The menu doesn’t nourish like a meal,
But helps the heart decide on what to do.
Consider how true knowledge twists what’s real.
Words conceal whenever they reveal.
There’s always something more to struggle through.
The menu doesn’t nourish like a meal.
What’s fully true is more than we can feel
Though what we feel reveals that pure truth, too.
Our knowing turns and teases what is real.
Food may be a medicine that heals
Or poison that consumes us as we chew.
The menu doesn’t nourish like a meal.
The heart insists the brain submits and kneels
So it can help them both explore what’s new,
Obtain sure knowledge teasing what is real.
Impulsive day is eager for a deal.
May dreamy night’s correction shelter you.
The menu doesn’t nourish like a meal
Nor does true knowing circumscribe what’s real.
Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar. I am hosting today and the form is a villanelle. You are welcome to link a villanelle you have written for this prompt. The modification I made to the villanelle form is to not exactly repeat the second line of the couplet theme.
Photo: “Sweet Corn” by the author
Footsteps touch the sand.
Toes and bare feet land
Sun makes its strong stand
Like it’s all been planned
Nothing real is bland.
All with light gets tanned
Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar hosted by Victoria C. Slotto using the form “lai”.
Photo: “Morning” by the author.
Since my mind isn’t frightfully clear,
And I listen to less than I hear,
And this limerick’s got
Nary reason nor plot,
If I post it will it disappear?
Linked to dVerse where I am hosting today and the prompt is to write a limerick.
Photo: “I Wish My Mind Were Clear Like That” by the author
This simple story that is theirs to tell
Is older than the darkness of the night
And truer than the Sun’s new morning light
And deeper than the deepest magic spell.
Between them stood tall mountains none would cross,
A river that ran rapids through their dreams,
A forest that lay dense where one rose beamed
And warned them they could suffer every loss.
They followed Love no matter how they’d fall.
Then mountains bowed to open up the sky.
The river calmed. The forest lifted high.
What fear they felt they now could not recall.
Their tears took root, went deep. They understood
That darkness charmed by light transforms to good.
Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar: Pop Sonnets hosted by Kim of Writing in North Norfolk with the prompt to convert a pop song into a sonnet. I am not supposed to tell you which pop song I selected.
Linked to NaPoWriMo2017 Day Thirteen.
Photo: “Watching the Light” by the author
It’s maddening to hear someone
So wrong who thinks he’s right,
Who says the market’s going down,
Who gives my bullish hopes a frown,
Who paints bright day as night.
It’s true: I do not have a clue.
There might be danger there.
The herd I follow faithfully
Has got its mind made up for me.
Why fight it? I don’t care.
And when we can’t avoid the cliff
Stampeding to the fall,
I will rethink what he had said
At least before I’ve landed dead:
He’s wrong still after all.
Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar.
Photo: “Wings Go Up and Down” by the author.
I am hosting today and for some odd reason picked the theme of “irony”. Hopefully you will find what I wrote above understandable enough and yet ambiguous enough to be at least remotely ironical. Stop by and link up some of your own ironical poetry.
White, white, white and snowy bright
The snowscape piled high last night.
Winter wrapped its evening show
With spread-on-thick, wet, wondrous snow.
Today will bounce reflected light
From sad-cloud gray to spot-on white.
Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar Impressionism hosted by Björn.
Linked to crow’s March 2017 Open Mic.
Photo by the author
What a sky-is-blue-grass-is-green day! I love sitting on this park bench with my imaginary friend, Alice. While I’m enjoying reality she’s telling me that if she ever hears another rhyme between “night” and “light” or “death” and “breath” she’s going to do something I’ll regret. Furthermore she insists I stop writing those happy-happy poems because as a fully deconstructed, beyond-whatever-existential adult she would rather have angst, dread and drivel smothering her than sentimentality. I tell her that I kind of like those rhymes. She pulls out some pills, “Here. Take these.” As I swallow sending them down, down into the depths of deconstruction she jumps up from her existential happy place and proclaims, “Haha! That’s arsenic! You’re dead!”
Then Alice cries, “I’m sorry I gave you that arsenic even if it was only imaginary arsenic.” “That’s OK.” (What else am I going to say?) She explains that it is all because she’s not real. That’s why she acts the way she does. I tell her, “Look at those atoms. They’re just empty space! They aren’t any more real than you are!” She stops crying and asks, “Really?” And I say, “Sure!” Then she wants to know about that tiny stuff in the middle of the atoms. She starts crying again. I tell her that tiny stuff isn’t real either. “Really?” At this point I have to think. I don’t want to lie to her, but I don’t want her to start crying again and for all I know she’s as real as anything else I can imagine out there and so I say, “Sure!”
I am hosting dVerse Meeting the Bar Prose Poetry today. The challenge is to write either a prose poem or a poem explaining why prose poetry doesn’t exist. Any similarity to real people in this prose poem is purely imaginary.