I Found an Acorn in my Teacup

acorn
Day 7 Prompt: a poem about luck and fortuitousness

I found an acorn in my teacup and wondered how it faired. Was in put there by a small boy hiding outdoors from his brother? Was it put there by a young girl infatuated with her lover? What secret does the acorn hold in its placement in my cup? Would I have to consult the ocean to bring me clarity? And why such a thing be suddenly linked to tea?

I found an acorn in my teacup and wondered how I could be so lucky. Was it the luck of finding money folded in a purse not used in many months? Was it the luck of finding a winning fortune in my Chinese fortune cookie? Was it the luck of seeing money falling out of the pocket of a girl in tight pants? Were her cheeks offering me money, knowing I needed tea?

I found an acorn in my teacup and wondered about love. Would it always be a one-sided mystery fraught with tears and disappointment? Did love begin like the small seed acorn and then grow strong into a tree? Would I ever find my soulmate? You know, the one just for me? Would I spend my life mourning lovers and forever crying in my tea?

I found an acorn in my teacup and I thought, “lucky me!” Love, light and fleeting, like a small bird in flight will find me. Love, true and binding, lasting through time and space will be mine. Love will tangle our hearts and lives together like the glistening spider web. We will spoon and cuddle, ever close, in the small, warm kitty bed.

I found an acorn in my teacup and I thought, “lucky me!” Someday my luck will change. My happy tears will fall like diamonds in the glimmering sea. Joy and laughter will fill the air, forever following me. I’ll be loved and warmly cherished. I’ll be invited in for tea.

The Lune: Day 1 NaPoWriMo

napo2016button2  Well.  I missed posting on yesterday because I left my lune at work.  That was the first prompt for NaPoWriMo 2016.  Way to be late on day 1.  I worked today and took it out of the place I had it, to be sure I  took it home today.  I again left without it.  I will publish that later. Since there seems to be an overflow of muse juices recently, I will post another here.  I hope to make most of the 30 days of poetry.

What is a lune?  The lune is also known as the American Haiku. It was first created by the poet Robert Kelly (truly a great poet) and was a result of Kelly’s frustration with English haiku. After much experimentation, he settled on a 13-syllable, self-contained poem that has 5 syllables in the first line, 3 syllables in the second line and 5 syllable in the final line.  I have found that it can also be the 5, 3, 5 word count as well.  So here is my lune after seeing a past boyfriend after 30 years.

Love is bittersweet.

I looked back.

Wisen eyes see truth.

~~~

The things I see now,

I don’t like.

I missed that back then.

~~~

I don’t like him now.

We don’t  sync.

God!  We never did.

 

 

 

 

When The Gray Birds Fly

pg-10-winter-pa_80102bNaNoWriMo #6

The day was gray and filled with clouds.

Birds flew against the white sky like silver flecks in a snow globe.

They say flocking birds fly taking souls to heaven.

The birds told me I was not in time.

I glanced at the flocking birds as numbness encapsulated my soul.

Disbelief crept into my thoughts as time was not on my side.

The birds flew higher with your soul as the silent ambulance flashed by.

Just days before our eyes met for the final time.

I knew it would not be long as gray had infiltrated you from the inside.

Gray clutched my heart and squeezed.

I knew you only had a little time.

You lay there warm and I stoked your hair, your face, your  hand.

I felt good as your suffering was gone.

I felt good as you were at peace in so many ways.

Gray silence was left in your wake.

Silence and the need for me to be strong.

The gray birds spirited away but you came back in a gossamer veil.

Like Lazarus you were transformed.  A new body, a new smile, eternal life.

You, the You, you could not be in life.

The better you, the happy you, that you could only be in death.

I was so happy to see you and know that things are better on the other side.

Cha-click-bang. Cha-click-bang.  Such an odd sound to awaken to,

It was you with one last message for me

Cha-click-bang. Cha-click-bang.  You demanded I get up out of a deep sleep.

Cha-click-bang. Cha-click-bang! I obeyed and went straight to your room.

As I walked that demanding whisper faded as alertness moved in.

Words you never told me, I heard for the first time whispered softly beneath the words of a song.

“I will always love you.”

I knew it was you talking to me for the last time.

It’s been six years since the gray birds flew.

Six years since that last whisper from you.

It will be a long time till we meet again.

That day will be gray and filled with clouds.

It will be a day when the flocking birds fly; fly my soul right up to heaven.

Until that day Dad…goodbye.

Enigma

Enigma of mine, riddle in time,
I want you.

Born of concertos loud in pleasure,
drowned in drums.

Sweet dreamed and longed for.
Always talked of.
Not afar.

Real by the blue dot.
Real by my doc.
Real by me.

Horrid suddenly. Simmered in sin.
Loathed by he.
He called your father.
He hailed the reaper.
Cowards’ spawn.

Stayed by my boot tips.
Gone forever, he who reaps.

Mystery of life,
love-bathed by one.
Mother love.

Enigma of mine, riddle in time,
I love you.

When Love Goes

When love goes and leaves a walkless void,
Eveything
in the world stills.

Paralysis of body and mind.
A freezing of time.
A lengthening of silence
between beats.

In these spaces,
I exist.
Knowing where love goes.

Far, Far Away

Weary to the bone, I look to a new day.
Whay, far away, far far away.
It will be the mental distance that will be good.
Chaos can’t enter your brain if you are not physically near it.
I can shut it off.
I can hang up.
I can leave.
Chaos.

It does not a body good.
I think I have finally had enought. Well.
It was a long time ago.

I finally realize what a friend told me.
I might not be the one to help.
I am not.
Sad, but true.
All my efforts and constant forgiveness mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
She thinks I am nothing.
Always had and always will.

Hard to take but it is true.
Not all women should be mothers.
Not all mothers are good.

Weary to the bone, I look to a new day.
Far, far away.