For this week’s poetry prompt, I want you to take one of the following lines and make it the first line of your poem. All these lines are taken from my personal notebooks, so they’re not especially wonderful–just some random places to start. Feel free to take liberties with these openings (the important part is the poeming).
- She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking
- I’m not sure who I am or what I want
- The world, a helicopter seed spinning
- Burn the want out of every moment
- My bed is a planet
- Trees hide the better views
Here’s my attempt:
“Dang-blasted”
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking
about anymore. She’s been skating figure 8s
around the old lake. The ice is thin. She can’t think
forever. He never looked back is the problem,
she says. And she can’t turn her head the other way.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Write for children!
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Small Valley
Trees hide the better views
of valley to the side of the road
where greenery conceals
a narrow stream
of unknown name
moving toward unknown destiny.
Leaves turn color
splendor the valley.
Its late year’s resplendence
I see in radiant light of sun,
bright reflections of time,
a season’s pride
while I make my way home.
My Bed Is a Planet
My bed is a planet
in light of dreams.
Mars is calling
in its fullness of red.
to go is a simple journey
once I’m in bed.
To get to Venus,
I go toward the sun,
a little recreation,
a little fun.
As for Pluto,
I do not go.
Once a planet,
and now not,
I do not go to this spot.
burn the want
by juanita lewison-snyder
ya gotta burn the want in every moment
gotta flame away the pain and doubts
throw kerosene on ghosts that linger
then cast that funeral pyre out to sea.
when love and honor start crossing swords
and lust and duty embroil in a lover’s quarrel
might be time to call forth what’s left of kindness
then through tears, put ‘em all down like a rabid dog.
ya know what happens when ya play with matches,
so quit pretending the phospho’s not real
sometimes right and wrong warrants separation
charr those bridges behind that ya cross.
ya gotta burn the want in every moment
gotta flame away the pain and doubts
throw kerosene on ghosts that linger
then cast that funeral pyre out to sea.
© 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
“The World, A Helicopter Seed Spinning”
———————————————————–
The world, a helicopter seed spinning,
Hurled into existence by a predestined beginning.
It circles the Sun, the supreme star of our system,
Who takes 7 other planets right along with ‘im.
How is it our neighboring spheres refuse to harbor life?
Do they somehow know the cost of human strife?
Or are they simply not chosen to be among blessed terrain,
To be looked upon with awe, its inhabitants’ gain?
Magnificent landscapes ~ how lucky we are,
To be 3rd from the Sun and not spinning afar!
© Carole Caprice
Love the “she’s been thinking” line.
My posting is here:
http://www.fightswithpoems.blogspot.com
Of the five lines, the first one “spoke” to most clearly, saying, “There’s a line for a country song if ever there was one…”
So, I hope I did it justice…
: )
SHE’S BEEN THINKING
G. Smith (BMI)
————————————-
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking about,
Awake in the dark after the lights go out;
Those nagging little things that raise the shadows of doubt;
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking about.
She’s been thinking on things that don’t need thinking on;
Like what’ll we do when the kids’re all gone?
They grow up so fast, it’ll be here before long;
She’s been thinking on things that don’t need thinking on.
I guess that’s a difference between she and me,
Something I miss is all she can see.
Was it something I said, beside her in bed?
Or forgot to say at the start of the day?
She knows I’ll be around when the chips are down,
And I know what to expect,
when
I
see
that
frown…
She’s been thinking through things that don’t need thinking through,
Like if she goes first, do I know what I’ll do?
Will I go on alone, or will I find someone new?
She’s been thinking through things that don’t need thinking through.
Thinking through things that don’t need thinking through;
She’s been thinking about things;
She’s been thinking.
Loved it. A beautiful pattern woven comfortably together.
Thank you…
You are most kind to say so…
g
Trees hide the better views?
Sometimes.
Trees muffle traffic too.
Tall oaks and wispy pines
Shade tiny lots
Sometimes,
Enlarge narrow spaces
Cast canopies for fancy
Weave forests of enchantment.
Trees hide leafy paths awaiting children.
Sometimes
Trees frame castles, forts and oceans
Just yards from the back door.
Sometimes
Trees are the better view.
Sacred Offering
Burn the life out of
Every moment.
Every moment
Unique unto itself
Unique unto itself
Never comes again
Never comes again
The chance to miss nothing
The chance to miss nothing
Cherish the moment
Cherish the moment
It is sacred
It is sacred
Burn the life
Live.
Trees hide the better views
of the river;
a stand of old apple trees,
the fruit falling rotten in October
and the blossoms flying in April.
Every year we argue
whether it is better to cut them
down so that we can see the river
or let them stand
because we can’t bear to
cut them down,
and every year we decide
to wait.
