By michaelcahill
danger can lurk around any corner
up a staircase
it can shove you in a room
and mount you
like a rabid dog
and laugh like a hyena
it can tell you
you are of no value
just a toy
for a boy
with a ploy
but it's no big deal
he's a wheel
and you'll forget
move on
live a life
he'll rule the world
flag unfurled
and every night
you will lie curled
in the terror of that time
crime
came to call on you
and you'll be the prisoner
in the cell
a hell ironic
for a victim
then one day
the bullies will throw a rock
through your window
taunting you
because they heard you had a story
and double dare you
to tell
tell your story
if you double dare
the whole damn world
will be right there
and the boys will too
those boys
the ones that scare you so
and you'll stand in front of them all
shaking and terrified
and become
A World Hero
Dr. Christine Blasey Ford
By michaelcahill
I’d noticed the lack of color for some time. I’m a man who sees in color, angry red and passionate red. Yellow so light it lifts everything skyward, and purple you can taste until it stains the sides of your mouth. Green, both envious and regal, with splendor one must possess.
it’s dripping ripe
and I become its color
art appreciation
Mostly my world is blue. Sure, blue like the sky and even blue like the booties on a baby boy. But it’s the blue of the night the moment after the sun finally disappears, just before the darkness takes a firm grip, calling to me--that darkest blue so few see … that’s the blue I wish to share--I wish for another to see.
I roam the canyon in solitude and loneliness. I shouldn’t be lonely, I’ve been told. I’m not alone, so the story goes. Your heart desires and has what it desires, it should be clear to you. It isn’t.
I feel the ground shake. I know the feeling. I brace myself, even as I let the feeling take me over. Wild horses running. I regain myself a little, and the ground seems level again. It’s the Blue Paint Stallion coming straight for me in every shade of blue, the colors swirling in my mind as I try and take them all in. I marvel and feel no danger at the hooves flailing against the stars in the sky. I mount up in one movement, and we are off like the wind.
a train doesn’t think
it follows the tracks
they’ve no choice either
the forest is dark
fear is the better journey
I have no idea where we’re going, the paint stallion and I. I only know; I want to go. The sky breaks into pieces as we crash through it. The stars scatter without understanding. This is what my heart desires. They say I’m not alone. But they’ve never ridden on the Blue Paint Stallion.
blue so dark
as to appear black
not seeing me
not even
looking
| Author Notes |
By michaelcahill
Everest
majestic
how noble the little ones
braving danger
enduring elements
I tickle them with dainty flakes
as they climb
towards the summit
I send
a slight breeze refreshing
the conquering adventurers
confidence oozes like the slush
'neath the arctic sea
but the ice cap can be thick,
hearty wanderers,
and I can make it thicker
at my whim
but there … there is the summit
renew your vigor and climb
what is a fluffy cloud in the distance
against the boisterous bravery
of the brigade of braggarts?
with a flick of my icy fingertip
I cast the mountaintop down
upon you all
conquer me, Winter?
only on my tender days
when I seek amusement …
By michaelcahill
the great debate
a solar flair
midst a panel
of scarecrows
chatty and affable
the loquacious locomotive
grinding steel churning
on silver ribbons
a joke of reporters
shout, "Chicken!"
rushing through a field
seeking the tracks
but the train derails
and victory is won
a hoedown of farmers
shoveling loads
the wisened oak had stood for over two-hundred-years,
the rope was worn, but us kids swung from it ...
seemed like the thing to do.
we, the men with whips
cry freedom
we chain justice fast in place
blind indeed
for she need not see
ahem ... our indiscretions
see no evil
tell no lies
we plunge into the earth
seeking everything
as our own
if you dig a hole in the middle of Old Jeb Kelsey's Creek and
you keep digging and digging and digging ... the creek
will eventually spill out into the Dragon Pearl Restaurant
in Peking, China. The patrons will be pissed ... But it will
be a dandy laugh.
two scoops please
vanilla
a noose
not too loose
for it must snap
to gain attention
when it reaches
full extension
we'll just have to leave you hanging
there's a meetin'
and we're a greetin'
we be sangin' praises
to almighty God
don't spare the rod
love your hat
and leather shoes
play the tuba
too
bring that staff down hard
and quick
and build this country
brick by brick
upon the backs
of someone
it's time to eat
so where's my supper
this is written
don't you know
old white men
are chosen
we have guns,
sons
and money,
honey
it's the natural order
read all about it
vote for me
again
I'm Harold Stassen
| Author Notes |
Harold Stassen was a Republican politician. In 1948 he had a serious run for the GOP nomination eventually losing to Thomas Dewey on the third ballot. He was to run again and again thereafter becoming a perennial candidate.
