2 what will it take?

when i stop singing
will they start listening?
when i stop painting
will they start seeing?
when i stop acting
will they start believing?
when i stop writing
will they start to reading?
what will it take
for them to finally see me
to look beyond the facade
and hold the real me
in the palm of their hand?

---

offered up for Jingle Poetry's Poetry Potluck [muse, art, music and poetry].

2 Old Magic

i'm not sure what possessed me to take up the challenge presented at One Stop Poetry's Friday Poetically, especially at such a late hour when sleep whispers sweet nothings to my eyelids.  to make matters worse, i only used words from the list (did not add any extras...though it would have made things much easier) and no more than the number of times they were listed.  this held true for the title as well.  i did allow myself the liberty of changing the endings of words (e.g. dance =>danced; rain => raining; etc.).  i apologize ahead of time if this make no sense.

---

Old Magic

i drank in whispers
sweet sounds
carried from the moon

soon sleep took me

teardrop dreams danced
raining balloons
blue
        yellow
                    green
only to pooled
near my true love

2 Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions: Rage On

i've done a lot with music lately.  or at least it feels that way.  i suppose that says quite a bit about my state of mind as of late.  as i've expressed before music has a way of mellowing me...releasing the tension...settling my emotions....  it so easy for me to get lost in the rhythm.  it has a way of massaging every tiny little nerve and frayed edge that threatens to unravel within me.  sometimes i wonder where i'd be without it.  or maybe if i would be....


so forgive me as i once again by homage to my dear friend, music...

---

the rush is so intense
a hard Class VI
pummeling from every direction
sucking everything deep down
into its murky waters
the will to fight
drains with every beat
of a raging heart
still
there is one lifeline left
a magically entity
intent on fighting fire with fire
water with water
air with air
earth with earth
with the twist of a knob
it rages forth
coursing through every nerve
running along every frayed edge
colliding head on with each crest
another tiny twist of the knob
and the music rages on

3 i need the dough

i knead the dough
roll
pull
twist
punch
just as i had watched you do
all those many times ago
i infuse the dough
immerse
saturate
imbue
soak
it with every emotion
i have bottled up
i have salted the dough
with my tears
in the hopes
of cleansing myself
ridding
melting
purging
the pain this day dredges up
the last thing i wish
is celebrate this day
our day
yours and mine
the one you suffered for
all those years ago
just so that we might share
this day
together
you and me
i knead the dough
roll
pull
twist
punch
wishing these hands were yours
instead of mine

---

in case your wondering, pizza.  


inspiration for this too salty treat comes from Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>cleanse(-e+ing), knead, melt(ing)].  

0 impenetrable heart

love
snuck up
from behind
spoke sweet nothings
hoping I might sway
love knew not my power
strong, steady, unmovable
whispers of promises mean nil
for fear immobilizes my heart
love will need to find another way in

---

this etheree finds me on day 19 with inspiration from Poetic Asides' "Two for Tuesday" prompt [write a love poem or write an anti-love poem].  i had another poem tickling my thoughts, but for some reason i felt the need to toy once again with an etheree.  it seems a simple form (10 lines...increasing in syllable count from 1 to 10 with each line), but anytime syllable count is involved i find myself working and reworking and altering line placement and/or word choice.

6 Hats Off Apologies

Monkeys with pocketbooks
Monkeys in top hats
Hats with feathers
Hats with big bows
Bows on presents
Bows in my hair
Hair done up in pigtails
Hair dye
Dye for easter eggs
Dye for t-shirts
T-shirts with funny sayings
T-shirts with a butterfly
Butterfly wings
Butterfly kisses
Kisses that seduce
Kisses that tickle
Tickle my feet
Tickle my toes
Toes digging into the sand
Toes painted red
Red fire engines
Red candied apples
Apples for dunking
Apples for pie
Pie filled with blackbirds
Pies filled with blueberries
Blueberries with little crowns
Blueberries staining my lips
Lips glossed with lipstick
Lips kissed raw
Raw meat
Raw feelings that bubble within
Within a hair's-breadth
Within the beat of a heart
Heart full of joy
Heart burdened with sadness
Sadness which is fleeting
Sadness that consumes
Consumes all in sight
Consumes every day and night
Night filled with passion
Night free of dreams
Dreams open the subconscious
Dreams of fields of flowers
Flowers tucked behind my ear
Flowers full of apologies
Apologies met with forgiveness
Apologies show remorse
Remorse
Forgiveness

---

Jingle Poetry's Poetry Potluck ["these are a few of my favorite things"] inspired me to try a new form...above is known as a blitz poem. i'm certain that some of my favorite things are twisted up in the poem above. it was an interesting write...not really something you can predict...more of something you just go with the flow of...