VIEW (Tri-let)
Trees hide the better views
of what I want to see,
those sights that I would choose.
Trees hide the better views.
Must find new spot for muse,
Some quiet place to be.
Trees hide the better views
of what I want to see.
By Marjory T
BURN the WANT……
Burn the want out of every moment
as you step within its set frame.
Fill it with what is good,
what is helpful to heart
and can give some joy.
Or unaware
you will find
that it’s
gone.
By Marjory T
Busy, Busy, BUSY week, have not beeen able to read and comment, what few I have read are really great. Did some poeming whil waiting for shoppers, meetings and doctors. etc. – Only I ‘miss-remembered’ beginning line.
Sooooo – ‘My bed is a Planet’ morphed into ‘The planet is my bed.”
resuling in the following.
The planet is my bed,
the earth is my mother
where I lay my head.
The heavens are my Father
by whom I am led.
The sea is my brother
from which I am fed.
Earth’s breeze a cover
as surface paths I tread,
song birds o’r me hover.
The planet is my bed.
By Marjory T
This site is so frustrating tonight. Can’t post rest of my comments. So, Jane, Letting Go is stunning, sad, and beautiful.
My Hearts, wonderful poem to ponder.
Bruce, Amazing use of this prompt(s)
Walt, It’s all good.
CL, Love `flying a moon kite.
Robert, never least, although last this time around. I love your poem, and your thoughts.
Yes – posting is very frustration!
And I add my agreement to your comments on the poems.
Your kindness is always appreciated, Sara.
INHALATIONS OF CONTENTMENT
Burn the want
out of every moment,
for when we want
we forget what we have.
2012-10-12
P. Wanken
Oh, well done! and so true.
Burn the want out of every moment
Take action and do what you want while the moment is here
You can’t get it back once it’s gone
Don’t make room for regrets of what you didn’t do
and spend days wishing you could go back in time
To do over those things you wish you had done
Don’t let missed moments be missed opportunities
Burn the want out of every moment, do what you know you want to do.
Burn the want out of every moment,
Live the life of every chorus line,
Run the race of countless ancient athletes,
In them, fortitude breeds counter decline.
Stream the smoke throughout every fire,
Glide beyond every deterrence,
Sew binding thoughts as reasons to aspire,
Years of struggle shed light on true brilliance.
Plant seeds of sacrificial actions,
Take the walk of dusty roads less known,
Course roads trodden by ancient Bedouins,
If one can be led to Solomon’s throne.
This journey leads around the world in twirls,
And in the depth of experience, Pearls.
The world
a helicopter seed spinning
Faster and faster
days rush by
Stop-I want off
faster and faster
life spins out of control
Too much to do
not enough time…
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking
Worry,worry,worry.
Why?
What’s done is done
No changing it now.
It’s history.
On to new opportunities.
The future awaits discovery.
Ready on the Set
I’m not sure who I am or what I want.
Sometimes it feels like I’m an actor
in a bad movie, eager for a new one.
Sometimes it feels like I’m directing
my own movie, but everyone has forgotten
their lines. Sometimes it feels like
the commercial break—time to turn down
the volume, get a snack and wait
for something interesting to happen.
But sometimes I feel like the spunky,
driven protagonist, giving it all I’ve got,
knowing the end will turn out well.
Better Views
Trees hide the better views,
so they say, but I say
trees are the views—
tall thick oaks like beloved grandfathers
lovely golden aspens shaking castanets
weeping willows swaying like hula dancers
cottonwoods with seeded fluff like children blowing bubbles
pine trees, ever green and pointing up, godly reminders,
poplars, maples, elm, tulip, hickory, birch, ash, larkspur—
all lovely views within themselves. See, really see, the trees.
The world,
a helicopter seed spinning
Faster and faster
days rush by
Stop- I want off
Faster and faster
life spins out of control
Too mush to do
not enough time…
She’a been thinking about things that don’t need thinking
Worry, worry, worry
Why?
What’s done is done
No changing it now
It’s history
On to new opportunities
The future awaits discovery
I’m not sure who I am or what I want
Opportunities abound
Jobs scarce
What should I do?
What can I do?
No one listens
They say they do
but I know better
They have jobs
I don’t
Thanks for the prompts, Robert.
burn the want out of every moment
so my eyes pulse not for blood to clot
in your cord,
and my ears listen not for the pin-drop
of your fall.
burn the want out of every moment
so my mouth speaks not lies that will rot
your refuge,
and my body drops not to greener spots
in your sward.
burn the want out of every moment
until I am able to see what is in front of me,
hear instruction, give thanks,
credit humility-banks;
lie exposed, unclothed in serenity’s bed
where desires were bred, never fulfilled,
and now, never instilled.
burn the want out of every moment.
