I got what I wanted lost everything I had what can I say What can I do? the faceless ones took everything including you
From the heights of the mountains behind oslo to the depths of despair inseine enparis to be redeemed after death alone leaves me faceless faithless
the impressions that i left kept me away from you reducing you to faceless along with your faceless crew
Today Lillian prompted we poets with works by an artist rejected by his country (Norway) Thorvald Hellesen. I chose this portrait of Mary Alice Eckbo because I felt it had great detail where there is none overtly apparent – as symbolised by the faceless Cubist impression that has been created. I really liked this artist’s work. It is hard to see how it was not recognised by his fellow Norwegians. You can find the prompt here https://dversepoets.com/2023/05/23/an-artist-gets-his-due/
swimming to the bottom of the bottomless sea won’t you come and swim with me? it’s the only place they’ll let us be when we get to the bottom we’ll be free just you and me and the bottomless sea
telling stories of phantom glories looking over her shoulder smirking until I cry beating on the table playing I Spy wondering who’s there saying it’s fine working in montage death and decline definitely hers probably mine twitching of the wrist pumping of the fist batting of the eyelids passionate kiss vicious kick full cheek lick what makes her tick she’s a bomb
They told me I was holy
I believed them
Everything changed from there
I knew what to say and how to say it
I knew where to go and who to speak too
And my messages of love served me well
as I travelled the world gathering souls
At first I thought I was on a mission
Then the mission became a privilege
I could bring light into the darkness
Lift the blanket of shadow over the world
Simply by saying the word
Simply by telling everyone
what they already knew
Regardless of their inability to act
I told them
for a better world
they must overcome self interest
Then I saw the truth
How important my own self interest
had become
If I was to be able to continue
doing such good and noble work
love was the word
and they loved me
while I loved adulation
Prayer was empowerment
They prayed, I played
It was a perfect match
of preacher and congregation
Idolatry, narcissism and hedonism
The spiritual demands of today’s society
thereby being well met
as I ascended clouds hid the way I clipped their wings with shears of grey
The telescope told me I must act
Whispering of star falls and moonrise attack
I reflected on the power I lacked
I must net time and hold it back
the home I could lose the ground where I stood
solid as rock shapable as wood
saw me wretched with fear indecisive and torn
was this last of days the final morn?
So I took my sharpest pencil my notebook red
wrapped my head in wool to drown out the dead
in their bottle on the waves above the seabed.
I went to the library to learn from the books
how to save the moon from destructive skyhooks
the learning was crystal clear as a diamond
shards came together for this ignorant vagabond
I knew what to do I knew it was right
to save moon and world I had to take flight
I set my glider to fly from an open window
when the sun’s mellow light fades to soft evening glow
I leapt on board to find rising fresh air
but all that I found was a down draft there
and I fell to the earth as so many more
I resolved to try again but not like before.
A path to nearby mountains was a long weary trek
if I ramped it straight upward I could launch like a jet
but the weight of the world again dragged me down
into glass houses I crashed with a moan
so I built giant steps on which I climbed high
to take the moon down from the sky.
As I ascended clouds hid the way
I clipped their wings with shears of grey
the stars came to guide me as I climbed and climbed
pushing ever upward was all on my mind
until the way was clear the view up ahead
was one of the moon on a black velvet bed
a moon barely rising still held in sleep’s sway
a moon reluctant to hear my story let us say
so I sweet talked that moon with promises and bribes
offering pleasurable time on earth in which to imbibe
the moon gave a yawn looked up and looked down
asked if I was prophet, conman or clown?
requested some proof what I had to say was true
for it could hear only nonsense hard to construe
so I pointed to the black heavens where no starlight glowed
the moon was astonished then concerned and then bowed
I will go with you to spend time on earth
while threats to the skies are beaten and dispersed
I will rise again when the stars once more burn
to light the night sky with starlight returned.
Moon sank into the ocean for a seaside holiday
destruction avoided with the moon at play
the culprits attacked night to find nothing but vacuum
and the cow in the sky scooped them up with a spoon.
