THE GIRL WHO SINGS IN THE SHOWER
The girl who sings in the shower
does so to feel alive
so her vision doesn't get fogged up
in there
she let's her hair loose
and let's the water sprinkle down
with each trickle of water on her skin
her soul gets nudged
and episode of events begin to unfold
the tales all clear
and electric
each hankering for acknowledgment
on good days
she sings and smiles to the memories that make her heart race
on bad days
she scours a little harder
leaving her skin feeling flushed.
the walls in the shower
witness her unadulterated emotions
they provide a satisfying symphony of solace
she gathers and rebuilds
apprising herself of the life now
her voice and melody not puny
The girl who sings in the shower
does so to ponder on the projections of life
and to keep her heart throbbing.
Still, in my pajamas, cold, ‘tis Winter.
Purple and gray wool socks, and still, cold feet.
Yet i’d walk down into the oaks, with sun’s
light be soaked, at the Summer-plumed heartbeat.
Into the glowing moss and down the hill,
like my grand, who’d make glorious foothold
into the street. Still, alone, basking in
happiness, woolen feet waltzing, toes cold,
knuckles chapping, clapping of my steepled
fingers. dry and joyful lips, arising,
Dizzy, I'd survey the amphitheater -
steam of cold-heat, underfoot apprising.
O my soul, the crooning blue signature,
expansive, inexpensive, pensive sky.
Behold God’s goodness directed my way.
Though fibbing from inside, I do not lie.
The arms of my chair, still, caring, hold me
or i’d jetty into my imagination.
There the birds stir up woozy fairyland
with tea and serenity’s coronation.
2/10/2021
Contest: All Yours (Feb 10)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Thin and lean he came to glean
His sickle shining with the summer sheen
My branches to trim and make me slim
My roots to prod and soil to skim
He tended to me as a mother would a child
Apprising from afar and staring for a while
Down came the pruner’s shears and he took a neat nip
Threw aside the branch and took another dip
He looked at me in pleasant satisfaction
And gave me a small smile for a fraction
Came the night watchman, my fears to amplify
Plucked all my flowers, his deity to pacify
Naked I stood, my beauty he took
Should we not punish the disguised crook?
Standing in a meadow of imagination
Guided, by a celestial destination
Along the dale
Follow the trail
To a regatta, of fireflies with luminous sails
The heavy night air, stills an apprising gaze
As lights set the meadow ablaze
Yellow green
With a lunar sheen
A breezy wave, to a star studded scene
Bathed in the beauty of a blushing moon
Crickets fiddle, night birds sing, frogs croon
A cacophony
Nature's symphony
The sound of heaven, orchestrated brilliantly
An owl takes flight to a pied-a-terre
Watches, with his wide eyed stare
Feeling the love
From God above
I am inspired, by the awesomeness of
For a moment in time we were one
What was, what is and what's to come
pied-a-terre: secondary shelter
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Wind whispers through fingers
of ebony black pinions
Head cocked to watch me
as he drifts past my eyes
Apprising and appraising
My place in his dominion
Head cocked to watch me
As he effortlessly flies
To a graceful landing
Atop a lodge-pole pine
Then the head cocked again
Ebon eyes locked on mine
As if posing the question
Without uttering a word
What is your place here
In my world?…asked the bird
The question was stated
As a guttural squawk
Yet understood quite plainly
If one can parse Raven talk
On my precarious perch
On my pre-Cambrian ledge
I pondered the question
As I looked down at the sedge
Five hundred feet down the bottom lies
Perhaps a bit more… or less
I peered into the raven’s obsidian eyes
And replied “not really sure, I confess”
Did I come here to leap
Did I come here to die
I was rather hoping
You could tell me why
He croaked, with a fluffing of feathers
“To leap, to die? no, not a reason so craven
The reason my son, and a very good one
Was your need to chat up a raven
Warrior Wind
My shack-like home
Tries its best to shield me from the cold and torrent winds
I feel its cold touch caressing my back
It massages is like little pin-pricks along my spine
The branches are beating against the window pane
Awaiting an invitation from the occupant within
I envelope myself with my armour of fleece
Its coat-of-arms is adorned with finely stitched tapestry
My breath betrays my position
Apprising the enemy with its smoke-like signal
I am well-fortified within my refuge
From the howling cries of the Warrior wind
As time moves at a snails pace
I sense the anticipation waning
The moans are slowly dissipating
Impeding doom is once again abated.
An I am of Love is precept approved,
Doesn’t need approval of concepts' inept,
Doesn’t need the nod of man/woman, only God,
By precept of love’s absolve soul’s love is kept!
Seeing Love’s being is uncompromising,
Not of double mind concepts non-comprising,
Within one’s own precept love is the comprising,
Will be no rising in the mind’s compromising!
As yeast from the east, bread of life is apprising,
Pending only a few mind’s their realizing,
Of love’s precept which is uncompromising,
Where shall you be(?), at the precept’s advising…
In life’s ascension of illusion’s mountain,
Toward the drinking of your precept’s fountain,
Of clear, free moving waters, life appertain,
Where forever love’s precept shall be obtained!
Since the very dawn of precept’s greatness of spawn,
Parasites of concept’s might, sought the abject wand,
Oh Judas concept, mind inept, precept abscond,
The Stubborn Ox, the metaphor correspond!
The belligerent concept, of elder mind,
In complex darkness, is groping, seeking to find,
Within the whorish darkness first light’s refine,
Out of void of darkness came light, mind was blind!