The yellowing of our fate
was just the suns bluff
it had soothed our souls
with its spill of rays
but alas, fall had torn
flushed leaves asunder
ready for the raspy breath
of winters plunder
the hiss of the breeze snaking its way through the leaves
no longer
as lifes greedy show of green
finds a safe haven below, under
wrapped around the larvae
of next years wonders
sunday wordle
Sunday wordle: Lord knows what looms for us
The weed did creep
revealing the
slack in our towns
of concrete their
roots spin and whirl
taking grip in
the crack of our
retreat with a
curl
it searches for
the light a glimpse
of what we for-
got, Lord knows what
looms for us our
eyes did strain to
see the stain of
blood coming for
us.
Authors note: I have not one clue about the different formations of ‘poetry’, so forgive my attempt at some kind of… well, whatever the fuck it is…
Sunday wordle: Something different to what I usually do.
Attempted to do a mini poem for every word for the Sunday wordle but my inspiration ran dry
Admit – A word that permits confession
as if words are solid
with mere flicks of the tongue
that could cleanse our dirty ought not to do’s
and what for but for redemption?
Flicks – A scar picked with the bend of words cursed
felt as if no other world exists
outside of their narrative
Scar – The stream that flows through
a rugged landscape
with all its liquid cruelty chiselling
us into formation
sharp as an axe after transformation
Remember – Scars leave traceable tracks
of remembrance
faces fade but what was felt remains
Dirty – Earthing oneself as if we became some other
cleansing in the soil to remember
the dust that made us
Hear – This pseudoforest sings your rite of passage
crows scalding you, your disturbance
of the rains tumult percussion.
Sunday wordle on a Monday.
https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/
We rest unforgiven
Mere willowy meat on bones
Time hums it’s artificial tunes
Street lights blinking
As our prayers go on trickling
Through the myths we were sold
Too lost to run
We must accept our fate
Along with the birds
Full of spirits today
Back to earth tomorrow
Fear
It was with a cruel flickering
that a hunch lurched itself into my brain
it would stalk my footsteps
as I receded away from the monsoon
that made itself heard with a thud
as the lines wound tighter on my face
I ran on impulse
running through the empty streets
looking for a place to let this kinetic energy out
with a sigh
But it won’t be enough
Is this alchemy or are we human to humus
Is this alchemy
or are we just fools?
Looking for silver lines
where there is no gold
Is a clod of earth just dirt to us?
Something to cleanse away
as if we didn’t come from the dust
that we will return to one day
Sunday wordle on a Monday: Scuffling with a ghost
I’ve been scuffling with a ghost
that fluttered by
after falling from the mouth of the sky
weaving through the dust
like tumbleweed
boom and bust
a story of angst
written only for us
Sunday wordle on a Monday: The Blackbirds Goodnight
The blackbird sang goodnight
in a string of trills
the sunset lighting up the trails
with one last spill
before the day reached its limit
hushed and stilled
Sunday Wordle: A house made of books
I am too small
and the world much too big
put me in a house made from books
instead of bricks
leaving everything to the imagination
with broken spines
as a sign
of worlds well lived
don’t leave me here constrained
in this broken body in bits
and the mind inside
that is folded a million times to fit
I can’t hold myself together alone
untethered in this storm
like a flag surrendering in the wind
comfort me with silk weaved wit and imagery
feed this insatiable hunger
for something to lift me from this black, black hole
don’t let me fall back to dust all alone.
Sunday Wordle: Death in our image
I cannot reach you
the shimmering mirage
of my dreams undone
there was no triumph
in the sigh that escaped my lungs
but all these moments that reveal
we had made death in our image
and I would be damned
if I did not quiver
at what we’ve become