601 : The Doldrums

The Doldrums.

The sails are slack, 

There is no breeze,

No relief.

The sea is flat, stagnant.

Missing is a driving force,

A force to begin, 

A force to move.

The sailors fret 

And mutter

Dark words of rebellion.

I don't much feel like writing.

Don't feel like much at all really.

The prompts come and go,

Viewed in a desultory, 

Disinterested sort of way.

How can I write to that?

Stagnant.  Still. 

Paralysis.

I look at the screen blankly,

Almost panicking that little comes,

But almost relieved, for other reasons.

As some stuff, dark stuff, comes, 

Bubbling to the top,

All tentacles and malice.

Like all monsters from the deep

It should stay there.  

I push back.

A lone dove sits on the yardarm,

If it sees land, it says nothing.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

600 : Flights of Fancy

“I always wonder why birds choose to stay in the same place 

when they can fly anywhere on the earth, 

then I ask myself the same question.” 

― Harun Yahya

Three Word Wednesday requires participants

to use the three words of the week in a composition.

The words this week were Distinct, Irrational, Sullen

Flights of Fancy

I should know better.

No, more correctly, 

I do know better.

But I can't help myself.

I suppose that makes it irrational;

To know something but deny it,

To do or feel the opposite,

But that's the way it is.

I want to leave this place,

No, no discarding mortal coils,

Just a distinct dislike of where I am;

A deep need to move on.

I feel remote,

As if watching from above:

Detached and disconnected,

Wrapped in a sullen, sodden blanket

That dampens the spirit

And extinguishes all hope.

The days are grey and joyless,

Interspersed with false smiles

And fake assurances.

It is very depressing.

But I am not a tree,

I can move.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

599 : A Stranger in their Land

Sunday Whirl (Wordle #122) presents a list of words

that we must incorporate in a writing piece.  

The words this week are:

floor, heart, stay, dreamed, persuaded, period, 

degrees, years, space, nestled, if, vision, tribute

A Stranger in their Land.

I  slip through the grove of trees,

A stranger in their land;

I don’t think they notice me at all

Or dismiss me out of hand.

It seems my vision has degrees,

Some dreamed and rather grand;

Others stay in a foetal ball

And refuse to go as planned.

But my hopes are nestled in warm arms

Upon the forest floor,

Persuaded that the space is there

To grow and then explore.

My heart absorbs these leafy charms

As if there were no more;

A tribute to the years of care

Through periods of war.

For few can see what others see

What demons they withstand,

And only they can heed the call,

Of pipe and marching band.

I  slip through the grove of trees,

A stranger in their land;

I don’t think they notice me at all

Or dismiss me out of hand.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

598 : Donning the Familiar

Three Word Wednesday requires participants

to use the three words of the week in a composition.

The words this week were Regulate, Habitual and Distraught.

Donning the Familiar

It is easy to slip into the familiar,

To don the well-known and the well worn,

Like a warm fleecy slipper;

The tyranny of the habitual.

The dulling comfort of the routine.

In such a way we regulate our lives,

Control what comes in, 

Control what goes out,

Embraced and enrobed

In the soft, warm gown of the known,

Never to meet the alternative,

The harsh and rough vestments 

Of doubt and learning.

Never to encounter the coarse 

Fabric of the unfamiliar

And the uncomfortable.

No, we retreat into secure, wrapped

In the soft Terri towel of the certainty

That only ignorance can bring.

Should we stop to think?

Stop to question the orthodoxy

Of our views, 

Inherited and embraced,

In their iron-clad entirety.

We run the real risk of—

Of what?

What are we afraid of?

Would questioning leave us distraught?

Floundering, unable to touch the bottom

Of the paddling-pool of life?

Confused, wondering what to believe?

Yes, probably.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

597 : La-la-la-la Land

Haiku Heights has the prompt 'Ocean'.

Happily, by the time I got around to writing to the prompt,

the site had not yet closed due to flooding.

La-la-la-la Land

Deniers say no

But the ocean ignores them.

Levels are rising.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

596 : Duplicity

Three Word Wednesday requires participants

to use the three words of the week in a composition.

The words this week were Berserk, Duplicate and Quibble.