THINKING OUT LOUD
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need
thinking, much less “Whatever possessed you?”
out loud, in American, on a bus on this deserted,
snaking road between El Mago and La Casita.
Hurtling around blind curves, engine roaring –
the driver says the throttle’s stuck. Behind me,
“Whatever possessed you to take this bus?”
“So we could see the scenery.” “It’s dirty.
Chickens in the seats. You call this scenic?”
Across from me, a little girl with rooster
in her lap. The throttle roars, we hurtle. Then
we stop, and quiver to the edge of chip-seal
dropoff to gully. “We could die here!”
the woman’s voice. The girl sits gazing out
the window; her rooster crows, just once.
Out the window, sandy hills and dry arroyos
under blue, blue sky. Crosses in threes and
fives, a single, a score. Crosses made of dry
sticks, two bumpers lashed together, a tire-iron,
remnants of a load. Travelers who went no
farther on this road.
Her world, a helicopter seed spinning
under his fingers,
a piano playing
for an hour
on the radio
and she is all motion
and letting go with the gravity
of his notes
telling her
she is beautiful,
desirable, attractive,
everything she ever wanted to be
just the way she is –
Sandra, some of us have been plugging that meter
all our lives for a second
of bliss here,
that special remembered year
with two minutes of bliss there,
this spinning free
neither tree
nor what you should be
and I still feel your fingers
from last night,
your poem, the world
a helicopter seed spinning
making it hard to see
where I am going,
where my feet are planted
in the ground.
Written after hearing/reading The piano speaks by Sandra Beasley
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/236980
Here’s a taste:
For an hour I was a salamander
shimmying through the kelp in search of shore,
and under his fingers the notes slid loose
from my belly in a long jellyrope of eggs
that took root in the mud. And what…….
……..
For an hour I was a maple tree,
and under the summer of his fingers
the notes seeded and winged away
in the clutch of small, elegant helicopters.
Burn the Want
Burn the want out of every moment
‘till nothing is left but the need.
Wash each hand of covetousness
until there’s no more greed.
By Michael Grove
Yes.
My Bed Is A Planet
My bed is a planet
called Mysterious Wonder.
I lay my head down, hoping
it will conform to pillow’s
purposeful neck indent.
At times, marriage of head
and pillow is happy. Why
are there nights when
my head does not fit
that perfect place
on which to dream
of what is not real? Why
is my blanket sometimes
a cushion of comfort,
other times, a nest
of needles? Wonderment
and mystery exist,
spinning in space just above
the planet of my bed.
My bed is a Planet
My bed is a planet, as we revolve through the night.
Alas the world is eternally right.
The stars up above is a map of our past.
A love once lost has returned long last.
A world ever changing, yet forever stays true.
We now have the time where old becomes new.
The man in the moon has a smile on his face.
The stars all align and have taken their place.
The love of my life, now asleep at my side.
A honeymoon of time; I’m finally his bride.
My bed is a planet; as we revolve through the night.
Alas the world is eternally right.
And the universe slowly revolves.
I, here, the missive waves of
Linen and silk
Tempt me to space.
I stare into the predawn starlight
And wonder if this is what the other planets feel
In the other houses
In the other blocks.
Do they rotate?
Do they collide?
Are mountains moving as they are now?
I yawn.
What does this make me?
Am I a sleeping giant under the
Starlit, gasping canopy
Whiling away the turnings
Of the celestial fires?
Or am I an ocean,
Vast and cold,
Fragile under the weight of a sky blue
And constantly turning over myself?
I sleep well, regardless.
You stir,
An earthquake,
Upsetting a delicate balance.
And your eyes,
Littering the ground as a forest does,
Sweep from equator to pole.
Our atmosphere is
Simply gone.
Speak to me, your mountain whisper
Cascading from the deepest depths
Of who knows where,
And tell me that this cold is just
A temporary reprieve
From an unjust and cruel
Firestorm.
My bed is a planet
And you are my gravity.
Find my throat
And wrap your fingers around it.
Make me breathless.
Make me long for weightlessness.
Acknowledge that now that we have started
There is no way to slow this down.
This bed.
This bed is moving.
And you and I
Form the mountains.
trees hide the better
views of open spaces and
possibilities
Fiction came to mind with this prompt. The story leaped into my mind and wouldn’t go away. Here it is.
One Legend’s Lesson
“Burn the want out of every moment,”
Connor said, smacking my staff away.
“Don’t breathe if not fully, deeply.
Life must be tasted, appreciated.
Staff swinging, I memorize his words;
My life on this mortal world requires it.
“See sun’s glory, soak in its energy.
Moonshine comes soon enough.”
My rhythm breaks, as does my staff
In the flurry of Connor’s master strokes.
