Contest: Wilderness of Want
Sponsor: Ink Empress
Prompt: What is a ripple
without its rhythm?
Written: 092326, 6PMCT
I like sunrises, sunsets, and starring
at the moon. And I also like observing
The rain if it's not a monsoon.
At first, I see just drips of raindrops
Falling gently on my tin roof top.
Initially, the drops are like quiet sounds.
But what is a ripple without its rhythm?
Nature's music cannot be held in prison.
Later, there were surround sounds all around.
Soon after, they increased their intensity.
Suddenly, the sky's the limit of my expectancy.
It is now pouring torrents of rain, and I am
Beginning to worry if it will leave me with pain.
To my disdain, the rain speaks to the wind,
Asking for a dance on my roof made of tin.
The wind complies, and they begin to dance.
Through my water drenched window pane,
I watch them dance, but I keep my distance.
The shower falls; the world turns; they dance.
I pray their dancing doesn't kick up a storm.
It continues to rain as I go to bed and fall
Asleep, and the rain ceases by early morn.
Fifteen years old, warm summer night,
I left home about twilight,
Jumped on my ten-speed wheels
And started in to wheeling,
Following a feeling -
A mystery, a night reveals.
What would the night reveal?
Conscientious, never free,
The only thing I’d ever wanted to be
Was someone who complies,
But this was just a lark,
Riding in the dark.
Which way would we fly?
I watched with open eye.
I had no purpose. It was just a ride.
Left or right, I let my bike decide.
Where I was going, I didn’t care.
I was on my own.
Something to me would be shown.
My destiny was there.
I could feel in the air.
Fifteen years old, warm summer night,
I left home about twilight
In the summer of seventy-three.
When I left, I was a captive child.
Hours later, pulling home, I smiled.
The night I would be free,
I discovered me.
Gun is fired
Friction-slick bullets heat the barrel shocking the shoulder finding a new place in its socket
Metal pellets rain like rain or hail
As opposed to paper pellets or those made of grain derivatives
How many glyphs exist?
Those recognized by some higher authority
And how many more are there that go unaccounted for?
I have a set of my own
It is smart to keep part of yourself unaccounted for
Keep it on pages buried in second-hand drawer chests
When does a spider's web become a cobweb?
How much dust has to fall?
How many days?
Can we quantify it?
Dusts rain like rain, not like hail
Or like bird feathers telling you something must've happened above
Something of note
I refuse to dust
To wipe away my calendar
Non-numerical calendar grids
Compress to fit into layers
Layers only distinguished by time of fall
Of rain
Of feather
Not by barrier, nor boundary, nor anything which can be marked
Only known
It is only known that upon waking from sleep or else what
That more dust is there
Or maybe that
The surface of my skin has changed
The fibers of my clothes are more worn
And gravity still complies with its law
In a gentle swispher,
A voice came from above.
I heard her say,
"Dance with me".
I see her every now and then,
Like an eagle, starring at the wind.
She's seen by the wind,
But as just another entity.
She's not afraid because she
knows that the wind has no enemy.
So she reaches toward the wind,
And asks him for a dance.
The wind complies,
And oh, what a sight!
The two dance with all their might,
From morning til late into the night,
Never caring about the path or flight.
I gaze into the sky until they're out of sight.
She had no name, so I called her Miss Bright.
Just to see them dance in the darkness of
Night, filled my heart with the brightest light.
With words in play for pictures to paint,
That hum melodies beyond poetic sway.
The chaotic use of rhymes and devices, yet in survey,
My mind chooses to withdraw from the unnatural hold.
With subtle flavours and a vibrant touch of my emotions on the plate,
Unquestioned thoughts and silenced cries,
Expressions speak while silence complies.
With no hunger for emotions anymore,
I pick the pen to finally paint,
For silence spills over the page again.
Wartime stocks plummet.
The Pentagon declares bankruptcy.
The Department of War is closed.
Illegal gun smuggling comes to a halt.
Everyone complies to God’s commandment:
“Thou shall not kill”
Murder becomes obsolete.
“Enemy” is removed from the dictionary.
The results would be phenomenal...
All our time and energy could now be spent on
Earthly emergencies and natural disasters.