Duplicity

People.

Really funny creatures.

They can drive you berserk,

With behaviour that defies reason

Where demons lurk

Behind

Masks of the nasty kind—

Have been

Assessed that they show

Two faces,

Say “Duplicate features”.

No quibble,

Apropos.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

595 : The Choice

Three Word Wednesday requires participants

to use the three words of the week in a composition.

The words this week were Jackass, Splendid and Rupture.

The Choice.

When you choose the lesser of two evils, 

always remember that it is still an evil.

- Max Lerner 

Election propaganda comes

In a way you can’t suppress,

Offering Jackass 1 or 2,

With their splendid hollowness.

The choice,

For us, the public voice,

Swimming against the stream:

Choose the lesser of two evils,

And rupture our self esteem.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

594 : The Last Breath.

Sunday Whirl (Wordle #120) presents a list of words

that we must incorporate in a writing piece.  

The words this week are:

gravity, plans, thread, landscape, salt, breath, 

shadow, shoes, bread, sense, sends, head

The Last Breath.

Life on this blue ball 

Hangs by a thread.

It always has.

The window of suitable

Conditions for life,

For life as we know it, at least,

Is remarkably narrow.

And it is moving.

◊◊◊

The people have never really understood,

Never really sensed the full gravity of the situation,

Until now.  

And now it is too late.

Too late to deal with the dying landscape,

Too late to deal with the salty water,

Too late to store grain for bread,

Too late to make plans to head off the danger

Just too late.

Too late.

Death will stalk the land,

In flowing robes and fancy shoes,

Dressed to kill, as they say.

And kill he will.

Without a shadow of doubt.

◊◊◊

This sends, of course,

A warning to our successors.

If they care to listen.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

593 : Describing the Moment

We Write Poems challenges us to capture a moment.

Describing the Moment.

Eyes closed, 

Sitting at my desk

Leaning on my elbows

I feel the pressure 

Pressure of contact,

With the desk, 

With my chair, 

With the carpet.

I am vaguely aware

Of the weight on my shoulders,

Cable knit, dark blue.

I hear the world around me.

The hum of the hard-drive

Voices from the next room

Canned laughter,

Spoons hit plates,

The low rumble of the heating.

Outside — the passing traffic.

My feet have adapted to the feel the carpet.  

I move them ever so slightly 

And countless nerves betray my action.

The brain likes movement.

Time to walk.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

592 : The Leap of...um...whatever

Imaginary Garden with Real Toads invites us to write about fish.

The Leap of..um…whatever.

“Swim little fish, swim if you can”,

The rhyme ran through his head.

So ‘round and ‘round the bowl he swam—

What a dreary life he lead!

That was until the fateful day

When a bowl came on the scene

That contained a fishy lady,

The first he’d ever seen.

To visit the fishy lady

Became is life-long goal

And so this forward fishy man

Jumped straight into her bowl.

“What do you think you are doing?”

She asked in mock distain,

But inside she was pleased he’d come

And hoped he would remain.

But goldfish are amnesiacs,

And thoughts quickly bid ‘adieu’.

The fishy-him turned to the fishy-her

And asked “Who the hell are you?”

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

591 : The Temple Ruins

Sunday Whirl (Wordle #119) presents a list of words

that we must incorporate in a writing piece.  

The words this week are:

one, wove, scarce, revisited, rain, rooted, 

crows, vegetation, last, cells, eroded, strength

The Temple Ruins.

The jungle has moved in.

Vegetation has reclaimed the temple.

Giant figs have rooted, grown,

And embraced the crumbling façade

With the strength of a mother 

Welcoming a loved one back to the fold.

Over this, rain throws a dismal cloak.

The atmosphere is stifling,

The rats are in control.

Some people we know

Are like places we have long left

And should not be revisited.

Distance lends an enchantment 

That does not last upon returning.

The magic they once wove is faded,

Eroded by time, 

By experience, 

By life.

The jungle has moved in.

Vegetation has reclaimed the temple.

Superficially they are unchanged,

Same cells, same bones, same hair.

Encased in an unfamiliar robe,

The humourless robe of the mean. 

Goodwill is scarce.
Different rats.