I recall one year, in the eighties I believe, his nephew placing his name in nomination. Often states would place a popular local politician's name in nomination as a tribute. These candidates were called "Favorite Sons". They referred to Stassen that year as a "Favorite Uncle". I can still hear Walter Cronkite, "Well, We have Ronald Reagan, the sure nominee, Anderson, Bush, a possible Vice Presidential candidate for the ticket, two favorite sons and a favorite Uncle." His last run was in the year 2000, one year before his death. I'm saving you the trouble of looking him up. Draw your own conclusions. :)) |
By michaelcahill
Is there anything more precious
than new life
a baby bird
dreaming of cloud conquering flight
or a baby bear
laughing at bees
with a honey smile
ahh, but the limitless potential
of a human baby ...
a future peace maker
the curer of disease
a champion of justice
as the bombs burst outside
the screams of birth are muffled
but life has will
life knows only to live
a mother will protect
and if running is the answer
she will run
safety beckons
she heeds the call
swaddling the most precious bundle
but poison
in the land of the free
looks like honey
honey to draw animals
into a cage
a baby zoo ...
By michaelcahill
Love seems to remove sense
pursuing Mrs Jacobs
seemed so right
at the time
it's wrong to seek kisses
from a misses
that I knew
but love grew
I was smitten
bitten as it were
in a way
that gave no sway to
thinking straight
her every word
a fascination
thrilling my imagination
and it flooded all my senses
when she spoke
and this very day
I still can hear her say
"Michael, what was the capital
of the Ottoman Empire"
and I grandly announced:
"Constantinople
capital C o n s t a n t i n o p l e
Constantinople"
I'd prepared days for my moment
to please
oh, geez, she smiled
"Correct" she said
and that was that ...
approval, love fulfilled
they say the third grade's
much too young
for true love to be real
but all these decades later
it's what I still do feel
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
Well, this is MY free verse sonnet. There's no right or wrong version. After all, it is free verse. The idea is to follow the general format as stated in the rules. I hope you will all give it a try. It is said that we free versers write our compositions due to our lack of formal skills. Sonneteers will claim, "A free verse poet cannot write a sonnet to save their lives, THAT is why they write free verse!". Well, of course, we know different and many of us have written award winning sonnets and are quite adept at iambic pentameter and structured poetry. Indeed, WE don't denigrate any form of artistic expression. It's time now to take it up a notch. Sonnets have become boring for the most part. "BORING" is always OUR call to arms. The time for a Free Verse Sonnet is NOW. This challenge is to write a free verse sonnet on any topic and in any format using all your poetic skills and instincts. Here are the elements that any decent sonnet is expected to contain AND we will be looking for them in your piece as well. NUMBER ONE: A sonnet is essentially a short argument. So, the beginning states your "proposition" or "problem" or "question". NUMBER TWO: Once that is established, you reach a resolution to said. This is typically preceded by a "turn" or "Volta" which signals the change of mood. NUMBER THREE: Finally, you sum up everything with your ending. Simply put, Argument, Resolution, Summation. Feel free to study traditional sonnets for insights as to general structure and flow. HOWEVER, we could care less about rules and confining traditions. We'll write our Free Verse Sonnets and way we please. Feel free to discuss at length in the discussion threads, ask questions, offer ideas or simply curse me and let off steam. |
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
Note: The contest is for a spiritual poem and not a religious piece. I could write about Jesus and Christianity or Islam or Judaism but those are religions, yes? In any case, regardless of what one believes, I think that love, inclusion and stewardship of our planet and each other is the solution to all of our problems. |
By michaelcahill
Faith is said to be:
Proclaimed and vowed
with solemnity
and enmity towards
evil and dastardliness
slashing swords
cutting and gutting
in the name of
eradication of
elimination of
the triumph of-- over
the banshee cry
the cannons roar
the rivers of righteous blood
flowing in freedom's stead
the dead deservedly so
for FAITH demands
... so it has been written
... so it has been screamed
I say:
| Author Notes |
