to the guy with the
broom and the whistle in his heart,
and the hump on his back, stooped
under the weight of all the deals
he’s made, all his days of dealing.
Tradeoff
I love when unexploited bells and whistles
of a new romance appear everywhere.
Though they’re not clear-cut, diamonds
from the sun band on your route.
You notice how even the slits between
your toes are touched by warming light.
It all gets marked by honey: the fragile
exterior, internal letters stacked over
unconsciousness, the serious soul
and lighthearted spirit.
Ah, but when love is an antique table,
wiped clean after meals, timeouts, birthday
cake, quickies, homework, bills, projects
and card-games; when stoneware, silver
and sunlight are placed in their bed,
we’re ready to relax in the dent
of a whistle or lie down in
the crack of our bell.
Obsession’s Tightrope
Passion rages forth,
Carrying life and time
Across pages of history,
Never pausing to consider
How precious such
Memories could be
If only they belonged
In the mundane world,
In living forms instead
Of between covers
Of paper and ink.
Could one’s life
Evolve any more
Fully than by putting
Imaginations wanderings
In concrete form to
Tantalize, titillate,
And entrance the reader?
Could one live with
More satisfaction than
To rise and fight dragons
Within worlds made real
Only within one’s words?
TRAFEOFFS
Same old morning: breakfast; papers gathered –
property tax again already, checks to deposit;
gizmo to return to hardware store; dogs loaded
in car; we’re off to fitness class. Same old drill.
Scrape frost from windshield. Wait –
down in the swale, is that a deer? Haven’t seen
one here in months. Too many fences
in the neighborhood, too much traffic, two-lane
speedway. But there’s a doe, and
now another. And look!
buck with a rack. He’s got a slight limp, maybe
hit once on the road; but he’s making do.
How many prongs? Too dim to tell. Five? six?
Then for an instant, first-light strikes his antlers
a golden crown.
The Day I Gave Up My Car Keys
When I got sick, I had
to turn in my car keys.
It’s not that I miss the physical
part of it—who misses a fifteen
year old car with no radio or air
conditioning?
But it was the independence, or
loss of same, that knocked the
wind out of my sails.
It took me a while to learn a
new language—the
public transit system.
But that brought with it
a wonderful
type of freedom.
Freedom to see, and hear,
colors. Freedom to see, and hear,
people. Freedom to taste
the flavors of life.
Freedom to be grateful.
For forty-five years, I had
been moving through an
increasing mass of humanity,
in a self-imposed solitary
confinement.
Those bars fell when I gave
up my keys.
I think I was (am) addicted to
independence.
And I’ll take freedom over
independence any time.
Ellen Knight
So very much wisdom here. Well done, Ellen. Bless your heart!
Trade Off Lullaby
Come to you my little boy
It’s time for your wee nap
I know you would rather not
So come sit on my lap
I’ll tell you what I’ll give to you
So listen close to hear
Think about the things you like
And I’ll whisper in your ear
I’ll give to you a lullaby
Of castles by the lake
I’ll sing to you of puppy dogs
A turtle and a snake
I’ll sing a song of glittering stars
And silvery moon beams
Of flying to Jupiter and back
If you give to me your dreams
Now close your eyes my little one
And do the best you can
To conjure up the happy things
And I’ll tell you my sweet plan
I’ll give to you this lullaby
Of candies filled with creams
Of mountains of gummy bears
If you give to me your dreams
I’ll sing a song of kitty cats
And horses running free
Of sailboats and diamond kites
Of climbing an old oak tree
And now I see your eyes are closed
You’re breathing heavily
So I will end this lullaby
And you can keep your dreams.
Oops, first line should read Come to me
Oh, Connie! I adore a sweet lullaby, and this fits the bill beautifully! Love it!
TEA WITH RELISH
Relishing this
late night tea
I forfeit straight
eight hours sleep.