This week Mish asked we poets to write from a gallery of surrealist photographer Erik Johansson’s images. Find the prompt here:
Roderick was into sleeping. He went to bed because in his head he was boring. No one noticed his time asleep. He’d been gone a year and week, which suggests he was quite boring. He’d been lying in bed day after day, when someone wondered, then went on to say, “Where’s Roderick?” They found him asleep and snoring.
Then they said how long it took to find him in his tiny nook. He quietly stated that he mistook the year and week for one nice long sleep convinced it was just the next morning.
Only getting up to go to the toilet, his face was pale, eyes crusty and set. At some time his beard he’d wrapped into a bun, his idea of having a small bit of fun to deal with the cold and no nightcap instead he wrapped it around his balding head. They all said how odd he looked. He replied it was heat restoring.
With no one to talk to and no tv, Roderick had slept all of that time restfully. In his small dark room where day remained night where awake was tedious and without delight. When Roderick woke to that knock on the door, a voice had asked, “Roderick, would you like to sleep more?” Roderick never felt better than when he was sleeping so to sleep again he went as night came creeping. Never was he or others so content than when Roderick slept and time simply went another year until Roderick’s next dawning.
Young cloud prisoner of a turbulent sky look inward discover your heart fly on to find an open window sail away on the wings of your desire to other skies clear and serene
The wombat builds each burrow
mindful of each tomorrow
knowing he won’t stay long
before an urge moves him on
then on he goes to build again
dig and scrape til when
he sees some point of no return
ends nights scouring with a yawn
he sleeps all day and eats all night
moves very slowly unless with fright
when with lightning speed he bolts for a hole
one’s always nearby because building's his role
after a while he returns to the past
to re-excavate old burrows that didn’t last
knowing the smell and pleasure of earth
knowing each hole is his home and hearth
Today’s d’Verse prompt for we poets was from Kim. We were asked to write about animals making their homes. We have lots of Wombats around our place, so it was an obvious choice.
I sobbed while I banged my head on the dock I lit the fuse tick tock tick rock With nowhere to go I ran amok because I knew no one gave a fuck
and my children died inside the conflagration while outside I died as a witness stationed to watch this act as the ultimate martyr from lover to mother to miserable failure
now my babies don’t suffer anymore don’t you see? their loss was my hope for my babies three their release from torment my relief and my grief I their life giver corrupter and thief
I scratched at the doors where help is the word I pleaded for help and not one cry was heard I make no further excuses for this desperate crime judge me oh judge me and I’ll do my time
but I urge you who judge to stop and reflect on the festering harm of abuse and neglect on how absence of care equals opportunity cost from pitiful existence my babies were lost
Night’s last lingering cool breath Marks the beginning of the end As we rouse and arouse Sleepily rising and realising This cannot, must not, ever happen again
Bidding farewell to the events of the dark With butterfly kisses and nuzzles Tears of grief dwell, well and fall As we own everything and commit to nothing more
For the first time, the last time we lie together We listen in silence as another day’s hot outback wind Begins to worry the doors and windows And again rattle at the foundations of our lives
It’s the same drought wind that has been blowing forever Forever keeping us apart no matter how much we lean into it It keeps blowing us backwards to where we came from It marks our passing back into life as it really is Demanding and obligating with survival at its core As dry as the land, as gritty as the sand
I’m feeling a little bruised a little rushed a little used when you turn your whip like tongue on me a little crushed and very confused
when you say that I’m not worth it yet you keep on coming back I decide that I’ll stick with it and then you call me slack
yes I’m a sucker for punishment my friends all tell me that but really I’m a sucker for nourishment I pray for it after every spat
I hate you and I love you I tell you and relent then you diss me and you kiss me never knowing what each one meant
you don’t hit me or spit on me you don’t go out with another you just discard me like a soiled rag whenever you think I’m a bother