This was inspired by "Offspring of Icarus", a lovely poem by our own Gloria ... I can't even say why it lead me here, but that's the beauty of art. Read her beautiful piece by clicking HERE ... |
By michaelcahill
Haley loved her
there was no question
nor suggestion otherwise
in his heart
or seldom consulted mind
her response did not
occur to him
for the love itself
consumed him
and the plans
he made
the shade of the tree
the babbling of
every brook
when she fled to the horizon
in a sailboat on the sunset
he began his own journey
a journey of why
we still await his answer
but we know he still seeks
and we shout to him
as he passes by
once in a while
for it never dies
love
and the quest
to understand
to acquire
and we know
tears
turn to ice
in the void of space
twinkle, twinkle
says this child
with wishes
til the day I die
wondering
about snowflakes and
mountain tops packed in white
and melting
melting
drop by drop
and a stream
becoming a river
and a void
being
filled
| Author Notes |
This is my first entry. Here's a link to my second entry, "sand outside the hour glass", if you're interested. Click HERE
HERE is the challenge us Fabulous Free Versers were given. You are ALL invited to join up and participate. You'd be surprised what you can do ... but we wouldn't. :)) You are challenged to write a ten-minute free verse poem. Here are the rules: You are NOT to think about what you are writing about before beginning your write. You are not to edit your write when you are finished. I want you to clear your mind, look at your watch or clock, note the time and start writing. When ten-minutes have passed ... stop writing. THAT is your piece. Post it. :)) Some people write like this as a rule. Of course, most DO edit and pick and choose what they keep in the write. This time we don't want to do so. For those of you who've never written like this, I think you may be surprised at how creative you are "under the gun". Some of the most compelling poetry is often difficult to explain, however, upon reading, feelings are induced in the reader and the mind is often thrown into deep thought. There is great value in that, often as much as there is in concise, easy to understand pieces. My opinion, of course. In any case. This is our challenge. I hope you'll all give it a try. |
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
This is a response to the book, "Moby Dick". It is the whale himself, personified, speaking to Captain Ahab.
Poetry that references and responds to another poem (expounding upon it, modernizing it, refuting it, contemplating it, etc. Original poem (or significant section) must be supplied in the author's notes. This is Leinico's wonderful idea. I'd like to expand it just a little to include responding to any written or spoken piece. This would include poetry as mentioned, but also famous speeches, essays, books, even documents like the Constitution or the Bill of Rights etc. I suggest the focus remain on poetry as set forth in the original idea, but I don't want to squelch any great ideas or inspirations that stem from this. :)) Remember, free verse has no set structure or rhyming pattern or fixed meter. You design your piece in YOUR structure as you see fit. This is entirely YOUR creation. |
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
PLEASE: Feel free to join our little club and take the challenge. All for fun and to gain knowledge. :)) Write a free verse poem on war. Boo (ghost) suggested a write on WWII where your perspective is from someone involved in the conflict, a soldier, perhaps a Jew in a concentration camp, a loved one at home or even FDR or Hitler. I like that idea and recommend it. But, I'll expand it to include ALL wars and give some leeway as well. You can use Boo's approach OR use a different approach if you wish. Your imagination and ingenuity is always WELCOME. The theme is WAR. Whatever that inspires you to write, is correct. Remember, great free verse uses all the poetic tools available. :)) Due: Dec 1st. 19 days left. |
By michaelcahill
it is clever
in its endeavor
the hush of darkness
whispers its plan
through the tiniest crack
the idle root
thinks only of escape
of getting out
and about
ancient tales
of light
arrive
through the seepage
dampness
keeps hope shivering
unseen
'neath the clean
cement sea
a glint
signals the race
every dream
shimmies up
and through
and out
the world is vast
(they said it would be)
I am the most
beautiful sight
in all the world
I strain towards the light
and shadows dance
beneath
me
it is thought
that
life
continues
after
life
the light goes out
with the wink of an eye
as I fly upwards
I have a
question
are you ...