The Important Things Aren’t Things
Things I loved when I was young:
Singing
Dancing
Theater
Reading
Writing
And I was in plays, musicals,
whatever they had at the local
theater. I learned all aspects
from the acting and singing and performing
to the set construction, costuming and directing.
And then I had children.
The choice was to continue
the way I had been,
though that would have meant
a lot of time away from the little ones,
or to leave behind my first loves
to be with my little ones.
The choice was actually still painful,
even though I knew it was the right one.
Things I loved when I was a little older:
My kids
Singing (children’s songs)
Dancing (around the house with them)
Theater (puppets usually)
Reading (bedtime stories)
Writing (just for me)
And the loss of one kind of focus
was more than made up by focusing instead
on what was really important.
Things I love now that I’m done raising kids:
My kids
Singing (in a band)
Dancing (at weddings)
Theater (at the office)
Reading (as much as I like)
Writing (more than ever)
Totally worth it.
Diana Terrill Clark
Tradeoff: A Very Old Tale
The city gate
was so narrow
that some called
it “The Eye
of the Needle”
but the rich
trader coming
from afar had
never been there
so he didn’t know.
The packs
on his camels
were wide
and bulged
out on either
side with all
the goods he
had brought to
sell, but those
who would
buy were inside
and he could
not pass
through the eye
of the needle.
The Tree by the Swing sets
A group of small boys, gather beneath the tree by
the swing sets. Some adults passing by grow
suspicious. What are they up to?
They are trading those small cars. The ones that are
Reproductions of the real thing. The adults, a man
And a woman, walk on, remembering. She is thinking
Of Barbie dolls and Barbie outfits – she and her girl
Friends engaged in hours of this for that- sometimes
Ending in tears, and phone calls from angry mothers.
The man remembers Indian arrowheads, odd stones,
Keys to who knew what? Sometimes arguments -
Threatened fights that rarely took place.
The tree next to the swing set is old. Some of its
Branches are broken and it is easy to climb. It
Makes a good outlook for kids playing pirate.
It watches all kinds of deals. Illegal drugs, but
Not too often because the police cruise this area
A lot. Beneath the branches, innocent swaps of
baseball cards and deadly deals with guns have
come and gone. No one pays attention to the tree
It never says a word.
TRADE triolet
What say we make a trade?
I’m sure you’ll see that I am right.
Your gadget cost twice what I paid
What say we make a trade?
I see that yours is so better made.
No need for us to scrap or fight
What say we make a trade?
I’m sure you’ll see that I am right.
Hello?
(a shadorma)
I can’t sleep.
I had a bad dream.
You forfeit
your own sleep
to take my call…to listen
to my teardrops fall.
Oh, such power and tenderness! <3
WHO NEEDS SLEEP?
There was a day when I’d sing,
“I agree, the play’s the thing”
and pen scripts that dripped
with humor, and tender moments,
vitriol and pathos. But writing
to such lengths sapped the strength
out of my muse and the ensuing
abuse of my body and mind.
I had to find the time where I’m
solely and silently alone,
not prone to distractions or
familial interactions or phones
that go chirp in the night.
Burning the midnight oils
well after three and seeing
double and triple when I’d trickle
off to bed for an hour or two.
A sacrifice of time meant for
a wife and daughters who ought
to have as much of me as they
could stand without the demands
to write all night. A modicum of success
made a mess of my life, pushing my wife
to the brink and fighting the battle of words
at unheard hours. The accolades showered
were nice, but did not suffice my expressive
heart. That’s when I started to write poetry.
Metered rhyme served my time better,
and it let her get her fill of my presence;
the essence of my verse was all hers.
Until my mind wandered with more
time squandered again. Too many trade-
offs made without fair compensation.
… and I look with tender eyes across the lake, admiring the man, his words, his honesty, his heart. And I wish all the very best asleep and awake, for the family he holds so dear.
Even.
Odd,
how you think
you can bring
nothing
to the table
have your say
get your way
and leave.
Let’s call it
.
Oooooh. I really like how you wrote this. The formatting adds so much!