then you take me back when it suits knowing you'll always have the boots to stand over me til I breakdown to abuse me when I meltdown
I crave to be better, yet I'm a weak nag always with one hand reaching for an escape bag but I turn back from every open door I pathetically keep coming back for more
then as I slide down every jamb lamb to slaughter, slaughtered lamb self esteem slides with me, to the floor we sag and I gag and I gag and I gag
I see myself for what I have become I know I'm not the only one It isn't something helpful to know others also powerless if they stay, powerless to go
picture eternity as every single
heart beat of every haunted soul
each a phantom of broken trust
blind to yesterday
yet still weeping
ghostly desires
always lingering
cold and deep
persisting
and never
embraced
blush from the belly up
smile
with sincerity
you will create trust
speak from your heart
truly
with transparency
you will enjoy respect
abandon preconceptions
listen
to hear
you will bring joy
My colour was autumn
in a fading colour kind of way
as I scrambled for more time
as time slipped away
then my colour was winter
cold bleak and grey
the shortening of daylight
gave more night than day
when my colour was spring
and more light filled the air
I felt for a green time
my happiness was there
but my colour became summer
coming in bright yellow hues
til the landscapes went dry
sun extracted summer dues
now my colour is a rainbow
arching over seasons
casting no shadow
coloured joy without reason
Basil had finally arrived
in Arizona dreaming
of repeating Krakow nights
with his saffron love,
Garam Masala.
After leaving sunny Paris
they had spent thyme
watching Tuscan sunsets
before mulling spices
into a mural of flavour
for adding some Aleppo pepper
to their long awaited reunion.
Laced with dill,
pickled appetisers set
a savouring mood
for their evening
Cumin, coriander paprika
zatar and mustard seeds
ensured the main meal
was saucy, spicy and hot.
Sea salt, lemon grass
fennel and sesame seeds
added potentcy to the salad
Nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla
heightened their senses
throughout dessert.
By the end of the meal
they were ravenous
for the after dinner mints.
Merril set this week’s dVerse prompt for we poets to spice things up using at least three of twenty-five listed herbs, spices, flavors, and spice combinations. For a bit of fun, I chose to cook up something that used them all.
Today’s dVerse prompt was to undertake a very interesting ekphrastic challenge from Sarah. Sarah asked we dVerse poets to choose one of five fascinating images created by UK artiist Lee Madgwick . I chose the image displayed above.
How many times do you step through a door and
that decision changes the course of your life?
How many times?
You step through a door and
whether you know which way you are going or not
that decision changes the course of your life.
Many times.
You look through open doors and glass doors and
the view beyond each threshold can look better
much better with broad vistas of more promise
than the narrow one in which you are standing.
You are a stand in
many, some days, every time.
How many times do you go through these doors
to where the grass is greener?
Many times.
You look through closed doors, opaque, the cracks and
keyholes of doors
to wild skies of threatening, black clouds, heavy and
threatening cloud banks of stormy weather
oppressive and threatening with worse to come
you know it will be worse for at least a time
many, some days, every time.
But still, consider.
How many times do you go through these doors?
Many times.
How do you choose which door opens
to the best passage for the rest of your life?
The green of desire or of envy,
the passing black of fear or courage?
There are no obvious silver linings.
The lines are not clear.
Can you say your lines?
Your lines are not clear.
There are no obvious wishes to guide you.
Your wishes are not clear.
Can you articulate your wishes?
When will you wish honesty for yourself?
When honesty is a necessity?
Don’t close that door.
When is the right time?
Or the right place?
Or do you bother to choose at all?
When the right door opens for you?
Even when no choice is always a choice and
change will come regardless.
Change will come.
You know this.
Do you know this well enough by
understanding there is only luck at play?
Only luck is at play.
Do you know this?
You might not know this.
How often do those doors that are closed to you and
blank with no offerings
get ignored because there is no obvious gain for you?
You walk past new worlds of wonder and peril everyday.
All the time.
Any door every door any time every time.
Every step is a decision.