He stands over me, breathing calm
Assurance into his defeated opponent.
“Only McLeods offer true mercy in
This game called mortal life.”
His words peal through my mind,
Reminding me of mercy’s truth;
Highlanders don’t need tartans
To take the battle to their foes.
I like your reference to trees and memories in refererence to what we see, and what is really there.
The world, a helicopter seed
Spinning its course
Around a sun marking time,
Turning night into day and
Flying a moon kite
Tethered by magnetic force,
Incubates humanity under
the Watchful Eye of the
universe.
In My Dreams
My bed is a planet
Its orbit is wobbly
When I awaken, who will I be?
Many long nights, lost in our journeys
Traveling together with the moon
And the stars…
Our planet castle, our planet headquarters
Oh, how we danced as the music was ours.
My planet grows older, a lumpy foundation
A cast-away moon and some left-over stars
No need to guide me, my travels are ended
Sweet dreams forever, my planet is home.
IS SUMMER NEVER ENOUGH?
Burn the want out of every moment,
said the Sun.
But here’s one friendless tomato left
on October’s vine,
not nearly fist-size; muscling in
among drooping withered leaves,
determined
to endure to ripeness.
Chicken-wire squeaks
against a corner post in wind
that feels like fall. One jay, worthless,
noisy creature, will not
give up searching for a peanut.
Everything persists
in wanting. Shouldn’t life be noisy
in a falling season?
To the very end, yes, wanting the fullest life. I enjoyed this poem. Thank you!
Taylor, your details never cease to touch me. Thanks for this.
trees hide the better views
the forest fields the foraging fauna
hunters hidden in huts
birds biding away while biting bugs
lovers longing
bless the trees!
AS THE WORLD TURNS
The world, a helicopter seed spinning.
A counter-centrifugal confluence
of uncontrolled revolutions.
The momentum is there, the masses
have reached velocity, en force.
The course we are on will toss us
into chaos unless we slow down;
move forward. In child-like wonder
we are under its spell. Watching
the helicopter spin in seeds of thought.
The Second Coming
Burn the want.
Out of every moment,
stretch beyond reaching,
make a sky to glide in,
a wing to rise up,
a word to abide.
Burn the need.
Ashes will fertilize
possibility.
The Better Views
Trees hide the better views
From our window across the pasture
To where the horses graze
And nicker to one another.
Autumn changes all that as trees
Drop their leafy obstructions
Like ladies dropping their fiery robes,
A subtle burlesque.
Between the naked limbs
We watch land laid by turn green,
Migrating flocks of birds settling on the field,
The October sky tucking itself into soil.
We will watch snow smooth that landscape
A hand on cat fur, watch the deer wade
Through drifts, hear the ice crack,
The trickle of melted winter feeding spring.
KILMER’S LAMENT
Trees hide the better views.
People choose their perspective
with the objective of seeing the forest.
The bigger the picture, the more the
need to take it all in; memory
becomes what is perceived as
a good life lived well. But it’s hard to tell
when our myopic mind only sees
what our hearts will allow. Poets offer
words that prefer to lull and placate,
and that’s great… but, looking just past
our noses closes us off from
the world at large. And a large world it is.
Think deeply, live lovely… see clearly;
never let the trees hide the better views.
Very beautifully written and thought provoking. Thank you
Thank you nitapita. Sometimes its just that way.
I’m not sure who I am or what I want
I want this
I want that
No I need this
I need that
Money scarce
wants become needs
I want little
I need more
Burn the want out of every moment,
until all that is left is every moment.
Cherish these slowly, for they are fleeting.
Mysterious Life
My bed is a planet
in a distant galaxy
where a mysterious life
is lived so vividly
behind the rapid
eye movements while
semi conscious logic
cannot discern which is
better or when the other
will continue or end.
By Michael Grove
Camping in the Stratosphere
My whitest bed is a speeding planet,
With memory and expanding space.
The sheets are layers of impermanence,
Peeled off, replaced by new, temporary
meanings.
The structure of the Hawaiiana, pineapple posts
Add the comedic element to the contemplative
Nature of the lightening way.
Though the space does not stop at the edge
of the softness,
It hovers in the emptiness of its own time,
With a specific permanence that transcends itself.
Creed of a Procrastinating Writer
Burn the want out of every moment
Maximize the effectiveness of your awareness
Strike not the tamborine of discontent
Nor beat the drum of insolence
Sit strongly in your seat and scream at the sinners
Drive the little darlings out of your temple
Taking some liberties with the prompt:
Dizzy
(a semi-cento after Robert Lee Brewer)
I’m not sure who I am or what I want,
but she’s been thinking about things
that don’t need thinking. I know how
to burn the want out of every moment,
but she knows how to measure the flashpoint.