And there’s my De! You never, ever disappoint.
Barter
I’ll clean out your house
for some gas money
or a place to stay.
I’ll clean out your garage
while you watch.
It will be a treat
when you take me out for lunch.
Talk and my poetry
also fill the day,
for creativity is the new currency,
and you’ve also hired me
for my company.
The Man Who Lost His Way
I dreamt of a globe in the palm of my hand,
Saying this too shall pass and this will not stand,
From the mafia wars to the ACLU,
The movers and shakers, the do-nothings too,
And each desperate day, each socialite mixer,
Rubbing elbows with powerful brokers and fixers,
Taking stock of the optics, my manners comported,
According to how all the facts were distorted.
Integrity traded for mere good intention,
Paving my way down a road I won’t mention,
Til nothing would pass and all things would stand,
On my way to a globe in the palm of my hand.
Oh, wow! Good stuff, this!
I think it’s the Facebook connection thingy fouling up attempts to post, but I really, really want to blame the Ad, which with my slow bandwidth takes forever to load EVERY TIME.
Ads that require attention, and an accurate touch to remove, do not make me think well of the product.
she (‘nuff) said, grumpily.
Trade-Off
It’s a tossup, a trade-off:
You get the thing paid off,
and–car, computer, or washing machine–
it begins to shudder and moan
–and turn mean.
Do you hope that your brother-
in-law knows another
guy blessed with the mojo
and knowhow you need
for the deed?
Or go back, once more,
to the Big Box Store
and lay down the easy downpayment
and start up the cycle again?
You can’t win.
Feeding the Animals
Anger teaches many arts—
that heat makes liquids boil,
that carnivores live in our hearts,
and twist and gnash and roil.
Sometimes we feed them arguments
to keep them quiet there
to teach us diplomatic bents
to school ourselves to care.
Arguments from which we learn
are trading posts, at best.
We choose this feeling, that one spurn
to leave our minds at rest.
But anger brings such righteousness
such stubborn blind dis-ease
that soon we’re trading down, obsessed
with winning by degrees.
So here I sit exchanging words
to swap dark thoughts for light,
to purchase peace without a sword–
I don’t need to be right.
I’m strapping on my kinder eyes
to see what lies beneath
each angry word and soon surmise
forgiveness helps me breathe.
If fury feeds the animals,
if forgiveness cools the day,
I’ll know my trade, my choice, forestalls
the heat, If I walk away.
Eternal Bargains
What will you give?
he asked of me
to have it all
I know what he wants
but does it exist?
the ultimate question
Life, love, happiness
not too much to ask
but then I get greedy
Power, money, charisma
now you’re talking
where do I sign
And those surrounding you
what of them
the power to heal?
Only one can do that
and I am not Him
I have named my price
Who are you really
Do you really want to know
Am I just an illusion
Or is that desperation
I could be your savior
or your destroyer
It is your choice to make
but once you sign your name
there is no turning back
You cannot know what exists
behind the curtain
is it Oz or is it Satan
five years later
here’s an idea:
how ‘bout you try breast feeding
while I ignore you
I’ll go to the bank
and screw your secretary
on her coffee break
you can clean the house
if the baby stops crying
go to the bathroom
with the door open
think about your college friends
and your lost career
I will grab a drink
with the boys from the office
dreading coming home
you will hate my guts
I will find you tedious
the baby will scream
Ouch. Very well done Andrew.
Neither your empathy nor your creativity come as any surprise whatsoever, Andrew. Excellent!
very powerfully written
GIVE YOUR HEART – TAKE NO QUARTER
A simple give and take on the surface seems just so.
But underneath the layers, we have a way to go.
Sometimes you give me a hard bit,
when I’m not in the mood to take any shit!
I give you what your heart deserves
and then take your heart, a bit unnerved.
You give me time to do “my thing”,
you take all I have, except this ring.
I give you a headache when my mouth’s in gear,
and you take all you can, but are always right here.
