Jigsaw - NaPoWriMo poem

 

I am a jigsaw of pieces,

scattered all over the page.

Stray threads left to dangle...

 

New ideas bleeding

in from the edge.

 

I am complexities wrapped

in ease-of-use transparency.

A see through image,

faintly showing all of me

in a battle with inadequacy.

 

I am a million stars

blinding the night,

I am darkness personified.

I am the blink of an eye.

 

I am sounds amplified

I am silence in

a library of sound.

I am the noise you hear

in the hush of a crowd.

 

I am unpredictably predictable.

 

I will fall

more than stand,

but I’ll run

and feel the wind

in my face.

Even if my legs buckle

and I crash land,

I’ll stagger on,

because I can only win this race

if I hold my heart in my hand.

 

I am a castle of sand,

drifting debris in the wind.

 

But I’m as solid

as a house of stone

and in my field, I will

stand free.

 

A scarecrow

scared of nothing

and everything.

 

All I have ever been

and who I will ever be.

A mannequin of mediocrity,

or a marvel of merit.

 

I’ve paid my dues to the universe.

I’ve given my blood, my hope, my screams,

to let it pour more back in, drop by drop,

as the moonlight whispers messages

to keep it always near the top.

A vessel overflowing with

unsubstantiated dreams.

But time, it seems has a way

of finding the answers

when you least expect

them to claw through the seams.

A song for the swan - #NaPoWriMo poem 21

 

When are we serenading the swans?

Letting our songs blend with the air.

When are we feeding the doves

with the soulful hearts we hold dear?

When are we singing to the birds?

Those loveable rogues of the sky.

When do we sit in the fields and

feel the summertime highs?

Oh, when do we let ourselves

open our eyes

and see the wonder

that soars in our life?

 

When do we croon

our tunes to the moon?

Letting them mix

with her luna melody.

When do we lay

in harmony under her glorious glow?

When do we watch

as the sky puts on a show, and

where do the songs go

when we let them

leave our throats?

 

When will the bluebirds sing for us?

When will the sky open up and share its love?

When will the days fill with light?

And where will we walk

on those lustrous nights?

Wherever we are, whenever this is,

I’ll always sing along with the sunshine kiss.

I’ll always sit in awe of the moon,

and I’ll love every call of the wild

as the animals sing their tunes.

Something wrong in the echoes - napowrimo poem 20

 

There is something

wrong in the echoes,

they move in like song,

a vinyl skipping the grooves.

Scratching itchy sound.

You can feel it on your tongue

like the fizz of electricity

before an almighty storm.

 

There is something wrong.

 

My head is fuzzy,

Fizzy, I’m standing on the spot,

but the world is spinning too fast,

making me dizzy.

I feel I’m falling into a pit,

fiery ashes rising up from it.

It’s all gone wrong. Somewhere.

I can feel it in the air,

in the warping atmosphere.

There once was peace,

now the peace has gone.

 

There is something very wrong.

It is drumming in my head,

a tension headache, rumbling.

Something is scraping the strings,

something is coming.

It’s out there in the darkness

echoing like a violin, screeching

like a cat. It is piercing the air,

strangled squawks, until they snap.

A clap of thunder cracks the night.

Are we under attack?

 

Something is so very wrong.

 

Menacing laughter under the echoed dawn.

The call of the void, the endless discord.

The hum is back, restored. To pull apart

every strand of sense, to rip at the heart

of our self-defence, to leave us whelping

and shamed, in suspense at what it plans

to do in our names. The hum is back

fired up to attack, the sound

at the heart of the universe, weeps,

as the tensions stack. Aching frames

start to feel the drain,

and down comes the rain.

The hum is back, ready to inflict pain.