Our bed is a planet of misunderstandings,
our room is full of windows,
but trees hide the better views.
Our world is a helicopter seed spinning,
and we hang on, dizzy, corkscrewing
toward the ground, wondering what
may grow when we get there.
Brilliant.
Ooh, I like, Bruce. We were on the same wave-length. Nice job.
i’m not sure who i am
or what i want
i serve and provide
always there for others
i am undefined
yet labeled and expected
depended upon
always there for others
if i ran away
to find my lost self
then i might be noticed
always there for others
POEMS
She’s been thinking things that don’t need thinking.
Dreaming dreams that don’t need dreaming.
Loving one she shouldn’t be loving.
Forgetting sometimes poems
Are merely poems.
Love it.
Set Yourself Afire
Burn the want out of every moment
We’re all only allotted so many …
Nobody knows just when they’ll run out
No-one wants to reach the end, still wishing,
Still wistful for things left undone – instead
Of fire in the belly – you’re left with ashes
On the tongue…
SEEKER
Burn the want from every moment -
Flaunt the haunting ire
That smolders like a haze
Ablaze with yearning,
Earning thirst’s allure,
For I’m not sure who I am
Or what I want.
fabulous prompt, Robert! loved it!
and some amazing poetry!
here’s mine ~
BURNING
“Burn the want out of every moment”
I remember her saying those words
back when we were young
but I can’t remember
what it was to want like that
I knew she had to be mine
I had to possess her
but I don’t remember
why
One day she said she had to go
that she wanted more out of life
but I can’t remember
what I lacked
It was as though her desire for me
had gone out like a candle
but I don’t remember
her leaving
She was gone
as if never here
but I can’t remember
where I put her
Love this, “heart.” Excellent pondering nature. Very well written, and very convincing.
Robert and everyone — really good poems today.
I’m Not Sure Who I Am Or What I Want
I’m not sure who I am or what I want.
I’m not who I used to be.
So many changes, slowly creeping over me.
And over everyone I see.
I see loss, I see pain, I see death, I see grief.
I don’t care anymore for what used to bring relief.
I want to rush, I want to go, I want to be in the know.
But I ask “Why?” Sigh. What is it all for? I want a door
To a clear path that will never be.
I want calm. I want peace. I want the old me.
my bed is…
a planet where
atmospheric dynamics
volcanic eruptions and seismic
vibrations are welcomed occurrences
Medicine Cabinet
Burn desire out of every moment;
The essential oil of life
Distilled and extracted
Then drip-fed through an IV
To burn the veins and singe the heart.
Apothecary jars of experience
Arranged, corked and labeled
On the spice rack of daily doses -
A pinch of fear, a dash of wonder -
The aroma of fresh brewed excitement.
Hold you breath until your lungs
Remember what it is to ache for air
Then break the surface and shout
‘Leave the casts to the broken bones,
These medicines shall mend your soul.’
nice twist on addiction – at least this is what it reminds me of.
Tangle
I’m not sure who I am or what I want–
the world I know, a helicopter seed
spinning my bed into a planet,
twirling at restless heights,
the lump in the pit of my stomach
inviting me to look down,
view my life from a high place,
see what’s what,
but trees hide the better views
and everything is a wash of blue
that burns the want out of every moment.
Wanting nothing more than to want more,
desire is my conundrum, not hers.
She’s been thinking about things
that don’t need thinking,
maybe about who she is
and what she wants,
maybe about me,
maybe about her,
maybe about me and her,
and I’m not sure.
This is great, Jane. Once again we seem to be on the same wavelength – I tried a poem using all of Robert’s lines too.
Great minds;)! I like to play, don’t you?
Robert, really love yours today.
The Letting Go
She’s been thinking
about things that don’t
need thinking, about
how his ankles swelled
and he complained,
about whether she
fed the chickens,
cats, dog, him,
wondering did she eat
anything today, about
where her children are
and then if those young people
that came and stayed so long
were hers or someone else’s.
She’s been watching and listening
for hints toward where and who,
clues to unravel the mystery of her being.
Where did she put her glasses?
Did she wear glasses?
Is the car outside for her
to drive or for the lady that comes?
Is that lady one of hers, she wonders.
She’s been thinking about things
that run through the underbrush
of her mind, rustling fallen leaves
of memory, her thoughts chasing
movement just so far and then watching
ripples in the wake of the unseen.
She thinks of telling him what tangles
in her mind, but he will worry.
He dreams whole stories
while she sees snaps
of color and movement, an eye
here, a reaching hand there,
a cat purring, the steam rising
from her coffee, a single line
from a Christmas carol that she hums
all day. He won’t want to think
about what she’s been thinking about
that doesn’t need thinking.