You give me so much, I take you for granted,
You take what I mean and give me a slant that
even I don’t see. I give you my love and your give yours too,
that’s just what it takes to make one out of two!
Wisdom, creatively penned. Can’t beat that!
The Tradeoff
Write poetry all day,
Every day?
I’d love to say
I could play that game,
But if it’s all the same,
I’d rather find a job that pays.
There are a million ways
To make money,
But it’s funny
In a sad kind of way
That wordplay,
At least today,
Will rarely pay.
There are a million ways
To have fun,
But when all’s said and done,
Most leave you in the attic
Starving and frantic.
If you like, you can scoff,
But that’s the tradeoff.
Well said! Somewhere there is a highly paid job for a poet. I will gladly give you a glowing reference!
Why thank you!
I agree!
Differences
We’re yin and yang. We’re opposites
We’re down to earth; we’re glam and glitz.
We’re water…oil. (Shouldn’t mix.)
Despite those things, it all just clicks.
We’re diametrically apart.
You’re smart. I’m art. We’re brains and heart.
We’re each a bag of magic tricks.
Despite those things, it all just clicks.
You’re analytical. You plan,
but you’re a renaissance-type man.
I’m silly. I write limericks.
Despite those things, it all just clicks.
So if you were to ask me if
the trade-offs head us toward a cliff,
I’d say, “No way!” (No River Styx.)
Despite those things, it all just clicks.
###
Aww, so sweet. And your rhymes, as always, are super fun.
Hear, hear!
Prohibition Inhibition
“The more things are forbidden, the more popular they become” ~Mark Twain
I’ll wonder: is it bad for me?
And if it is, then I’ll take three.
If something’s inaccessible,
desire’s irrepressible.
The trade-off is the damage when
I think, ‘OK’ or ‘now and then.’
If something’s unattainable
desire’s unexplainable.
Forbidden fruit can call my name
and I’ll give in. It’s all the same:
if something’s unachievable
desire’s unbelievable.
The more I cannot have my way
the more I keep good sense at bay.
If something’s quite unthinkable
desire’s more unsinkable.
###
And now I have “Conjunction Junction” playing in my head! Thanks RJ!!! I too am enamored with your wit and wisdom.
SO MUCH FUN
SO WELL DONE!
Love this. well done indeed!
Love-filled poem robert ! totally sweet
—
Along the market
I walked,
roads lines with goods,
food , dreams , smiles,
misery and heated words.
Avoiding the looks in those
dead eyes,
I wondered how many
would want to swap places
with me right there,right then
I knew, I did not want
to be some one else,
to trade my security
for beauty and love.
Those glittering shops
could not buy me peace.
These road side stalls
are what life offered,
this is where I will make
the best deal.
At Both Ends
Whether the trade-off is worth it depends on whom you talk to. ~ Craig Welch
Bargains ‘tween the devil and me
are never quite fait accompli.
And even if they were, depends
on terms decided at both ends.
If I can get the better deal
AND he can’t get my soul to steal
AND we can still remain – uh – friends,
with terms decided at both ends
I think the trade-off’s really nil.
At least for me, it’s all good will.
Although it’s not what he intends,
these terms decided at both ends
are sort of unambiguous.
There’s only me. There is no us.
The devil just makes recommends
for terms decided at both ends.
###
I’m trading off
a poem for space,
a place where comments
don’t come too soon
and time becomes
a bustle of anxiety.
This isn’t a race
and yet it is
a course to run,
the finish line
at month’s end
worth the hustle.
**Ahh… I love your poem, Robert… and I loved your interview at Poetic Bloomings!**
Excellent little piece here that we can probably all relate to, Laurie.
And glad you enjoyed the interview. It was such fun!
Thanks, Marie… and yes, one of the best interviews ever!
I’ll show you mine
if you show me yours.
Here we stand,
fully clothed,
in front of one another,
yet never more naked than we ever have been.
