I wrote a poem for you today To tell you how I really feel It was terrible- The poem, not my feelings about you Or maybe that’s just A matter of opinion too- I guess we’ll never know Because I tossed it in the box And they assured me You’d both burn
I made it! This is the first time I was able to complete a National Poetry Month poem of the day challenge. Thanks for reading!
The prompt is “a poem I’ll burn” from Maria Giesbrecht @theguelphpoet on Instagram. April 30, National Poetry Month 2022.
Sipping nectar and discussing death- The bee and the butterfly Contemplate for a moment Their short lifespans And consider their options.
They determine that Although brief, their lives Are full of adventure, Satisfaction, and value, And they could wish For nothing more.
Sidestepping flailing humans, Evading snapping dogs, Avoiding becoming lunch To any number of predators, Consuming the sweetest ambrosia, All the while pollinating Some of Earth’s finest flora-
And then passing along their Ambition to the next generation-
A life worth living indeed!
The prompt is “discussing death” from Maria Giesbrecht @theguelphpoet on Instagram. April 24, National Poetry Month 2022.
She wore a black hood; black as night, dark as death, so she could hide among the shadows in the alley, the blind spots behind lampposts, and in the corners of your room. When your heart missed a beat, and your breath wouldn’t come, know that fear had stolen them for herself.
I shivered from my place at the back of the boat, though it was not cold. The fog hung thick and low above the water. A tall robed figure stood at the front pushing us along with a narrow oar.
Silently we glided through the mist. Something looming in the distance came into view. I saw flames dancing and heard barely audible chanting, but could not see from whom the voices raised.
Soon, an island appeared clearly in front of me, a large fire reaching toward the sky in its center. Amidst the flames, contorted bodies writhed and voices became louder. I understood a few words.
“Death eternal, soul’s inferno, deep into darkness, days abolished,” was interspersed with indiscernible words.
I shifted uncomfortably. We neared the shore, and the figure turned to me. I could not see his face, only darkness where it should have been.
The boat bumped against the sand, he reached a long arm toward the land in a gesture I understood to be a command, and I was compelled to move forward.
The chorus ceased. My insides burned.
With arms spread wide, I leaped into the blaze.
The chanting resumed, now with my voice among them.
He wrapped the strand round and round his finger, focusing on her face. The piece of fabric from the missing girl’s sweater was his grounding object. He studied the photograph until he had memorized her features. Suddenly a chill ran up his spine. She was here. This field is where she died.