Everyday problem solvers become modern day heroes.
Pollution, global warming, over population...
Systematically eliminated.
Governments’ economies never need shut down.
Lost instincts for survival are revitalized...
Priorities diverted to preventing planetary extinction events
And destinies reverted to manifesting the Cosmos.
Everyone embraces cultural diversity
And declares all human beings as Earthlings.
Enlightenment is achievable.
Peace is possible...
Just amputate the Arms race.
Keep your guns permanently locked away.
Buy a telescope.
routine we assumed as addictive
is discarded instantly on demand
as of suggestions of the universe
with which our presence complies
it is simply an observation
validating perhaps thinning of ego
wherein all that remains is Self
embodied within organic form
I thought I’d have to leave my favored spot
and go inside this warm and humid day.
My pleas for respite must have been perceived,
for Nature sent a soothing breeze my way.
Near the fountain stands the male
In iridescent glory,
But his mate begins this tale,
A true Manhattan story.
These same ducks have made their home
Outside a high-rise building.
I see them swim or sleep or roam;
The truth requires no gilding.
This morning, early, as he waits,
The female, with intention
Of what she now anticipates,
Insists on prompt attention.
She marches right up to the door,
By which a doorman’s standing
And opens up her beak to score
The meal she is demanding.
In full regalia, he complies
And grabs a baggie waiting,
Then shoos some pigeons to the skies,
Their hope for food deflating.
He sprinkles breakfast for the pair,
Who gustily start eating
And I walk on so I can share
This urban morning meeting.
driving myself full of joy
earning mileage benefits of pure happiness
on cruise control with my eyes closed and you in my arms
of course you tell me to keep my eyes on the road
however the way you are feeling right now makes me wanna do some thangs
you laugh at me and 'boy, watch the doggone road!'
i comply for i know that her rather innovative hands will thank me later
the end result is worth the frequency of being consistently frequent
when we reach our destination, i kiss her warm lips with no hesitation
she playfully hits me on my right arm and says 'damn, can we unpack first?'
smiling wickedly, i reply by saying, 'confounded, woman, i already KNOWWWWW what i wanna unpack first!'
she complies
end of poem
Heart always tries
Hate always lies
Fear complies
Conundrum tears
fall midstream
Rationalization relents
Reason wins out
Confidence returns
Loss is gain
Less is more
Patterns lost
A better life ensues
Moments of abiding
Consciousness complete
Emptiness explained
Spiritual sailing
Means justify ends
Lie, Death we walk as one
We trip the Black hole together
The night is cold
Its calmness is bold
Spring doth fold
In its manifold
My-my-my baby's not old
Your tender smiles
Make my moonlight shines
Your pretty eyes
Make my morning flies
My-my-my baby complies
The earth too knows
How sadly I glow
Just whisper so
I'll dash for what heav'n bestows
My-my-my baby my beau
The joy as you call
For Mama "ma-ma"
Fills my spirit for I'm your momma
O your cackles do get me enthralled
My-my-my baby my love
Your call is alluring
Your love is assuring
My soul is the offering
I'll see you glo-rying
My-my-my baby my dar-ling
Your life at birth
Was my journey to death
You stayed and wept
Whilst I took my last breath
My-my-my baby Macbeth
I'll always come
To watch over you
And sing you songs
As I can't hold you close
My-my-my baby I'm near
Clements’ Mazda fully in control
Just crazily ran out of petrol,
His Humble Catarrh out of control
With obvious depletion of Menthol;
Not a thing solved by mere vitriol
Or plunging into angry patrol…
A hateful running out of supplies,
Both car and organ needing replies:
To surfacing at a bank complies;
A use of its ATN implies…
Next, straight dash to a filling station,
Never trying to Mammon ration:
At the nearest waiting pharmacy,
Thousands simply spending, no mercy:
For The Stranded after 10:00pm
Dreams not at all of eluding them…
Mazda Owner Turns Mazda Loser,
Snatcher with Family now User!
heart seeks, God complies
too late we see our error ~
let’s blame it on fate
10-May-2022
Time has no Vanity,
time
don't dye hair,
don't disguise...
just complies,
Its role,
and does not age...
infinitely
ethereal passes... !
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