Every decision is one to please, regret, grieve or rejoice.
At the time or
in time.
But, you never know and
that is the reason for looking at doors
any door and every door
and always wondering about going through
into some place else.
It should never be otherwise because
time is linear and time is limited.
All doors are only one door
any door every door
in front of you when and where ever you are.
And each door has its own nature
protecting you from the elements
or exposing you
locking you in
locking you out
shutting quietly behind you
slamming in your face
creaking with foreboding or
letting in the fresh air.
You my be attracted by doors to the light.
It seeps in around the edges and under the woodwork and
you think to be in the light must be a good
place to be, you cross that threshold.
That threshold will be crossed.
to find a good place to be,
And sometimes it is a desert, a blazing sun, a hot, dry furnace and
you retreat desperate with thirst, burned and changed.
Other times it is a moonlit field and you run through the soft green grass
before realising you have strayed enough to
never return to be the same person.
Does either door scare you?
Are you scared?
Hope is the latch, fear is the key.
Finding a way to use them
is finding a way to be.
You never have to stray far from yourself to change.
Crossing that threshold is no distance at all.
One that can take you al long way.
Crossing that threshold.
You are changed forever every time.
Many times.
Any door every door any time every time
go through.
You change so the world changes
You change me and everyone else irrevocably.
You change us all.
All of us change.
Neither you nor I, neither will we and
us ever be the same we, you and I.
For passing through any door every time will change
us here and now in time.
The person you thought I was is no longer mine.
The person I thought was you is no longer in time.
The world changes instantly every time without design.
We pass through many doors many times.
How many times do you step through a door and
that decision changes the course of your life?
How many times?
You step through a door and
whether you know which way you are going or not
that decision changes the course of your life.
Many times.
Such a turbulent, pitiless, brutal battering.
This powerful storm wind pushes relentlessly through
the defenceless trees of the creek.
It lashes most at the isolated and vulnerable,
stripping them bare of grey green winter cloaks,
whipping the fabric of canopies to ragged threads,
blasting layers of protective cladding away into a roaring tempest.
This scouring wind probes incessantly for weakness,
fissures in the gnarly bark skins,
cracks in the very bones of each noble specimen
mercilessly exposing deficiencies
as it flails and lays bare its victims
with neither remorse nor respite.
Over extended over and over, flawed limbs fail first
fracture, snap and drop.
Crowns too heavy with water shake and quiver.
Sodden feet lose their grip on the world.
Once stately trunks twist, rock, waver, shudder
and fall.
And the sound of the final defeat is an explosive crack,
the collapse a mighty crash,
and the thud at the end is dead.
For today’s dVerse poetics Sarah prompted us to think and write about the elements. I chose air/wind because I often find myself contemplating the fierceness of a storm’s breath as it can turn the tranquility of our peaceful riparian zone into a deadly maelstrom.
From birth through growth to the time of decline
From decline to decay such a time is mine
For all that went before for all that went astray
For all that has been given and will be taken away
I see many patterns unfold around my life with the wisdom of hindsight
I see the brightness of knowing through latter years insight
As the past stretches out behind me the future road becomes short
The decisions I have made will shortly come to nought
I take one last chance to pass on the learning of my years
One last chance to give advice to those to come if those to come have ears
For history is our greatest teacher in handling the vicissitudes of life
For human nature is our undoing when handling the inconvenient truths of advice
Secure your future with love and enough wealth is the best advice I can give
Working to this end gives hope which gives purpose to how you live
Start early and start young to earn a path to joy and be your very best
Don’t deviate from this path but keep it flexible and ensure rest
Loss may strike you without notice grief may rock your solid floor
Grow from your loss for better to turn haunting to past lore
Change will come unanticipated and shake you to your core
See change as opportunity to put a foot firmly in each door
When love comes your way hold it closely to your heart
If love lost should leave you reeling be proud that you took part
Know you have been loved and can love again because love is all around
If one thing is known it is we all want love with time it may be found
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