Tag: words

Letters and Words

Letters jostle for position
back-up
attempt to regroup
get detoured

Frustration builds
and obstacles
pop-up –
cognition faltering

Circuits are jumbled
pathways rerouting
patience exploding
expression lost.

Word recall
out of order
Word recognition
under construction

Is there an exit
from this nightmare?

(Brain fog affects cognitive functioning.  I first wrote this piece in 2015 and the condition continues today – one of the reasons I keep writing.  I resubmit it here for Ragtag Community’s prompt: jumble.  Image from personal collection.)

Utterly Redonculous

Looking for a rock at present,
preferably a boulder,
might dig myself a cave
and await resurrection

sacrilegious, I know,
but the tasks are overwhelming
and the words – just too much!

I mean, eleutheromania?
The mere utterance enough
to make me run for cover

and now I am to believe
that pulchritrudinous
equates with utter beauty –

oh my raspy voice
stumbles over the words
as brain loudly protests.

Too much, I say –
will have to save creativity
for another day

Meantime,
I’ll be under
that rock.

(Prompts today elicited irreverence:  Reena’s Exploration challenge – see for yourself; and Ragtag Community’s unusual word; slightly tamed by Fandango’s “raspy“. )

Rebellion Incited

Listen up!
My words, like children,
need tending to, codling

I can’t just go all willy nilly and let them run amuck

although

they are liking the idea

and what’s that knocking at my door
strange ideas….

oh, this will never do –
I keep a tight ship here –
order and perfection
those are my mottos

the children are getting out of hand
best banish them to the basement
until they calm down, but wait…

there’s sawdust
and garbage down here
(how could I have been so reckless)

Really, I wasn’t expecting all this commotion

and there’s the door again –
Oh dear!  Just as I feared –
the church ladies are here
and any moment they’ll
start sermonizing
and I’ll feel guilty
for having
let the children
loose
for
having
entertained
imperfect thoughts
for…

What the hell!

I’m an artist not a babysitter!  Why am I worrying about judgment from a bunch of prudish old ideas about how poetry should be executed?  I’m in charge here, right?

Children, gather round
I’ve got some tidbits –
snack-sized morsels of ideas
for us to nibble on –

we need to start a rebellion.

 

napo2018button1

(Today’s challenge is to rebel.)

The Pen Is To Blame

This is pen is far too vociferous,
illuminates the disabled rage,
dismissing my concerns, as if
outgoing messages are company
for its dispassionate agenda.

No privacy for ailing, sleeping,
I would physically eject the offending
appendage, but cannot bear reopening
of wounds, recognizing the sins are
mine, no matter how unintentional.

Words can be a trap, take on a beat
of their own, history rearing on page,
leaving me raw-nerved, reeling, their
thoughtlessness a venomous refusal
to remain a victim – I am inflamed.

How to banish the thoughts smouldering
like a cigarette, daring me to inhale,
choke on my own toxicity; I must expunge
the intrusion, recall this maddening vow
to create; withdraw to the safety of illness

shuttered away from the crowd, a blue
silence warming this frozen heart –
maybe, I’ll write a note and leave it
on the dashboard, command the pen
and its itinerary to leave me alone.

(Image: hellenmasido.wordpress.com)