He’ll wonder why she can’t relax,
let it all go, listen to the ticking
of the clock.
Very sadly beautiful.
No surprise that this moves me, Jane.
Wow…
Thanks so much, friends. Marie, you always lift my spirits.
Jane, you have summed up our lives wit a beautiful poem. I agree that it is very moving – a lovely use of the lines.
So many good poems here!
*****
Slip-Ups
She’s been thinking about things
that don’t need thinking
about. She’s been climbing tree
houses in her mind, slipping
down one rung at a time, slipping
down into limbs that couldn’t
hold her, slipping down into the ground
even colder, slipping down
she falls even harder. Trees
hide the better views, the way
she wants life to be. Climbing, she slips
back into comfort of swayed thinking
about things that don’t need thinking
about.
Beautiful poem, Linda.
Nature Stirs
My bed
is a planet.
You have roused Mama’s ire
pulling back the sheets during my
dirt nap.
It’s time
to remind you
that your technology
pales compared to the power of
nature.
Thank you, Robert…I found your lines to be very inspiring!! I chose the last of the bunch and have an image to accompany.
Smiles to the poetical peeps!
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2012/10/10/aligned/
JACK’S RIDGE
Trees hide the better views, he said.
This slope where for time out of mind
the oak trees grew, hawk-nests in their highest
branches, tall cedars for a raven to survey
the view. Earthworms wound among roots
that held the hill together – roots
that sang for rain.
Uprooted now, and heaped with branches
in a pile. The whole slope
bulldozed clean. Humans always think
they have time to fix what they’ve done.
Pine and cedar uprooted in a pile
on this brown hill. Just dust.
Do they have time? Here comes
the rain, before anyone can say, to pour
down on their slash-
piles and sign its name in gulleys
gouging out the dust; to take it all away.
Yes, and the earth will remedy…grow again we hope.
Beautiful writing as always, Taylor.
What an unfortunately true poem. So well said.
WITHOUT A THOUGHT
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking;
about how can she make her great escape; break out
through the automatic sliding door by wheelchair;
turn left; hold up her feet; roll downhill gathering
speed on the decline; turn right to merge quickly with
cross-traffic; ride the backdraft of the cars and keep
on a-going because no one back there is yet
aware that, thoughtlessly, she has left the building.
Confusion
I’m not sure who I am
or what I want
every time you are around.
Oh, I certainly know how this feels!
My bed is a planetary system
with me providing the center
of gravity to hold the planets
– books, magazines, writing
tablet, laptop, TV remote – and
planetesimals – newspaper,
water bottle, crumpled socks –
in orbit.
Caught
(a somewhat-Cento)
She’s been thinking about things
that don’t need thinking:
the world, a helicopter seed
spinning,
burning the want
out of every moment
through trees
that hide better views.
Unsure
of who she is
what she wants,
her bed is a planet;
solid core singe
-ing its way through the frozen
crust of things unthought.
.
Beautifully done! really amazing poem!
STANDING OH, OH, OOOOH!
Ha – of course! Love it… Those random ideas work together amazingly well.
Amazing. Love it.
Wow! Only you could put all this together seamlessly.
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking
And lately he’s been staying out all night drinking
So she sits alone and stares out the window at the stars
Wondering where it all went wrong
She’s been thinking about leaving
He’s been thinking about drinking
All night long
He’s a fool, but he don’t know it
She’s falling out of love,
But she won’t show it
Until one day he wakes to find her gone.
EXCELLENT, Karlie!
So true
Love this, Karlie.
Bad Luck in the Rearview
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking,
focusing on forgetting her surefire path to failure.
She’d heard Satan’s other name, the Accuser, and believed
based on her experience, hearing his nasal twang
whispering in her ear, I know what you did. We all know.
As an act of defiance, she broke off her rearview mirror,
tossing it out the window, not even turning to see it land,
not worrying about the seven years’ bad luck she might
have earned, deciding to apply the curse to the last seven.
Oh, wow. WOW. This is amazing, Nancy. Your creative poetic brain blows me away.
Bed Planet
My bed is a planet,
(Planet Sleep)
and I visit it
regularly,
(rapturously,
rosily,
cozily)
for my nightly infusion
of relaxation
and rest
and all the best
dressed
(for bed)
slumberers.
Except sometimes
when my bed
seems to be
(Planet Insomnia)
no longer
a bed of dreams
but one of
rest
-less
tumbling
grumbling
wakeful
inactivity
and no longer
my happy friend,
but a cruel
task-
master,
(disaster)
disallowing
any rest
(or not much)
at all.
Diana Terrill Clark
I just adore it!
^_^ THanks!
Lots of fun, Diana. I can imagine this one being laid out bouncily across the page!