They look at you with malevolent eyes,

Eyes a crow would envy.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

590 : Save Your Breath

Three Word Wednesday requires participants

to use the three words of the week in a composition.

The words this week were Apologise, Derelict and Medicate.

Save Your Breath

Don’t apologise for base rudeness—

Each day you matter less and less.

I’ll neither retreat from the plain

Nor medicate away my pain

Life is better, I must profess,

Protected from your bitchiness

By friends who helped me reassess—

As I don’t expect any change

Don’t apologise.

Any remorse will not impress

I’d be derelict to acquiesce

And put it all in place again.

As you deserve but scant disdain,

And I’m not about to reassess:

Don’t apologise.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

589 : The Consoling Muse

Red Dirt Girl commented on the apparent

Impact of my current muse in recent works.

It set me thinking.

The Consoling Muse

I have always been 

Vaguely jealous

Of painters and sculptors.

Their muses are all

Scantily clad, if at all.

So much more

Accessible,

So much more 

Available

So much more

Hands on, 

As it were.

Poets are the poor cousins

When it comes to our muses;

Our muses can be miles away

Unseen

Untouched

Unsullied and,

Unfortunately,

Fully clothed.

Doesn’t seen fair.

But we have one advantage

Over the daubers and chippers:

We can have negative muses,

Muses that bring out the

Vocabulary of hurt,

The words of indignation

From the lexicon of grief.
So much easier in words
Than in oils or stone.

A scant but significant 

Consolation.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

588 : The Swooner

One Single Impression has the prompt 'Swoon'.

The Swooner

Narcissus was so overcome

With his own reflection

He swooned, 

Enchanted by the sight

Of such sweet perfection.

Poor Boy.

Self-love will only destroy,

Invite mockery from the crowd.

A lesson of value to some

But lost upon the proud.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

587 : Two Sides of the Jonquil

Photo via Red Dirt Girl, I think.

Two Sides of the Jonquil

The promise of spring,

The first bulb to appear in my garden,

The jonquil has a simple elegance,

An old world purity, about it

That is quite enchanting.

It is, therefore, ironic

That the gelatinous slime 

That exudes from its stem

When it is cut

Is both bitter 

And toxic.

But then,

How often is that the case

In our daily life?

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

586 : Tabula Rasa

Sunday Whirl (Wordle #118) presents a list of words

that we must incorporate in a writing piece.  

The words this week are:

repair, slate, time, driven, think, night, no

mesh, tear, room, longing, key, become

Tabula Rasa

No matter what you think,

Even though you may wish otherwise,

There comes a time to acknowledge

That things are beyond repair,

That what once meshed so well,

No longer does.

Tabula rasa, 

The blank slate,

Is the key to moving forward,

To making room, 

To making space,

Ready to welcome a new start; 

Moving out of the night of tearful longing

Into the bright day of hope and change.

It is not always a case of being driven

To become something new

But by being repulsed 

By remaining with the old.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

585 : A fellow would frequently play...

Mad Kane has a regular limerick challenge.

She provides the first line,

the rest is up to us.

A fellow would frequently play

The field, when his wife was away.

When found in a position

Of vigorous coition,

She buried him the very next day.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

584 : The Potato and the Fork

Imaginary Garden with Real Toads invites us to write a love letter

between two inanimate objects.  This is more a love story than a love letter,

but on a quiet Sunday morning, close enough.

The Potato and the Fork

In the darkness of the kitchen,

When all the work was through,

A piece of cutlery took the chance

To do what love must do:

He meekly asked a potato

“What sort of fruit are you?”

The spud, it was the starchy type,

Not one for idle talk,

It mixed with all the proper folk,

Like lamb and beef and pork,

And felt it had a place in life

Above a common fork.

But the fork, it still persisted

(Though you have to wonder why)

It summoned all its courage

And had another try—

“Potato dear, I must confess,

You're the apple of my eye!”

“Sod off, you little prong-y thing!”

(The reply was rather tart)

“My mother told me of your type

And I’m not about to start;

You get behind my defences 

Then pierce me through the heart!”

“Not true!” the fork cried, in dismay,

“Your mother has it wrong!

