%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
|
A second attempt at "Give It 100!"  , since the first one ("100" ) turned out pretty well even though I didn't complete it within 100 days.  ![Merit Badge in Mythology
[Click For More Info]
*^*Salute*^**^*Balloonb*^* YAY!!Congratulations on your fabulous challenge of writing 100 poems is less than your 100 days!! An amazing feat so you deserve a trip to Mount Olympus for a treat! You can walk in the hall of champions. *^*Trophyg*^* Wonderful expressions! Keep on shining. *^*Starstruck*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Mythology-1105.gif) These are just rough sketches and ideas that are barely a little more rounded-out...they're not perfect but they're gonna be good enough to share here at least. Your comments, support, and words of encouragement will be greatly appreciated!  Best Poetry Collection |
7-13-17 Ain't nobody gonna tell me what to say! Ain't nobody gonna tell me what to do! Everywhere...I see poems...everywhere. Considering our minds, it's a wonder we don't have an extensive language of code words. We probably do, buried in the thunders under our collective thousands of works, but perhaps we're too busy pushing ahead to erect framework for (new) old words set apart from and due to fashion. Are we not fashioning fashion? Sounds like something we'd say if we said stuff like that. Natch, fit to stand alone yet able to bend and brush up with the masses. How? We piece-by-piece to some means of completion by whatever becomes our dedicated reason. Our nature is all nature, of and and, and something when put together few might understand. Which wasn't part of the plan until the plan had been planned, and here we stand. |
7-13-17 Nobody's gonna be happy you're alive and we're not gonna dance on your grave when you die. You weren't around to consume all that you're not allowed to ruin. You speak the illest of people like me while inhalin' your free disease. Like a pinprick gettin' a cramp you're ten-thousand of 'em in my lap. If I coulda cured you with a drug I'd snort it and smoke ya to the stub. Nobody's gonna be happy you're alive and we're not gonna dance on your grave when you die. Thank you for not letting us forget why. If every dog has fleas you're three and more to me with audacity. On top of a mountain you stand alone full of everything you do not know and your shoes are made of the shit you say- like your mountain; like your days. Your story is lyrics, your mind is prose, you're living meaningless, insecure, and exposed. Nobody's gonna be happy you're alive and we're not gonna dance on your grave when you die. The first breath fresh from the coma was hell and in the next you thanked yourself. You said you weren't long to live like this; to our chagrin, we were non-existent. Not like we waited but you knew we'd mind; we're not self-righteous in the same kind. Off we'll go, not being acknowledged... alive or dead, no difference to speak of. Nobody's gonna be happy you're alive and we're not gonna dance on your grave when you die. Dying might change the way you live but your death won't change your life. Thank you for not letting us forget why. |
7-13-17 You should know everything about what makes you uncomfortable. All the tics. Do you wanna know what makes you tick? You need to be scared to be alive. Die to breathe. Need to feel. Hate and love; peace and war. Everything coexists whether we like it or not. Agreed or not. No else. No other. Seen and unseen. It's all there, enmeshed. Does that trigger you? Good. If not, you need to ask yourself why you're here, and what you're looking to gain from this... because I'm not sure I can be of assistance. |
7-14-17 I dream cliffhangers. Tidal forces unprecedented, and edited for pity. As I try to hold on to a sleep I can never keep, the screaming scorching my throat doesn't make a sound while washing me awake with an unforeseen terror. Like everyday life disasters I cannot plan for these; coping is only learned after they occur. And there is no pill that can leave me safely on a pillow's shore. I just have to tread and hope I can swim until I wake, believing maybe I've drowned. |
7-15-17 I don't often like to wonder how we "ended up here" because I don't believe in endings so much as repurposed beginnings. Make my tombstone another starting point so y'all can gather for a mass resetting of life's focus before moving on to bigger things like burying my books next to that ugly rock with my name so you'll have a better reason to stop by for a visit. In the meantime let's keep singin' the songs we hear in our sleep about the darkness in our dreams so we can illuminate ourselves for who and what we are. Grey hairs seem to grow the longest and my collection's getting stronger; by the time it's complete retirement'll be decided for me and if I can't take you along I'm not worried you won't understand because of course you will. Of course you will.  |
7-15-17 There is so much more I need to tell you. Not here. Away from where we last met. This is how we love. This was how we loved. burned poets braised on broken sidewalks opened and closed forming little holes every time another step closer toward nowhere additional words torn from a scalp of notebooks passed on- no looks- but scars held place like scribbles spiral wires left trim broken little holes shifting the burden of proof to you You won't be able to untell the story after the book has been closed. There is an almost undetectable plot line boiling underneath the surface. We are in pre-production. The author has died of mysterious circumstances. Full stop. There is so much more I need to tell you. I don't remember where I left off. I don't know where to begin. Where did you begin? We are history. Making. Revealing. Punctured. Paused. Sincerely Ours, ### ### ### |
7-16-17 Allow me to kick down the door that led to the floor you swore I wouldn't be invited to for sure just to prove I belong here more. You can wear a face of condemnation but this is my celebration and it's amazing and invigorating, the like-minded people I'm collaborating with; no one can take that from me and I'm hashtag sorry-not-sorry if I alluded to or confused you but you're not welcome...toodle-oo. I've had a lot to overcome and each day isn't fun until I can say it's done; my life, my terms- I'm out to take care of number one. For "Note:
48-HOUR CHALLENGE : Media Prompt
Deadl...". |
7-17-17 The tone of your voice says something's wrong, and you haven't even spoken yet. It's as if a lifted curse is about to resettle and blow out a candle. Let's promise not to look around, wondering who might be next, and only take minutes to grieve before giving in to nuanced celebrations: a life was muted, but we weren't, so respect. Maybe we can push it farther up the horizon; we know it's coming but it doesn't have to be today. |
7-18-17 She finally sighed softly in her sleep, sleeping away soft sighs as she went along with a narrative that lined the clouds animating how alone she felt. It was only there that she would see her world as it really was; knowledge wasn't a choice so much as it became a way of life. The final realization she'd wake to learn was learning becoming her finality. |
7-19-17 I must be a different breed of arborist. I spent twenty years roamin' through this forest in search of some daylight but all I got was the occasional breeze whisperin' to me to leave. Nobody says "Make like a tree and stay!", even if that's all they ever do. They don't move. They don't go anywhere. They just drop their seed and it grows up... no convincing it to go to college, or get a job. And definitely no parenting involved at all. Meanwhile, I'm trying hard to do the one thing it does so well- leave!- and I keep circling around the same stumps and mangled spaghetti branches with no end in sight. It's as if they want to keep me here, but are afraid to tell me. Is it them, or is it me? I almost can't tell. I'm not drawn to them, I think, like they are to me... I was their calling. I was the difference between studying and stalking. Now all I see is wood everywhere. Is it them? Or is it me? |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
Probably not...how I write them and how they sound in my head is dramatically different than how they sound coming out of my mouth 
.
Thank you, Mona!