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
Please check out the new CLUBS section. This is a challenge in the Fabulous Free Versers Club which any and all are welcome to join. We are all given the artwork attached to this piece and challenged to write whatever occurs to us as inspired by the artwork. This is what struck me. You can join our club or set up your own club. A new feature just added. :)) |
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
My friend, Katy, passed away in the wee hours this morning. She had been suffering quite a bit for quite a while. She wasn't of note, I suppose. Most of us aren't at least by most standards. She was a sweet gal and was kind to everyone. It is difficult to do better than that. Love to her. May she rest in peace, pain free now. Katy attended my friend Tonnie's services where I sang The Rose for her. She asked that I would sing it for her too. I didn't imagine it would be so soon. Anyway, a horrible recording, but ... |
By michaelcahill
dank is the alley
and the way is lost
repurposed appliance containers
house dancers who sleep
crusted and disheveled lovers
make due in the fumbling way of
young innocents new to bliss
opulence hides behind a wall
and wooden legs have no springs
the pungent perfume of dreams
wafts in a lazy haze
of remembered tangos
tangled in a frantic fiasco
of a puppy's affectionate metaphor
for something lied about
by those who lost
what others have found
in child's play
but libations fuel fantastic
flights of fancy
and marionettes need little sleep
nightmares aren't real
unless you wake to them
the baton is raised
and a waltz begins
but a poor orchestra
feigns rhythm
and no one is fooled
soon critics cruelly weed out
the offenders
the pace quickens
a bolero
with salsa
sizzles red
the rain turns the pavement pink
all think the problem is solved
but it's a minstrel show
tumbleweeds don't plan
there's no income
for poor performance
and no instruction
without means
a bridge can be crossed
or it can be a roof
you can be by the river
or in it
the river is heartless
for it does not love
but it is blameless
for it does not hate
fate laughs within a raindrop
the Maestro conducts
so they say
the clouds deliver rain
but wind propels them
wind goes somewhere
and came from somewhere
She is lovely
standing on the balcony
of Lucky Manor
the breeze causes her hair
to bounce on her shoulders
like approving applause
when you're homeless
and soaking wet
a summer breeze
chills to the soul
Mankind writes music
and plays it
By michaelcahill
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
Grasp that blunderbuss and aim it true,
forged in freedom's fire hot blue.
The target evil, 'tis said inbred,
the soft white belly, or the head--
it matters not.
Aim straight and bold;
don't hold back soldier ...
shoot your load!
'Twas yester eve we donned our Whigs
and waved our pens
like dandy figs.
Our servants weary
thought us bold
for we inqueeried:
"Should we grow old
while sending duty cross the sea
to some old hag, there sure must be
a better way to spend the day,
perhaps some apple pie with mom--
what say you Tom?"
Tom was fond of beauty, see,
and drawn to
purple mound's sweet majesty,
but he returned with quite a notion:
"Fuck that bitch across the ocean;
everything is ours ... we've earned it.
Why should we pay that crow?
You know she's laughing
when she thinks of natives
scalping our cool doos;
why send our hard-earned cash?
I say we lose by being fools
to not declare
this is OUR land.
She's over there;
we've got slaves and all this land;
independence sure sounds grand--
quick put that quill right in my hand."
We the white men hanging out ...
we rule this berg without a doubt.
Our women do just what we say;
they cook and clean and spread their legs.
We own the black folk night and day.
This land was made for you and me.
"Now, Tom, it would sound braggadocios,
and we mustn't sound like we're precocious.
Let's word this parchment with panache,
with pride and honour, just a dash.
Let freedom ring, (of course for us)
we'll keep control not make a fuss;
we'll talk of rights and freedoms too.
It's understood ... they're not for you".
"Why would we give what's clearly ours
away to girls and men, black as tar?
We have no worries (they'll have no say).
We own the country (it's the only way).
"Put that quill down, Hancock, NOW!"
"What will we do this dude's so swell?"
"Oh, let him sign he's served us well,
if anyone should ask ... don't tell."
