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 |   GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
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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
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*^*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 |
6-8-17  Comfort seems to be defined as "someone must win, someone must lose, and know the loser has it worse than you". All the promise held may not be enough grace to stave off split-second group violence therapy. One day you're cheering in the crowd, and the next you're on the card. We feel at home watching war, more at peace because it isn't us than actually giving a damn. Learned immunity. That's all it is. As long as it's happening over there, I'm free to forget to remember why this isn't supposed to be funny to me. |
6-9-17  The drama in the air has gone from concerning to normal. The void is now the now, and we're all dying to float; dying to try. The middle ground is gone; it evaporated into feelings attaching to the tops of bottoms and bottoms of tops. The side you're on is the one that was chosen for you. I guess this is where we live now. It went from the way there into the way. We're never building a new one; we're always adding on. Normalization of the negative space has sucked the air out of you and you're dying to float, or at least you're dying to try. |
6-10-17  Every street I walk on is a poem that contains a line from each window. Sometimes it's the front-facing picture. Often it's the basement. I can tell it's yours when the light is on and the cat is resting attentively, like he owns my pen. I write what I know, like the old adage suggests, and I can recite the words by heart. They're the path I've worn from my door to yours. |
6-11-17  Ten paces is a mile in a knife fight but you've got something bigger. Your aim is to close the gap with the clap of an angry trigger. This isn't fun anymore. The moderator says "Draw!" like we're equals in an equal setting but the only one keeping score is the last person with the loudest yelling. This isn't fun anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. The final scene in the movie closes and you've had me where you want me. As the credits roll it's not enough; you're determined to either finish me or complete me. This isn't fun anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. When you draw down on me with darkness I'll fight you off like light. Best Long Poem, Free Verse |
6-11-17  The day's so good you wish it would end on your terms soon just to say you've made it through unscathed for a change. Anything can happen but you're most afraid it's gonna be you pulling yourself back into the puddle of your life... don't try to jump or it'll own you. Are you ever really complete without completely fucking yourself over? Intentionally or not, the rain doesn't care if you're ready for it and puddles aren't concerned that you can't swim. May as well close your eyes and run as fast as you can if you're gonna call it another day alive. |
6-12-17  You never asked how come we didn't fix it; instead you planned ahead. Ready for the inevitable. Your seat's about to rumble... better go to that place where you can draw one last deep breath from before you engage with ground-level diplomacy and third-rate, simplistic truths spun delicately stale. But you knew that gettin' on. Let 'em start with the questions... you might be new to them but they're in your world now and you owe no one small-talk answers to petty questions. Hurry up. Make it brief. Life comes at you fast, but I know you'll hit it back faster. |
6-13-17  We are born from elements; what if, like friendships, we regenerated? Our best features could manifest every few decades to meet again and create the world we desire. The cycle picks up where we left off. Our origins, consisting of the sleight of hand perpetrated by our souls' elemental fingerprints, could be debated by historians throughout time and twisted to fit their selfish agendas, will be known only for certain by us. This is history walking and paradox talking; unbelievably seen so much so to make liars out of most. For we are how we breathe into and out of each other. |
6-13-17 Let history not judge us by race, religion, gender, or any affiliation. Period. We should all be known by what we do best. If everyone has one specific talent from a core of the four elements: fire, water, wind, and earth; we are equals in that you need me as much as I need you and they need us. Nothing means anything without everything working together, and that includes us. |
6-13-17  What's it feel like to be a post-modern industry, dying? You jumped to one too many conclusions; now you can't fall for standing. These days that many shades of blue will never look good on you unless it's beside the sea of self-pity you've relaxed in after a steady diet of yourself. And I love that you're too proud to say you're stuck when we all know the wheels are turnin' but there's no place to go. You can't just be. You can't let it be. |
6-14-17  I don't have time for thoughts and prayers today. I'm not big enough to compel a world to maybe stop doing all the things we wind up pausing our lives for. And I won't do remembrances or memorials either. My mind just doesn't celebrate that way. I'll show you gratitude, but spare me giving thanks. I can't be bothered. Not me. This is all too much. It's bigger than I believe. I see, and I see, and I keep seeing, and then I see some more...when can I stop? When it stops? It never stops, you know. I could spend all day bestowing grief balm in the form of internal monologues, if I wanted to. But- and it's a big but- I just can't. It neither heals nor solves. I'd only be getting in the way of life unfolding before me in real time. But please, put in a good word for me... it's not that I don't care; it just isn't on today's schedule, and I need to make sure the people I'm accountable to know no disruption or inconvenience. No thanks...I'll pass. Time to go. Have a great day! |
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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 
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Thank you, Mona!
