Friday Nite Poetry: Cleaning Out My Mental Closet

broom closet

broom closet (Photo credit: stupidmommy)

Greetings Gentle Readers. Lest you have forgotten because it has been a couple of weeks, I  do write verse as well as prose. This week I have a few new ones, two premiering here, one that appeared on my Tumblr, that are about, among other things, getting my head on straight. There’s been a lot going on behind the scenes at HoA and it is showing in my poetry…

Miasma

Last night’s sleep
refuses to walk away
it seats itself
like an unwanted guest
at the front of my brain

Cold autumn showers
do absolutely nothing
to clear this thick mire
confounding every effort
and making me so comfortable
in a lazy throne of indifference

The urge is there though
to rip this fog away
lift myself from my cage
made with rusty iron
and too much sleep
and for a minute or five
I feel I could conquer the world

Hosannas to You

I raise my voice
in a secular hymn
praising the saints
of equity and safety

Faltering is not an option
I must be heard
across miles of hostile territory
across years of cruel ideology
written in the hearts of the heartless

Like so many of my sisters
I bleed for my mother
like so so many of my brothers
I fear for my children
but I claim that pain
and transmute it
from a piteous moan
to a roar of victory

I create an anthem
for you to reclaim your world
I provide the rhythm
so you may be heard
stand up in praise
of the light of the human mind

Bad Potter

Innocence is not a gift
nor is it a burden
nor a blessed state
nor dream

It is a clay
the medium from which we are molded
it is to be taken and gently worked
pushed
pulled
etched
by our experience
into the person we will be

The work must never be rushed
or you will rip away
the best parts
leaving a tangled mess of personality
a lost soul on poor legs
stumbling and vulnerable
and oh so brittle

But that is what you have done
to so many works in progress
with your broken fumbling
your childish grasping
dropping a trail of twisted clay

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