What say you, Ben Franklin, is all well?
Is all we say all there's to tell?
Agreed, we've done it-- now, I'll pat your fanny,
you know you look just like my granny.
And lo the Hedonites did dwell in the netherworld of darkness where Machiavelli's ghost lit candles and giggled in the sweaty darkness. Jeff had sons and Adam's apples found their way onto the limbs of forbidden trees. Until one day the train derailed on a split spike nail and came upon a man with an axe to grind. He grappled with some kind of morality in its totality and thus reading between the lines his vision of truth came to be and Kierkegaard was finally buried to live again.
I'm late, I'm late
hit it dudes ... DEBATE!
Surely, Mr. Douglas, you realize
your stature precludes
your being alluded to in a serious
way as your belly protrudes and is quite
the sight
in an unbalanced plight
and the crate
creaks as you gain height
and attempt a fight
But, Lincoln, your stinkin' thinkin'
is going to cause some blinkin'
when the people understand what
you are saying and the threat
of freedom screws the free and
sets in motion liberty for them that
gots shall get that didn't think
they'd ever got well hell you fuckin' snot
you're going to screw
the whole thing up now, don't you see?
But, Douglas, I'm just saying
what's been written and what's written
is supposed to be the truth
for everybody, not just you and me.
Lincoln, thee and me,
that's how it's supposed to be
what a mess will soon commence
when you break down every fence
and call every person equal
OHHHHHH the sequel scares the founders
who just meant to keep things
rolling like they rolled, now it will flounder
cause you think that black is white
you damn fool must you be right?
| Author Notes |
This is satire, so I hope it's taken as such.
Here's some explanation of some sections that may not make sense to non-Americans (or maybe Americans as well). The beginning refers loosely to the founding fathers and the Declaration of Independence, tongue in cheek of course. Great men, no doubt, but not saints. AND documents that bear scrutiny and continual interpretation. Thus, amendments, a court system and legislature to keep them current. The Lincoln/Douglas debates focused on slavery and were a foreshadowing of the civil war that was to come. The essence of the conflict can be found in the debates. "Glory, glory how'd she do ya" etc, to the tune of "Battle Hymn of the Republic". That brings us to the post Civil War and to the present day where the KKK and other hate groups still flourish. Obviously, I feel that any tolerance for these organizations or their messages is an affront to decency and to be condemned in no uncertain terms. The notion that there are "sides" is absurd in my view. Yes, I am a patriot, one who is unwilling to see my country over-run by thugs and hate-mongers. |
By michaelcahill
It is true
we have not met
yet
as in a formal
I am me to thee you see
and now we know
and so it goes
perhaps a walk along the shore
or more
as many dreams
foretold when eagerly I slept
and you?
but still
I will contend the
notion sets in motion
the result
and thus it's academic
when minds have met
and wished
and fantasies have
dished the daydream's landscape
with an eager sought for
possibility
at least in my mind
your words
a laureate's revelation
thrill like rapids coursing
through my mind
your heart revealed
in casual observation
smiles understood
tears shared in secret
unspoken fingers clasping
as I grasp stars in the night
to fill your sky
hoping it is I
you wish upon
my thoughts flash around me
vignettes
a dancer
nimble and lithe
spins to a stop
legs part to split
to the ground
slowly
muscles tense
in smooth descent
anticipation
I come across
a honeycomb
of endless nectar
it never drains
I am never full
in the distance
I hear
an endless sigh
and the sweet moan
of a mind void of worry
sure, I'm proud
as I imagine standing before you
but I must have you know
that it is you
who brings me to such life
and vitality
may I be a shock to you
that is my hope
more than you want
surprising when that is
already your expectation
I imagine holding you
until time and space
vanish between us
no, we have not met
I haven't a clue
what crosses your mind
this is what crosses mine
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
then
neither grave nor gravity garnered
consideration
immortal loins
purloined the panorama
before me with style
as though burgling
were a righteous endeavor
fireflies in flight
lighting a soul
and a hopeful certainty
that a gift cannot be stolen
though intent might be suspect
I wished to be held
like a baby
and protected
then
there was one who would
one never told
and the myth was born
I was strong
the one who held
time trickled on
setting me aside for the moment
