We were once rivers,
braiding through each other’s lives,
carving valleys of shared wonder.
Now we float in bubbles,
soft-walled sanctuaries of sameness,
drifting past one another
with eyes turned inward.
The more we seal our edges,
the less we feel the ripple,
of another’s breath.
Am I wrong?
Always drifting left when the world turns right,
Like a compass drawn to storms instead of light.
Am I wrong?
For trusting the beat of my own internal song,
Even if silence is the chorus all along.
I move to the rhythm only I hear,
Not chasing thrill rides they hold dear.
I'm not blind,
I’m just tuned to a different spark,
Finding sunrise even when I walk through dark.
At times I'm alone, that's the price I pay,
But solitude sings in a deeper way.
Am I wrong?
For believing in my hands to shape the clay,
Carving a path no one dared to lay.
Knowing I’ve got to lead and do my part,
Even if the march begins with a solo heart.
Am I Wrong?
She sat in silence, whittling wood,
Creating magic with her hands,
Here she couldn't be misunderstood,
Carving charming pieces on stands,
Fulfilling customer demands;
She carved serenely, working hard,
Chipping away those needless bits,
Making art out of something marred,
This showcased her finesse and wits,
She loved her work, wouldn’t call it quits;
With this job, she couldn’t make ends meet,
But she rose to the occasion,
Pouring her heart into each feat
With skill and perfect equation,
She persevered with persuasion;
She had the courage to dream on,
Toiling with the sweat of her brow,
Soon she saw the glow of the dawn,
Her artefacts are famous now,
Her diligence paid off and how!
10th March 2022
For Emile Pinet's "Quintain (English)" poetry contest
Rhymes checked with www.rhymezone.com
Why would one ask,
If the carving of a mask
Is, indeed, a task
When to simply this question ask
Is itself a task?
Mask carvers in their job bask,
Their wine glasses beside a cask,
Their African salad in their flask,
Their own faces a beatific Mask…
Sweet styles of reducing the heat
From a long sitting on a seat,
A surer method of catching ones breath
Man’s enacting of the lion’s stealth.
he stood and people stand,
he walked and people walk,
he flew and people fly,
and on the inside wrappers
of candy bars
and on the paper napkins
from fast food restaurants
and from the scraps of
brown bags and
old newspapers
the notes
came pouring in
notes from songs
that people longed
to have sung
from all who
followed him
climbing
rung to rung.
The notes drifted
down
like falling leaves
a shower
from the future
of future needs
and those who followed
continued to build the dream
from blueprints written
on leaves that came tumbling down.
It's getting hot in here,
350 degrees,
picked clean, and stuffed.
Keep the meats separated, turkey!
Some like dark meat.
Some like white meat.
Segregated even on Thanksgiving.
Yams or sweet potatoes,
Mashed or baked,
all turkey is best with trimmings and gravy.
Yet, people just want to carve us up,
divide us,
and fight at the table.
Pardon you!
Pardon me!
Had we seen Grace, we would be running free,
together,
of one body,
and thanking Christ.
Pummy the pumpkin refused to be sliced
Resisted against being sacrificed
For modern Pagan delight
Did not fancy the limelight
Turned the knife against trivial zeitgeist
30th October 2019
howmanysyllables.com
happy birthday America-time to carve the blue stars from the cake
Aren't grandchildren marvelous! Spoil them just rotten,
then give them back, but they are never forgotten.
My maternal instincts are rekindled and who
best to let them experience the joy I knew.
One of my preferred seasons is pumpkin season,
tis for Halloween if for no other reason
than to take them out to a pumpkin patch and glean
their own monster orange pumpkin for Halloween.
I had missed the sounds of laughter of my children,
but my grandchildren have filled the empty cauldron.
We brought the pumpkins home. For their very first time,
curious, they plunge in, eviscerate the slime;
doesn't seem all that tasty or appealing at first.
With some fallacious explanations they immersed
scooping out its seedy, nasty stringy insides.
They love to tantalize; well, I'm one who decides.
So many questions they asked to bewilder me.
A mass with scarlet paint an ugliness they see.
Candles flicker a whirling vortex of smoke at first;
just in time for the spooky night of October 31st.
6/21/2018
Starving and Carving
While other people in the world are starving,
In America, on a turkey have been carving;
Then heard God say,
Have happy Holiday,
And soon Christmas season will be arriving.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Master of Limericks, MLm
This poem can be found on Page 6A
of Brunswick Beacon, Shallotte, NC
dated Thursday, November 30, 2017.
supernatural
friend I never see, touch, - rose
without thorns I kiss
I love pumpkins sure
All those big and small are fine
The big ones are best
But the miniature ones
Can be lots of fun as well
I enjoy carving
Pumpkins into feared faces
Those creepy dark ones
Then I light them from inside
Perfect for Halloween night
Russell Sivey
I went outside
Chisel in hand
Found a tree with the biggest trunk
Took a firm stand
Wood chips began to fly
A heart began to appear
I thought we'd be together
But a cross grain was near
A knot stopped me
The heart was complete
It will remain empty inside, like me
Until true love I meet