I have GOT to figure out how to do that!!
sometimes that’s how it is
TO DO OR NOT TO BE (THAT IS THE QUESTION)
she’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking
when what she should be is things that need doing
and her thoughts keep leaving when they should be staying
causing daydreams that leave her distracted and wandering
while biscuits are burning and sinks overflowing
and laundry needs washing and mending needs sewing
and yet she keeps pondering the hills that need roving
because trees hide
the better views.
Ha! Love the way you wind in that last line, and the rhythm of the whole piece. nicely done indeed.
Yes! A great write!
Julie, this is so clever.
Thank you, all! It was a fun one to write.
Oh Robert, Your poem really resonates with me. I love it!
Spin Me One More Time
My world
is a helicopter seed spinning
and caught in a double twirl,
a ribbonous helixed curl
of my inherent imperfections.
I can but only hope
that the seed after next
takes hold and sets anchor
to my feet, but not quite yet
as my heart is set
to spin a bit more.
oh, that “ribbonous helixed curl” – fabulous line!
Thanks, Andrew.
Ooooh ROBERT – use the word “love” sparingly with regard to poetry… For what it’s worth (mhmm what “is” it worth??? … not much currency there) nevertheless, I did “love” your poem this morning.
What’s Reverend Wesley Doing in My Bed?
My bed is a planetary nebula
I am, but a speck of cosmic dust
My pillow cradles all of my medulla
Under covers, the rest of me is thrust
I am, but a speck of cosmic dust
My alarm clock, here in space, rings noiselessly
Under covers, the rest of me is thrust
Today is Sunday so my thoughts are with John Wesley
My alarm clock, here in space, rings noiselessly
“Catch on fire with enthusiasm…” John says in turn,
Today is Sunday so my thoughts are with John Wesley
“and people will come for miles to watch you burn.”
“Catch on fire with enthusiasm…” John says in turn,
Furthermore, “When I have money, I get rid of it quickly…”
“and people will come for miles to watch you burn.”
“…lest it find a way into my heart,” he sums up richly.
Furthermore, “When I have money, I get rid of it quickly…”
My pillow cradles all of my medulla
“…lest it find a way into my heart,” he sums up richly.
My bed is a planetary nebula
a wonderful pantoum – this flows so well. Loving the thought of Reverend Wesley burning enthusiastically in your bed!
Robert – I find your ‘not especially wonderful’ lines quite inspiring! Thanks for sharing your randomness!
Michelle
Sick and Tired
My bed is a planet
made just for me,
for when I’m sick
this is the place to be.
I have my books
extra blankets too,
a cup of tea
is a required brew.
Could you grab me a cracker
perhaps more tea,
turn up the heat
yes, you can pity me.
Time to sleep
too tired to read,
cough, cough, cough
ao glad they no longer bleed.
My bed is a planet
I snuggle down deep,
wake me when I’m better
for now, everything else can keep.
A sad chorus
Burn the want out of every
moment that passes quickly
by not allowing me to be
myself, it makes wonder
Why do
I…
just beautiful!
I like the open end to this – very creative.
Thanks, Sheila.
On Repeat
The world, a helicopter seed spinning
crazy, dysfunctional
but with a pattern -
an ebb and flow of destruction and healing.
Will we ever learn from our past?
Last Burn
Burn the want out of every moment
So all that is left is need
a
n
d
giving.
What’s Next (Triolet)
The world, a helicopter seed spinning -
wondering where we will fall,
Will we be grinning?
The world, a helicopter seed spinning -
Or will we be pinning?
I am held in thrall.
The world, a helicopter seed spinning –
wondering where we will fall.
I like this a lot, Mik.
“Where Will the World Land”
The world: a helicopter seed spinning
Not knowing where it’s going
Helpless against the wind, skimming
The river, the current wildly flowing
Ready to pull us under, whisk us away
Or maybe some bird intent to devour
Will catch it in its claws and prey
Upon us in one swift gulp as we cower
Or do we hope maybe we’ll softly alight
Upon some fresh patch of unsalted earth
And while this world is swallowed by night
A new one springs forth of greater worth.
I keep re-reading the last four lines. Just wonderful!
MY BED IS A PLANET
My bed is a planet.
Population two.
Their is peace where love lays.
No battles are waged
when the Planet Serta
is inhabited. Gravity
has its pull, but we become
weightless when the excessive
bounce lifts every ounce of us
off of the sheets. It is sweet
that the air is rarefied when
clarified with love. Warmth
and security lives upon the purity
of its cushy surface.
My bed is a planet.
I am your leader. Take me.
This made me smile, Walt… a real big smile, too!
Thank you Laurie. Robert tossed a softball!
Can’t decide whether to grin or smile. And yes, there is a difference. And yes, this piece calls for both.