the ocean seemed endless
the sky without end
and mysteries transfixed
and distracted me from me
one day I remembered a girl
a girl who would hold me
like a baby
and protect me
the one I never told
I discovered rarity
to my dismay
am I not of note
was I ever
save to her
am I he
who plans a life
on a cloud
unaware of a bird's nature
I'm the protector
and lonely soul
the grand foolish boy
in disguise
who imparts wisdom
I find that wisdom
is not at all
welcome
or wise
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
there was a time
when holding me
seemed of paramount importance
perhaps I was imbued
with wanderlust
and thrusting knees
were not to be trusted
to eschew danger
did I have a bit of daredevil
hidden in my angelic persona
I prefer to imagine myself
a cuddly sort
irresistible and scoopable
a young gentleman
with wiles, still raw and undeveloped
but magnetic just the same
I assume I was not above
diaper maladies at least in the early days
I had to be loveable in lieu
of that malodorous consideration
well, it turns out
all of that holding
was a good thing
it ceased or became twisted
upon my kidnapping
if one's mother can kidnap
but that is the story
the insane have a desperate
embrace
it squeezes out rather than in
and the effect is not comforting
is escape possible when one is small
if one gives all
to the pedals
furious churning little legs
can indeed go far
but large people tend to
scrutinize small people
it impedes freedom
when freedom is warranted
its denial is forever embedded
intent is only a cerebral factor
the heart doesn't contemplate
history repeats itself
it becomes grown up
so it is supposed
I guess it can be quantified
and evaluated
I've no such skills
there are stories, sure
there was a time
when holding me
seemed of paramount importance
it has always been so
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
a lonely bass
vibrations tumbling
rumbling deep and rolling
across something perhaps
unknown or maybe
unnamed
seeking but feared
maybe fearful
a baritone tries to explain
picking up the tune without
becoming too immersed
in the darkness
there's a need to stretch
and strain
in a plaintive wail
perhaps an alto will reach
what needs to be reached
certainly sinew is stirred
and loins aroused
is this life's purpose
desire is not doubted
a tenor
cries out with might
a shattering of doubt
a focus
a singular compulsion
to tell the tale within
then a soprano
demands the absolute
truth
are there tears
or is it something less
something of note
but not noted
will there be a blindness
where truth flows like a river
finally we realize that it is a chorus
and within the tones
a silence to walk through
searching and listening
love is the beauty
we find within
when we sing sincerely
and recognize
harmony
| Author Notes |
|
By michaelcahill
it's turned out that before never
did I ever love like this before
though maybe
seeming wise
when much, much younger
a grand jackhammer
who didn't stammer
when it came to laying out
the words required
in deadly stealth and prefect grammar
I looked for you
but you did not happen by
you tarried coyly
perhaps amused
at the thought of what I'd do
if my façade
had taken leave and left me
old
and not so bold
would I have
a bit of swagger left
or maybe fear'd leave me bereft
of any type of courage
just to broach
a small hello
an I love you
here we go
for this could surely be the
knell of death chimed
loud and clear
but I'm feeling good
I overcame the fear
now awaiting what you'll say
this could be the day
I'll hold you near
and now it's before never
and I'll find out if there's ever
any sense
or recompense
for being me
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
Yeah, a little off the deep end. LOL. Red Lighted: A circus term. A method of getting rid of you: the owner departs without paying while you're not looking (all you see when trying to pick up your check is red lights disappearing down the road); or tells you to meet the circus somewhere, but the circus goes somewhere else; some sources even use this word to mean that an unpopular person is thrown from the back of a moving vehicle. Also "Oil Spotted," the moment when there's just you and the oily stains where the bus used to be. |
By michaelcahill
why would I seek consideration
when
vastness shamelessly stretches out before me
undulating its milky way while
making it clear
no
gravity is real
you’re lucky to advance four feet
in your glorious adventure of celestial conquest
but, sure, decry the small snickering orb
a pebble to us, a life altering mystery to you
personify us with meaning
poking holes in an alternate soul and
even
dare the pretense you are
part of it
did I mention
I had a hurt
a feeling
a need
well, a little want
just an inkling of a glance
