Saturday Poetry Prompt: cutting up the forms

Image by geralt on Pixabay; Free for commercial use

I don’t remember what dinner tasted like that day.

There were so many things around — the TV was on, there was food, phones were ringing, being answered, messages being fielded.

But none of those colors, sounds, movements, phrases — are part of my memory of that day. It’s like…

Wednesday Prose Poem: what’s in your veins?

Image by ThuyHaBich on Pixabay — no attribution required Pixabay license

It is summer and yet not quite summer. The days are warm, the evenings cool. The world moves, pirouetting on its axis, peacefully circling, the planets in eternal tandem lockstep.

But it is not so peaceful down here. Especially at night.

Empty of sleep, my veins are bereft, waiting sadly…

Wednesday Prompt: the body of language

Image by TheUjulala on Pixabay under No Attribution Required license

I feel the slow softness
— like lettuce rotting,
its stiff structure falling prey
to age and unpreventable circumstances
like being left too long in the fridge

I feel the lettuce rotting
at the bottom of my esophagus
The solar plexus chakra
crying out to be released,
refreshed and energized

Wednesday Prose-Poem: bring in some food

Image by Hans on Pixabay | Free for use with no attribution required

The spices always played chess with me. All while I was thinking we played tic tac toe.

Can I help it, if my senses only perceive a general good versus bad with spices? While the vast majority of my countrymen have an intricate, multilingual and nuanced relationship with spices.

All…

Saturday Poetry Prompt: weird visions

Image by Comfreak from Pixabay

Don’t talk to me about regrets.

Once, I had distributed intelligence. Molecules dispersed, yet unified with a heightened sense of awareness. A formation of perfect swarm intelligence.

I could perceive time spatially. It lay before me, a map of hills and valleys, topographically connecting the past and the future. …

iPoetry-Paper Poetry Prompt

Free Verse

Image made by author using Canva

Your ectoplasm hangs around
like a sheer curtain of fog,
like the remnants of blurry eyes
That morning after…

Four thousand six hundred and fifty-nine
days have passed
since you left us, speechless
Wanting more to succumb than to fight

So, tell me now
How long before I can let you…

Wednesday Prompt: let there be night

Image by chenspec from Pixabay

The lights are pretty across the lake
In the homes of the warm and the safe
While this end we measure the lengths,
the yardsticks of dark…

Darkness and silence go
hand-in-hand
on the leeward side of this storm
All that could, has blown away already

A vacuous emptiness, lack…

Saturday Poetry Prompt: rework the phrase

Image by clivetomkins9 from Pixabay

Out of thin air
your specter turns to face me,
And I step back, startled
into the shadow of time

This moment has happened before-
yet I am caught unawares,
A deer-in-headlights moment,
concealed only slightly now

The shadow stretches along
the banks of the lake,
Dark drapes holding out wide arms
enveloping…

Paroma Sen

“Do not go gentle into that good night, but rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

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