Be Still My Heart (Leftovers)

I said, “Be still my heart!”
Out loud this time,
So sure that you noticed
When it flung me at your feet —

Heat crawled up my neck —
So sure that you noticed
My ears were red as traffic lights, as stop signs
Warning me not to cross the line —

I stumbled with its erratic beat
And slid into the seat
Next to you —

I said, “Be still my heart!”
Out loud this time,
So sure that you noticed
The sweaty palm I ran through my hair
Before I tossed my head for added flair —

I hoped this
Time would be different,
That I wouldn’t lose my heart —

I said, “BE STILL, my heart!”
Out loud this time,
So sure that you noticed
When it leapt from my sleeve
And landed squarely on your napkin,

Though you pretended not to —

I said, “Be still my heart!”
Out loud this time,
Through clenched teeth,
So sure that you noticed
How I carried on distractedly,
My eyes darted often to it there exposed and vulnerable —

Until upon evening’s end,
Without a word, you gently wrapped
It up and tucked it into your purse
Like leftovers you couldn’t bare to waste —

My carryout heart stilled —
Happy not to be left behind on the table,
And so glad that you noticed.

Advertisements

April Showers

thunder’s angry tone
pitched against a murky sky
April showers flow

– Written for Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge #249. Word prompts were “pitch” & “tone” or synonyms of those. Photo by Michaela from Pexels.com.

Home Base

Whaddya say Ace?
Just came in from outer space?
Said you left without a trace
For a better someplace
But landed on this rock instead,
Failed plan to get ahead —
Not the best place to lay your head,
Though sunsets from here are aces.

Advanced Composition Explorer (ACE) Mission Logo

– Written for dVerse Quadrille #77, prompt was “ace.” WC 44. Photo from Wikimedia Commons. Learn more about the ACE Mission here.

What Was With That Poem I Once Wrote?

My heart spilled out in words I could not say —
Written with blood dripped from thorns of disapproval,
On petals plucked with
Wishes, that destroyed the flower but at least —
They fell in a pleasant pattern at your feet.

Things not visible on my face —
Or maybe so if you ever thought to look,
If you ever cared to, if you ever dared to —
We could’ve written a book, a collaborative effort
To make a space for people like me.

A picture painted of love and lust and passion and mistrust —
Despite the time I imagined we spent together,
Somehow I crawled like an ant up a sand dune during a monsoon
Unrequited, though I told myself undecided —
As if I had a choice.

Emotions that I could not explain —
Obsession, compulsion, depression, despair
Laid waste to the page, my soul laid bare,
My depravity displayed, codified there —
For your condemnation.

– Written for Poets United Midweek Motif: Writing Poetry. Why Write Poetry? and/or What Is Poetry? Consider limiting yourself to addressing one poem rather than generalizing.
The poem I referenced for my response is called Depraved. It was the first poem I ever had published.

A Question of Kindness

Are we kind by design –
And does it lessen with
Time?

Or do we find it tested
When we’re on the run –
Fine-tuned
Under the baking sun?
Will our selfishness be bested?

It was suggested –
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Is it really our vanity that fuels what we do?
Is altruism even true?

What is the meaning of kindness?

Is it clarity or blindness?

Define human kindness –
Are we the center of the universe?

It should be simple
But I have so many questions
of kindness,

Though mostly I have a question of myself –
Why do I need to even think about this?

– Written for Ronovan Writes. A Thursday reflection on kindness. March 28, 2019.

 

Spring-Minded

the narrow branch sways,
under wind and melting snow
we are spring-minded

– Written for Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge #246. Word prompts were “narrow” & “minded” or synonyms of those. Photo from pexels.com.

At the Well

I opened my eyes to blinding sun. I pulled the rope, hoping to finish before anyone noticed.

I was startled by a man leaning against the well. Had he been there?

“Let me.” He took my burden before I could respond. He poured the bucket into my pot. The water flowed until it was full.

“How did you…it takes three times for that container.”

I stared at refreshing water inside the vessel. “Have faith. You’ll do great things.”

I looked up. He was gone.

Somehow, I now held the bucket. I opened my eyes. Morning rays infiltrated my room.

Samaritan Woman at the Well by Nathalie Villeneuve

– Written for Carrot Ranch March 21, 2019 Flash Fiction Challenge. Prompt was “In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that features a bucket of water. What is the condition of the water and what is the bucket for? Drop deep into the well and draw from where the prompt leads!” WC 99. Painting by Nathalie Villeneuve at Pause and Paint.