my way for a moment
a nod
a wink
to let me think
you know I’m something more
than just a monolithic
surface to reflect
your every thought
and moistened dream
and lustful whim
you see
that’s why
I laugh at quarter moons
they’re not half of what I am
and the stars are much more lonely
in the sky
yes the speed of light
amazes
all cheer
but no matter how they
chase in desperate need
they won’t get nearer
than they are
they’ll stay as far
away until the day the
last atom flickers out
and there’s no doubt
I’ll be there watching
and that is
more attention paid
than will
be
bestowed on
me
poor
pitiful
uncared for
and unloved
me
I see my face
reflected in the still water
a forlorn vacant stare
a tear gets a reaction
as the water ripples
towards the edges
of infinity
but
I
do not
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
| Author Note: | Of course, for you. |
| Author Notes |
Perhaps one doesn't even need to complete their bucket list. It's enough just to have one. :)) |
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
the caress of the silent hand
is gentle and honors us
tonight
our fears
have turned to a tickling at the end
of our own probing fingertips
surely we would be admonished
severely
were this wrong
on this precipice high above our homeland
the hand would surely strike us down
to the valley below
were it angered
yet, I feel its force strengthen
even as my desire strengthens for you
you feel it too
it is clear
as we now clinch together
both aware of its new awareness
it whips my back now in slaps
but my passion denies its admonitions
it is true that I care more for you
than the fury of its retribution
in a rage it sweeps us skyward
and its silence becomes a howling
and we join its shrill song
but it is not fear we sing of
in moments we find ourselves
in the valley
the silent hand
once again brushes our cheeks
the myth of the wind
is no myth
| Author Notes |
Check out the poetry forum for all the other amazing entries and rules and regulations behind our little challenge. YOU are invited. It is mad fun guaranteed. :)) This week's topic: Myth of the Wind Free Verse Minimum of 100 words Pretend you are a member of a primitive tribe at some point in the past. Your people have beliefs and traditions very different from those of other societies around the world. All we want to know is what wind means to you. Give some reasons or examples, as you talk about this invisible yet powerful force of nature. Suggestions (none required, just ideas to get you started): In your society, is wind worshipped? Feared? Does wind have a spirit? A name? What does it bring to your people? What stories do you have about its effects? What myths do you have about its origin? Please do NOT use myths of known societies, such as Incas, Native Americans, remote tribes of Borneo, etc. Invent your own, and only as regards wind. |
By michaelcahill
By michaelcahill
| Author Notes |
To view in the recommended Classic format click: HERE |
By michaelcahill
| Author Note: | YES, FOR YOU |
| Author Notes |
I recommend the Classic view for the discriminating viewer. Click on the title and be whisked away to days of yore. African Wind Enjoy the CLASSIC experience! Please, in this case, do listen to the music as it does go with the words. I close my eyes and see a woman. She is lovely, yes, but I see how beautiful she truly is. |
By michaelcahill
| Author Note: | THIS BOY AND THAT GIRL |
| Author Notes |
FIRST: I only ended this with those words because that's who I happen to be. The ending is different for everyone depending on who you happen to be. Please don't think that it is an ending only for me. If you are Navajo, then that is how the poem ends for you. If you are French, then it ends thus. It ends as Irish only because I am Irish. We are all equal and should be equally proud of who we are and just as proud of who everyone else is. :)) For the best view, go to Classic Fanstory with this link: An Buachaill Agus Cailin Sin Click on the title. An Buachaill Agus Cailin Sin--Gaelic (Irish) "This boy and that girl" un-bookul-ahgus-kylun-shun--pronunciation (roughly) By now there's no sense in me trying to ascribe a name to the form or forms I've come up with. LOL! It's just what I came up with. It's like Hannibal Lector in Silence of the Lambs, there is no name for what it is. Poetic license was used with this. It seems those in charge of licensing are liberal with their distribution. This is my tale from my perspective and my imagination. I don't presume to know what anyone else thinks or feels. This could be called my wish or hope. Maybe it's shared, maybe not. I haven't a clue. Maybe I made the whole thing up. Remember, creative writing is creative. |
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