I had found solace in my quill,
because therein could be expressed
that tragedy which gave me chills.
The pen and ink gave me some rest…
Because therein could be expressed
the cold emotion that I felt.
The pen and ink gave me some rest
from my own soul's distress and welts.
The cold emotion that I felt,
discoloring my mind's debris.
From my own soul's distress and welts…
for only sadness could I see.
Discoloring my mind's debris,
the ocean tossed and turned on me.
For only sadness could I see
and then I found you set me free.
The ocean tossed and turned on me
yet you had taken me to land.
And then I found you set me free;
we played like children in the sand.
Yet you had taken me to land;
you rescued me from sure demise.
We played like children in the sand;
you showed me that you were so wise.
You rescued me from sure demise…
that tragedy which gave me chills.
You showed me that you were so wise;
I had found solace in my quill.
It will always rain on me in all seasons.
Seasons jacketing me with dust,
Dust mostly from the dry season to absorb my hope.
Hope fractured in different ways in time,
Time unendingly discoloring my soul.
Soul trying to resist by pleading for light.
Light that kills darkness but dies in startling grief.
Grief that mostly engraves my title.
Tittle mirroring it will always rain on me but is lost to the wind.
Wind screaming through forms of pain.
Pain that hurts my brain and heart but bastes my skin,
Skin that wears signs it will always rain on me.
Poem by N. Mugisho
Life has become small
with age and the pall of death
discoloring once vibrant
joy, and old laughter
echoes down the corridors,
fading fast into shadows.
The bucket sits idle
catching the dripping of dreams
discoloring as they evaporate.
Their tenuous connection to time
now but an echo in the bucket.
The bucket has never held
any maudlin mystery
as age has just ticked me off.
I still use it to carry minnows
to the kayak and go fishing,
it also come in handy
when tossing rock salt
on an iced over driveway.
I sometimes sit - reminiscing
perusing the contents of my buckets
successes, failures, wins, losSes.
I dance with the memories
of my children's childhoods
lessons learned and now
visited on my grandchildren.
Lately, the bucket echoes
a tinny emptiness
as dreams succumb
to the sad reality
of unfulfilled buckets.
11/23/2020
What Have You Kicked Off Your Bucket List - Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke - sponsor
so blank after the exit
so pale after the discoloring incident
i am a blue bricklayer in a red town world
my heart has callouses
my mind has splinters
so drained following the reentry
the fight in me is now in permanent hibernation
Tick tock…tick tock
tick tock goes the clock
With each stroke of its hand
robbing me of youth and vigor
scarring the skin, discoloring the hair
and causing me suddenly to wither.
Just when I’m getting my bearings
in this immense place called life
Navigating somewhat smoothly
and appreciating the preciousness of a moment
it defaces me with its every strike
Withering away on the outside
while being renewed within
is the cruelest blight I believe
that has been cast upon each and every human
Alas! Alas!...tick tock...tick tock
tick tock....goes the clock
By: JoanMarie Peranteau
August 2013
I had found solace in my quill
Because therein could be expressed
That tragedy which gave me chills.
The pen and ink gave me some rest—
Because therein could be expressed
The cold emotion that I felt.
The pen and ink gave me some rest
From my own soul's distress and welts.
The cold emotion that I felt,
Discoloring my mind's debris
From my own soul's distress and welts—
For only sadness could I see.
Discoloring my mind's debris,
The ocean tossed and turned on me.
For only sadness could I see
And then I found you set me free.
The ocean tossed and turned on me
Yet you had taken me to land
And then I found you set me free;
We played like children in the sand.
Yet you had taken me to land;
You rescued me from sure demise.
We played like children in the sand;
You showed me that you were so wise.
You rescued me from sure demise—
That tragedy which gave me chills.
You showed me that you were so wise;
I had found solace in my quill.
Cattails grow up out of my muck
taking root in the mire on my bottom
creeping along in my soft blue clay,
shooting up in long cylindrical spikes
with a velvety fruit, encouraging
red-winged black birds to nest, feed,
caw and quack, at times acting more like
a predator than prey, especially when
local toms creep around the high grass
on my banks, licking their chops, while
bogs of ancient trees decay, discoloring
stagnant water, where frogs, amphibians
and a variety of snakes find places to
burrow. Mosquito larva slip in among
slime and weeds, sparrows hazard making
nests in stumps and reeds protruding in the air
black, green, round and mud snakes lurk
in primal anticipation
of bird brain nest strategies,
although they have a preference for siren
salamanders and small amphibians.
Submerged and floating vegetation fill my shallow
waters, where muskrats and water voles survive
in a primitive atmosphere within shouting distance
of a twenty-first century mall.
At the beginning of the pier as I gaze outward,
My path appears narrow, straight also so definite.
Cascading light, showed far away shadows, un-brightly.
Precious clouds portray, a show, remembering the night.
Shallows, which shimmer on each side of my walking pier,
Have such images, bringing darkness, pressing upward.
Mocking my memories, discoloring forward thrust,
I slowly walk closer the images grow bolder.
The faded beauty, which I first saw before me, quakes,
Its’ reflections, at first reaching the pier of my life,
The light begins to concave as I go closer, end.
Broadening outward, beckoning me to follow, now,
Both beauty and darkness haunting me, this moonlit night,
As good and evil, being opposites, thus challenge.
Equally, our night dreams must survive upon the bay.
The amber ring around the moon.
Pollutants and dust.
A beautiful sight to which we swoon.
The color of an opaque rust.
It dances behind the clouds.
As if unforeseen.
The discoloring shrouds.
The unforgiving and clean.
Masquerading the truth behind.
What this really means.
That the mind.
Prefers it's fiends.
The amber ring that graces the moon.
Leaves what should be a graceful path.
But instead, told far too soon.
That we will feel everyone else's wrath.
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