Marbles

Tell me

Does it embarrass you

That your son fancies lovely things?

He’s not a brick breaker

Like his father

Or his father before him

But he wears the seasons

On his fingers and toes

Occasionally

Should the mood arise

And he knows

That you’re a product of your era

And he cannot blame you

Nor is he inclined to

But the blood’s

A little thinner

Between you now

The heart has to

Pump a little harder

Now

The lashes sting

A little less

Now that they’ve become

The yolk to your egg

The routine

And he has all but

Lost his marbles

In a panic

He tries to collect them

Like little bits

Of a rolling sky

That used to be blue

For him

For me

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Negative Current

I make jokes in self defense

Most of the time,

I don’t make sense

to anyone but me

But that’s the draw, the intrigue

I drink tea that’s

steeped in dreams

To regulate the breath I

breathe

Otherwise,

it’s too much too soon

And I’m half a mile

past the moon

You’re a tree, and

I’m your branch

bur we’ll parish if not rooted

at the stance

We’ll grow separately

But that’s the pull,

the mystery

There’s proof within

the insulation

That we are more than our

obligations

We are cut from

the same mold

Dying young in clothes

of gold

Loopholes

I’m mere feet from home,

but that doesn’t make me safe.

I think before I act,

but that doesn’t make me wise.

I’m far beneath the sky,

but that doesn’t make me grounded.

I don’t always tell the truth,

but that doesn’t make them lies.

Le trottoir

J’ai fait une petite promenade

à côté de la rue

car c’est où

on peut regarder le monde

pendant qu’il passe


via Daily Prompt: Sidewalk

Youth

I was a turtle on his back, rocking to my freedom. Set loose in a land of haste, in a world turned to badlands. I crawled to the edge of time and scored the beat of my heart to the tune of the clock. Gears shifting. Arms winding. Patience thinning. I saw myself in every one like me, but they saw no resemblance. They saw only difference. The walls around me changed with the seasons, but my temperature didn’t waver. Instead, I grew into the warmth for twelve months out of the year and was comfortable. But comfort wore like a baggy tee shirt, and I was swimming in ignorance and complacency. When I began to feel the cold, I tied the string of a balloon around my neck and lifted off ground. I floated away as the walls collapsed, no longer having a reason to stand firm. Now I weave in and out of the measure of my symphony, and replay my youth to remind me that no matter how far into the future I make it, it’s never far off behind.


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/youth/

Carpe occasionem

Overtly

Bent on

Seizing

Every

Single

Slightly

Entrenching

Dalliance


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/obsessed/

Buoyant

I am breathless

Blue in the face

eyes lifeless

below the surface

But if you flip

the perspective

then suddenly

My head becomes

above water

So is it

all in my mind?

Or

all in my lungs?


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/surface/

Hung up

via Daily Prompt: Maybe


Maybe they’re not obstacles,

but mere extra steps

Forcing me to think the thoughts

I hung up to dry

but that I could never quite get

wrinkle-free

Maybe

Maybe I am set to be

the minnow to your stream

Wriggling away from

near-certain death

beneath prepubescent heels

And though I may cheat demise

a couple dozen times

Who’s to say I won’t swim

into the mouth

of my most famed predator?

Or be hung up myself?

It very well

may come to be

Maybe

Good Place

There was more of me then

More to this skin and bone template

My face lit up well with such livelihood

It complemented me like the bad does the good

Now I’ve been bulldozed by he who came before

I was in a good place but not anymore

There was less of the moon then

Less of a light at night and I slept soundly

Now I major in shortcomings and I study my flaws

Sharp with resentment and threatening like claws

Now my feathers are plucked and I’m stripped to the core

I was in a good place but not anymore

You’ll have to excuse my morose sense of reality

But I’ve learned that Hell’s arrows don’t specifically aim for me

And the ones that do strike leave a lasting impression

I’ve lived through all this and yet I’m still second-guessing

There was more to me then

More than just primary colors

But my wheels keep turning despite their golden rust

There are beautiful things that can be built from the dust

Now the crows may have perched next to my eyes

But I’m in a good place this time

Indonesia

I met a man who is preparing to hop a plane to Indonesia in less than 48 hours. He will be living there for a month where he will work as a yoga instructor. When the four weeks are up, he’ll have the opportunity to travel through Southeast Asia. What an incredible thing. 

To that man: 

I don’t know your name, but your positivity has been infectious, and your smile more indelible than a summer jam. Your eyes exude your passion for life, and I’m nothing short of ecstatic for you. I can’t even say that I’m surprised. You’re a beautiful human being, and it’s been my pleasure to have met you. 

May your anxiety dissolve into exuberance as you go on to tread alien soil and have the experience of a lifetime. I know you’ll relish every moment.

Sincerely,

Purely inspired