0 Batch #3

Bursting with Pom Seeds
(image by rmp, that's me)

time for a new batch of pom seeds and leftovers.  i definitely think twitter was a good medium for throwing out little bursts of thought that have the potential of evolving into a tasty morsel.  140 characters seems to be just enough, though i admit i've cut some ideas or reworked them to stay below the limit.  i've now been a member for 39 days...and have managed 18 tweets.  and while the majority of them are pom seeds, two found themselves fully ripe with flavor.  so i'm expanding this batch to include new pom seeds, leftovers, and (what i will term) tweetoetry.

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Pom Seeds Batch #3

• my heart aches for what was; as the world crashes in on me; ripping through me; as though I were a speck of dust; I weep for you
• love is pain and sorrow; wrapped in disguise; it laughs at me; with its sweet intoxicating lies
• I woke this evening to a dream; and found myself the real me (i tried to expand this one, but i don't think it has fermented as much as it needs to)
• I see myself in black & white; brilliant colors surround me; poke at me; eager to caress me with their warmth; but they bounce off of me

Leftovers

• Information overload
• I woke with rose colored glasses and the world was as only I could dream it to be
• we were never friends; not really; how could we be; when all we did; was dance around each other
• my mom use to day; we're never lost; we're just misplaced
• i hate days like today; where i'm blindsided; punched in the chest; days when all i want to do is curl up into a little ball and disappear
• "you're growing."; am I? I don't think I'm growing; maybe just walking outside myself
• I feel like an outsider looking in; the warm embrace of acceptance eludes (found its flavor in two recent poems:  alone and To be rid of this curse)

Tweetoetry

#1

~Drowning

how do I make it stop 

how do I just--not care 

please! tell me how 

'cause I'm drowning 

alone 

and fast 

(this first tweetoetry had me toying with syllables (6, 6, 4, 4, 2, 2).  i've never really been one for syllables.  even more so if i have to pay attention to syllable stress.  but it's good to work outside one's comfort zone.)

Strike a Pose
(image by rmp, that's me)

#2

~My Dear Little One

you lay with eyes closed

your breath barely visible

I fear what's ahead

the cold earth is unyielding

still I must make your last bed

(first, i still had tanka on the brain from One Stop Poetry's Form Monday [Part 1 and Part 2].  not a bad form for tweetoetry, but not exceeding the max character count can be a bit tricky.  secondly, the poem was written for Bailey, who had me quite worried by acting like  an old man as apposed to his usual rambunctious self.  i've read the average lifespan is 8-10 in some sources and 10-12 in others.  either way, he is on the cusp being just over 10 years old.  fortunately, he is back to his crazy wall climbing self.  maybe it was the cold weather...maybe he was mad at me...maybe he was just tired from all his shenanigans, after all he is technically and old man.)