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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 |
6-15-17  My body is a road map of natural disasters. Hurricane hips, shoulder mudslides, calves of drought, and a head that doesn't know if it's comin' or goin' in whiteout blizzard conditions. Along the way I stop at tourist attraction pills to gas up the tank and fix the flats but the luggage rack's a little shaky and locals never seem to like me. The journey of a hundred trigger points starts with the first flare-up, where every day is a new discovery of what hurts the most. |
6-16-17  I couldn't put it into words so I spoke with my hands and I built us this home we'd be happy at anywhere... me, the strong and silent type and you, the smart and sensible one. It took us years of love and loss and work but little did we know that it would give us so much more than we ever put in and after all is accounted for... look at what we've got! Not a house, not a home, but it's our little world where we've grown to be more than just "me an' you"; we're us. Always. Bigger than we imagined and everything we've faced... and I still don't have the words but we've given each other the world. What else would we need? |
6-16-17  We're gonna die from the inside. Each letter in the chemical is toxic; we're growing alphabets and ingesting sentences that would doom lesser species. But what are we supposed to hate? More and more and more? I don't win for getting to breathe the same air that blows the bees and the government wants to tax with pollutants and bombs and a myriad of complex neurotransmissions meant to stem diseases at the cost of newer, unnamed ones. And if you think that's a mouthful don't hold your breath; just because it sounds important, that doesn't make it right. We're gonna die from the inside anyway, just so we're clear, but it's everything on the everything on the outside that starts our processional process. Just so we're clear. |
6-17-17  There was only one way out- your words- and I knew it. Sometimes life presents you a situation with just one chance to make something happen. I was determined to be the man. I was determined to beat the man. Once I got close... once I got a taste I knew I had to go all the way. The hard way. No turning back. It wasn't a pledge or a promise, but a new lifestyle. There was only one way out- your words- but to me, it was my only way in. |
6-18-17  The reflection of enormity is the chasm created when the ocean meets the air. Existence of life in black and white is blue-green and green-blue and everything agrees in between. You're a plant with eyes; I'm a fish with stagefright. And we're both magnets for lures. They tell us they're around most the days the sun shines longest, creating waterflies in a concentric pattern just above and below the surfaces. We're aware of them and they're anything possible, now and this summer and this summer and every year. They're anything possible, just like the reflection of us. |
6-19-17  You know damn well there's always a but. Yet you act like it isn't coming, or more like you don't exist in its over-exploding galaxy of WTFs. I see you over there, pretending like you're the kid the divorced dad forgot to pick up on the holiday and trying to play it off as if it's nothin'. No. You're the but. The stink at the end of the favor. The lament lingering beneath the breath of praise. And the longer you try to bottle 'em up, and pack more and more of them buts in where they never fit into in the first place, you won't be able to get yourself out from underneath them all. And don't you even try to tell me otherwise; I only speak from a position of knowledge...I've heard every but you can imagine. Because I was once a but, just like you... and this is now the thanks I get. |
6-20-17  It's not for me to say; seeing is only one-fifth the experience. If that's what you'll hold me to, know that your thought's incomplete at best, but clearly not enough also to take into consideration that I may not be who you claim me to be; the result of calculations filled with variables assumed isn't checked against any mirror or image and cannot be trusted as fact. Just because you see it, doesn't make me any more or less me. |
6-20-17 You see language rearranging right in front of you. It sounds purple and clandestine, like the castle it came from under your own breath. Never too puzzled to search; never content to believe. Every side has changing sides and your job isn't to alphabetize them, but catalog their features...like I note yours each night before sleep takes me over and farther away from you. Color my eyes with your lungs. Fill me with danger should I not feel. Take me to where you see me, so I may rest upon the tops of your cheeks and be all my visions animated through your softness. Turn me into a perfect clear. |
6-20-17 The torque of perception is the common denominator. Nothing needs to be true to be believed. Traffic in the present, using the past as currency toward a future you think you're creating, and don't let doubt blindside you. Avoid breathing sepia. Call your shots in full-time technicolor vistas or become another sidewalk statue we wonder why we admire. The starting points look so similar, but the results are trivia answers no one seems to know the questions to so we fabricate facts thinking no one's the wiser if we're all subplots in everyone else's looking-glass conspiracies. |
6-21-17 It's been said it takes ten-thousand hours of practice to master any hobby or field. If that's true, then how did I manage to quickly pick up the art of mashing piano keys in a grossly melodic manner by the end of first grade? I was no Beethoven or Liberace, but there was no equal among peers. Maybe it was the key-tar's simultaneous emergence, or reverse ageism, holding me back. I coulda been a legend, ma! Instead, here I am...tuning words and making other kinds of notes and wondering all the same. |
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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!
