Day 6: Write a morning poem to Monday . . .
Where did Monday morning go?
It vanished . . . in a haze of work-a-day storms.
My eyes: my poor, tender eyes — grit-filled and leaking sand — blinking
in double timed frenzy.
Morning’s glow barely seen,
a side-swiped tickle of “Hey! Pay attention!”
Now dim memory.
Of Glory is a story which I do not willingly tell,
she came to us one sodden day,
a will-o-the-wisp, a glint gone astray
and now not even a Beam is left.
The grey remains.
But, if it weren’t for Glory’s abrupt appearance,
with her jabbing reminder of what could yet be
we would only and ever forever be lost in the turrets and towers, well-hid, you see
in her Eternal House.
Glory brought rules, reminders and expectations
of what you must do
to be seen through
the twin lenses of grace and dignity
all others must fade away.
The Asterisk is for the Dead.
Nay, say I.
Turn that thought on its head.
Remember this lesson
bought with a price most dear:
The Living is for the Stars.
Day 4: write a poem that expresses the feeling of love or lovelorn-ness without using the word or usual images
Look, my dears, look closely here at these hands of ropey, twisted veins
at my swollen knuckles and clawed fingers; they grasp and pinch — but oh, with such effort.
Despite the strain, I grin. Movement is precious, and
I ask you, what story do they tell?
What tidbits of time
spent smoothing ruffled hair
wiping salted tears
kneading loaves of bread before kneeling next to beds
rubbing aching backs tense from nightmares?
Day 3: Write a “fourteener“
How could I have missed the point of all the extra noises?
It matters not how I say a word of such unknowns . . .
The goal is to preserve the word despite all your objections!