Unwrap your skin,
reveal to me the
muscles and sinews that propel you
elegantly into the blackest
and coldest of nights.
Unravel your bones,
share with me your
structure, the reason you tower
and the strength you hide so easily.
Give unto me your organs,
your beating heart,
your see-sawing lungs,
your liver and stomach,
to let me believe that who you are standing before me
is the person I feel you to be.
Drop your veins,
abandon your nerves,
until all you have left
is a glowing softness,
and I am unable to distinguish you from the air around you.
Then, I will replace.
You will take of me my blood,
you will take of me my chest,
you will take of me all that you
have given
until we have merged,
hand with hand,
eye with eye,
and the world will no longer be able to
tell us apart.
Bargaining with a bird…
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2012/11/15/day-fifteen-trade-off-a-haiku/
On Work
Fast,
cheap,
or good.
You get two,
but not three, so pick
which ones you really need. Sadly,
at work, the one often left out is good quality.
-Rondeau
***
I search my heart
And I see
There is no tradeoff
I’d agree
To go through
If not decently
Thrilled by you.
***
Robert, awesome poem!
Walt – so true, and the interview is simply great!
Misky, you rock!
Well put, Mariya…settling if one’s not “sold,” never turns out well.
’s to you!
“Autumn’s Tradeoff”
The melancholy of autumn’s end
creeps upon us as nature portends.
How swiftly seasons pass in a blink,
inviting once again time to think:
Did minutes, hours, days I misspend?
September comes, intentions ascend;
October fills with festivals penned.
As November temps dive, spirit sinks:
the melancholy of autumn’s end.
This season’s tradeoff we should befriend.
Change cycles; on that we can depend.
Modest, humble days are on the brink.
First frost gives a peek with frigid wink.
Embrace winter’s own joys; don’t extend
the melancholy of autumn’s end.
Rondeau
Day 15
11-15-2012
Prompt: Tradeoff
Not Choosing Is Choosing
Every penny, every second,
I vote.
I say, this is how I choose to spend
my money, my time.
What may say the most about me:
what I let slide,
what I let slip by,
what I don’t choose.
Breaking Roadways
Swap your space
with someone else
leaving all you know in suspence
Consequence
Consequence of what
you have left behind
wanting more then
were you blind
Blinded by the exchange
you felt inside
forfeiting your pathway
leaving the past behind
Behind the windows of yesterday
what really matters
is what is coming your
way this day
Open roadways
of not knowing
where each one goes
follow your heart
the beat that flows
Step outside the line
courage to enjoy, embrace
what life has to offer
soak it all within
your running veins of living
We could stand here an hour and bicker
Raising our protest loud
Exchanging brand-new one line insults
That would make the devil proud
We could dredge up past follies and failures
Perhaps even curse a bit
Or we could simply say, I’m sorry
And then ‘get on with it’
Incomprehensible Tradeoff
In place of our guilt- redemption
In place of our longing- hope
In place of our wretched sin-stains
You wash us white as snow
In place of darkness and depression
You fill us with marvelous Light
In place of death and damnation
Oh God, you give us Life
Incomprehensible, indeed. One thankful heart over here.
Blown Away
I am the fate of dust
shade me
trade me
for a sip of wine
so I am never blown away.
FAME OR FORTUNE
We want to be rich,
we want to be known,
we want to be read
for we write on our own.
We.follow our muse,
listen to our hearts,
we follow the leader,
a great place to start.
Today we write of tradeoffs. But we follow what feels right. Thanks to Robert Lee, we are finding our way poetically. He is featured in an interview today over at POETIC BLOOMINGS. Marie Elena Good, as she always does, gives a great glimpse at Robert. Found here: http://poeticbloomings.com ,
Walt, so true, so well said!!!
So awesome about the interview!!!!
I really, really like your poem today, Robert!!!
Smiles and happy writing poetical peeps!!
Great poems (Robert and Walt) to start us out! And who can beat sweet nothings in my ear from Hannah and Walt. Wow.