Distance rumble I do not hear
As I sit near windowsill
Gaze lost in mindless thought
I hear the inner echo of my mind
Telling me there is something out there
But, old fragile husk of my body
Senses that there is nothing to fear
I sit lost in time to all around
Not knowing what distance rumble has come
My body has quell itself to the end
But, yet my mind wants to continue on
Hoping the body might come back as one
The thread of our life intertwine as one
When we meet in winter when we were young
Kindred spirits we were forever
On that night so long ago
We were everywhere you and I
Traveled far and wide
Saw places we never knew there was
Collected many memories you and I
We grew old through the years
Watched the years changed and go
Heard murmur upon the winds
That one of us soon would go
You rested upon your bed
Your strength all but spent
I was near your side
When it was your turn to die
Your once bright eyes had sparkled
Now glaze over for your time had come
I held your hand one last time
As you slipped away to other side
April 26th prompt: The journal 3 Elements Review publishes poems integrating three disparate terms that the editors assign. Try composing a poem on one of these past assignments: husk-echo-quell, tandem bicycle-ache-procession or glaze-thread-murmur.
World is too wide
vast in its complexity.
Too many places to go
with too many wayside
Places to find. I see
open plains from
which I can travel,
But I am stuck on
one side of river.
Can I cross it?
I don’t know;
for it is a doggy
dog world across
the other side
for this dog.
April 1 prompt from this site http://www.napowrimo.net/
Death found me at his doorstep with a suitcase.
Perplexed he was to say the least.
He was told he was expecting me later in the week.
I told him I couldn’t wait any longer.
I was tired and wanted relief.
He pondered about the change of plans.
Then shook his head, no can do.
He’ll pick me up later in week at noon.
I pleaded. I begged. Still no go.
As I left back to where I came
I heard him say, “when I come, leave the suitcase at home.
You won’t be needing it where you’re going any more.”
Arrows point me down paths along the road
I drive following them to my destination
Could it be they are part of life?
Will they help me with choices I make
Or will I be stranded down a dead end road
I stop at an intersection looking for an arrow
I see it ahead; a beacon home
I turn and follow the arrow of life
They make fun with just their eyes
No words do they speak
As they walk down the hallway.
Silence, to make one uncomfortable
No words, just the eyes taunt
Saying who are you?
What are you?
We don’t like your kind?
All,they say is nothing
No words needed as they say it with their eyes.
Why can’t life be scripted like movies
You know every line;
Every moment of what will come in following scene
You are given words from pages
Following directions from directors
Getting cues from fellow actors
All from pages for a movie
Life is not like that in real time
It throws you curves balls
Doesn’t give you a script to read and follow
No, directors to direct you through your life
Only you are the director
But, how can you direct;
When you don’t know the direction to take