2 doulbe trouble

Photo by James Rainsford

No Way Out

deep within
the darkness envelopes me
escape haunts
each waking
breath i dare to take
let me sleep

---

so i'm not sure of the last line...the one above fits me...for i like sleep...it is a wonderful escape, yet i wonder if i should make it a bit more...i don't know 'fighting'...if that makes sense.  as i sit here continuing to type i'm still thinking about changing it..."set me free"...maybe i'm just not ready for that kind of hope...  i thought to make the above form fit into a shadorma, but i it turned itself around on me...  anyway...


i have to say, given the options for this Sunday's One Stop Poetry's One Shot Sunday, i was struck  by two images.  the one you see above, and the one--should you dare to continue to read--you'll see below.  (although technically you don't have to read the below to see the image.  but anyway...the image below inspired a thought that i wasn't sure how to put into a poem...though i've been a bit impressed with myself and some of the things i've managed to turn into a poem, i didn't not feel it.  I think my problems the dialogue i want to include...i'm toyed with dialogue in poems before, but i'm not extremely comfortable with it.  i thought to try the who Flash Fiction 55, but that was laughable.  anyway...

---

Photo by James Rainsford

Turnstile
His foot had barely touched the fifth step when he was halted by a voice behind him.  "Both escalators go up."  The puzzlement in the angelic voice brought a smile to his lips.  "Where are the down escalators?"  A subtle laugh escaped him.  The oddity of the question forced him to turn and look upon the innocent creature who would ask such a thing.

She was breathtaking.  If it were possible, his heart would have skipped a beat at the sight of her.  He shook the thought from his head and gestured with his head behind her.  "Down is over there.  But you don't really want to go down do you?"

Her head began to shake almost immediately.  "No.  I was just curious.  I mean how does anyone ever get back down from..."  Her voice trailed off as she pointed upward. 

The thought had never really occurred to him.  He looked up toward his destination and pondered her question.  Finally he turned back to her and said, "Why would anyone want to come back down here?" 

She shrugged, but said nothing else.  He turned and began to continue his climb.  It took about two steps before he was halted once again.  "Why are you using the stairs?  It seems a little pointless at this point."

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he turned back toward her.  "I tried."  He thought to his thwarted attempts and the fear of what they meant worked relentlessly to take hold of his soul.  "Four times in fact."  He gestured to the escalator on his left.  "Twice there and," he paused to gesture at the right escalators, "twice there."  She continued to look at him, her question plain across her face.  "Each time, I get have way up and the escalators stop and reverse." 

Her stare bore into him.  The fear began to bubble up again; he knew she was thinking the same thing as him.  When she finally spoke, he was surprised by her question.  "You had enough tokens to get on four times?"

"I don't have any tokens."  If he had thought her odd before, now he was sure of it.  He shook his head.  "I jumped the turnstile." 

Her brows furrowed in puzzlement.  Again he was caught by her angelic beauty.  "Did you check your pockets?"  She asked matter-of-factly. 

He shook his head at her question and mindlessly began to put his hand in his pockets ready to withdraw the empty interior fabric.  "Why would I check my po...."  His voice trailed off as he pulled a token from his pocket.  So stunned was he that he hardly noticed his decent down the stairs until he stood beside her.  Finally tearing his gaze away from the token he looked up at her sparkling hazel eyes.  "How did you know?"

She shrugged and held up her hand.  "'Cause I found this in my pocket."  He marveled at the twin token that sat in her delicate hand.  She gestured toward the escalator.  "Shall we?"  So dumbfounded he just nodded.  Mindlessly he watched her place the token in the coin slot and step through the turnstile.  He followed suit.  His gaze was caught for some time on the floor they had just left behind.  His breath caught for a moment as they approached the midway point.  As that illusive streach of escalator finally passed, he let go the air that filled his useless lungs.  Her laugh floated down to him.  He gazed up at her as the brightness above grew stronger.  She shook her head at him.  "I can't believe you tried jumping a turnstile to get into heaven."