in the mind's bouquet
mine seems to be
gathered wildflowers
wrapped around
belladonna and foxglove.
Irises and daisies,
violets for sure...
a collection of strange
that suits me so well.
soft, lovely, and deadly,
with beauty to spare.
Flowers in the Rain
by Serena Mossgraves
the sadness weeps
from the bouquet
Just set in memory,
being drenched
by the rain.
so often flowers
are given in heartache
and in pain,
but none of them
so sad as those
left beside the grave.
I realize that I have been absent for a week….it was however not intentional. between Dr’s appointments and books releasing….I just brain fogged. Though I did have a nice surprise. went to the Dr because I have a sinus infection and the check in notes acknowledged that I have fibromyalgia and Autism. both of them previous doctors were not willing to diagnose me with. though other doctors had? I am sure that they are correct and having a dr agree just feels so good.
I should be doing the daily thing again through November but I don’t think I’ll be doing the normal week posts as I am doing 2 pad challenges and trying to do the Fae 50k.
the entrance to the tomb
by Serena Mossgraves
the door was closed
after the corpse was laid,
to keep the dark things out.
the entrance to the tomb
was meant to be used
only once in a lifetime,
for else the souls would
play jump rope forth and with.
Rotate,
nothing to stop it,
against the flow
in and out again.
the entrance
to the jail,
has no locks…
Just a hesitant reminder
that prisoners are supposed
to be stopped.
I always have at least one day when the prompt doesn’t work for me. I have a folder of saved prompts for that purpose. today the folder was helpful. the prompt is : when the wind calls
Time to pause,
As all good poetry is
but a practice of
Metered thought
and the rhythm of
how practical verse can be.
So, with genteel caution
thrown to the wind…
write bad poetry…
then pause to write
good poetry once again.
Full of pomp,
circumstance,
and prayers,
It is time to turn
the ink from tears
to the poetry
it was meant to be.
Pick up the pen,
put it to the page…
and let the verse
expose the differing
emotions that hold you
as a slave.
Is it a sin
to give gratitude
for the win?
Being able to convert
all of life's little hurts
into form and verse…
For me that is enough
to be grateful for,
that poetry exists.
Give me the pen
My brain is alight,
It is time for me
to write poetry tonight.
Perhaps I should pause
for the verse speaks
volumes and more,
but I think it solves
the internal war.
Pattimouse 