Love it.
And I know the difference. Shame on you!
Shame on me? YOU wrote it.
Oh that’s right. Nevermind.
This is great, Walt, and loving. I love it!
Glad you loved it, Dianna.
Pardon the tremor on the double “n”, Diana. Happens more and more lately.
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking
And smelling things that shouldn’t be stinking
She can’t remember yesterday
Dreaming of times so far away
The future holds so much in store
Her life today is such a bore
“One day I’ll leave and never come back”
But she can never get on track
Stuck in this time and place
Where no one can recall her face
This isn’t here and it isn’t there
In fact, she isn’t anywhere
Acknowledge her, if you can
She’s not a woman, but not a man
It has lived a generation
A figment of your imagination.
Love this, JW
Thank you!
Flip-flops
Burn the want out of every moment,
every second turn into gratitude;
an inside out mental perception
douses desirous attitudes.
I’m with you on this one, Laurie, in our world where people want things for pure consumption’s sake, while others live in want. XOX Lovely.
Love your poem, Robert. Wow.
Thinking
She’s been thinking
about things that don’t need,
thinking about things that don’t want,
or cling, or hate, after
six months or six years
thinking about how far
she has driven in this
stupid dark blue Windstar
with its half-demolished bumper
and overflowing bag of trash
thinking about him, and the other her,
and why he won’t be on time,
and the smell of his cologne,
thinking about red wine and promises
about anything at all
because sometimes it’s easier that way.
Oh, Andrew. I LOVE this twist on the prompt, with some simple punctuation play:
“She’s been thinking
about things that don’t need,
thinking about things that don’t want,
or cling, or hate”
Fantastic.
Should be “with SUCH simple punctuation play.”
Yes, fantastic!
Indeed!! Fantastic take. Amazing write.
just amazing!
Andrew, I love this one.
SHE’S BEEN THINKING
She’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking;
thinking about years I had spent drinking that were wasted
on swill often tasted with ill effects. It reflects on my will
and still, she’s been thinking about things.
Things don’t need thinking when that sinking feeling sets in
and she grins to hide her pain that again, I am afflicted.
Inebriate with the trappings of this fleeting life. And my wife,
has been thinking our time has been too short, time spent
cavorting with my mistress muse, words are like women
always just out of reach, but teaching lessons best served
to strengthen a resolve once solvent but very repetitious of late.
But words when needed, never let you down and I’ve found
that she’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking.
Why does life need to change when once estranged souls reignite,
only to put you in the fight for your life? And I’ve been thinking
the best thing I could be thinking. The gift of this life that has given
two extraordinary daughters and an outstanding wife, is cherished
more as it slips from grip, wanting to reclaim its embrace.
It is in the face of mortality that our vision clears, and one hears things
such as “Live for today”, “One Day at a Time” and “Seize the Day!”.
It’s not to say that we ignore these in the goodness of times,
but, she’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking,
and she has me thinking she’s right. I might not live forever,
but whatever time we have is best spent in pursuits that touch
as many hearts as we can. And touch each other. I’ve been thinking
how much I love my life. My Daughters. My wife, even though
she’s been thinking about things that don’t need thinking.
This poem is surely a “Carpe Diem” poem, which we are exploring over at POETIC BLOOMINGS (http://poeticbloomings.com).
Oh, wow. The openness and honesty … the wisdom … the beauty … the style ….
So very you.
Wow.
It’s amazing how a few kind words from you can trigger these damn allergies! Sniff, sniff. So very YOU! Thanks Pard.
Now MY allergies are acting up.
Here. Have a tissue …
Walt,
Thouroughly enjoyed your poem. It’s reflective ponderings are filled with wisdom only life experience can teach.
Thanks Sheila. All we can do is learn from those situations.
Carved View
Trees hide the better views
they give us answers
they give us clues
listening from within
like a gentle muse
Sitting on the branch
with all going on down below
traffic of people
wonderful fast and slow
Stories are unfolding
right before my eyes
some that i am glad to hear
some that bring on disguise
With every tiny twig
that grasps the story teller
of every sentance formation
of the first tree feller
lying back looking up to the clouds
passing by volumes of the crowds
As i have the better views
of the passing by hidden clues
in a tree of rustling muse
Perfect title, Ber. ^_^ Lovely poem. I love trees, too.
Beautiful words…I loved it.
I’m not sure who I am or what I want
Whom to tease or whom to taunt
I stayed up late again last night
Thinking myself into a fright
Our world is changing
Our paradigm hanging
Slow, slow, slow
Is the new grow, grow, grow
Someone’s knocking on my front door
Now they want something more
I have nothing else to give
All I want to do is … live
Lovely and deep all in one
Sign of our times, sometimes all we want is to be left alone.