My uncle was a tuning fork

Here, let me sing a song!”

He then sang of his forky love,

Of passion hot and strong.

Oh, the potato, she was smitten,

Her heart was all aflutter,

In the face of the fork’s hot love

She melted just like butter,

“That’s not a good analogy”

Her Mother’s ghost would utter.

It’s said in war and also love

That everything is fair,


And so it came to pass one night,

Upon some dinnerware,

The fork fulfilled his destiny

And skewered his pomme de terre.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

583 : Simplicity

Sunday Scribblings has the prompt 'Wander'.

Simplicity

“I wander lonely as a cloud”

Wordsworth relayed one day.

A host of golden daffodils

Rewarding his foray.

He knew a very simple truth—

Distilled,

The essence of life’s quest:

Of all the pleasures we’re allowed,

The simple ones are best.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

582 : Squeeze

Haiku Heights has the prompt 'Squeeze'.
Sadly, by the time I got around to it,
the prompt site had closed.
Moral: juice your fruit when it's fresh.

Life is a ripe fruit.

There is so much to squeeze out

If you care to look.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

581 : Respect

Three Word Wednesday requires participants

to use the three words of the week in a composition.

The words this week were Assign, Pretense and Traverse.

Respect

Without a doubt, it’s a fine pretense,

The face we show the world.

We all assign a pretty mask

While behind, the truth is curled.

Respect

That no-one is perfect.

Don’t ask

To cross the outer skin,

To traverse beyond their defences,

If only to reject what lies within.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

Repost - Tending the Crops

.

"A Hind's Daughter" - Sir James Guthrie.

Tending the crops.

The farmer tills his fields,
Puts fences round his lot,
Knowing that his future yields
Will rise up from this plot.

He tends to his land,
Improves it where it needs;
For the crop that he has planned,
He lovingly picks his seeds.

For the farmer wisely knows
That what he plants he reaps,
No use planting aloes
If he wants to harvest neeps.

Now there’s a magic vigour
To a farmer’s crop bestowed:
The harvest's always bigger
Than the cup of seeds he sowed.

So it is with life, my friends,
And our plots are far from scant.
Deal with what the season sends
And be careful what you plant.

Plant love and more of it ensues,
As a crop, it tops the scale.
But if it's the seed of hate you choose,
Best hope your harvests fail.

---
© J Cosmo Newbery 2013
---

580 : Expectations, Met and Unmet

Expectations, Met and Unmet.

Sitting in a country hotel,

On a business trip, of sorts.

The day’s tasks are done,

Dinner is finished,

The TV is off,

Winding down.

A time for coffee 

And quiet reflection.

Expectations have been met.

But they were never high.

In search

Of something basic, 

Something quite mundane 

I rummage through the pockets 

Of my travel case

And, unexpectedly, find a map, 

A map and directions

To another country hotel,

For a business trip, of sorts.

A strategic trip in the scheme of things.

That, too, ended with coffee

And a quiet reflection.

And unmet expectations.

But they too were never high.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

579 : The Tale of Samuel Morse.

This is the tale of Samuel Morse,

The plaintiff in a rough divorce.

Once he saw things were decayed,

He telegraphed, quite dismayed,

But alas he’d done his dash, of course.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

578 : Intersection

Intersection

A chance meeting at a 

Departure lounge; 

A temporary intersection,

A temporal intersession.

A confluence of streams.

We talked, as one does,

And you shared a life.

A life of loves, 

Come and gone,

Of dreams, 

Now and then,

Of a life exiled,

Of a child,

Now gone,

But who lives on,

Loved on.

You talked with passion

With love, 

With a certain sadness,

With more to be said

I suspect,

And then you were gone—

Back into the passing stream

Of life.

I wonder.
.
---
© J Cosmo Newbery 2013
---

577 : Basic Instinct

The tabloids had a story a little while ago of a lady who,

on the surface was happily married, but regularly

killed off her lovers, both male and female.

Her husband performed as required to,

And he even had managed to sire two,

But free sex was permitted

And her chalet was littered

With the bones of those who aspired to.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

576 : The Lock

Poets United had the prompt "Lock"

Locks

We set locks to keep people out,

Barriers to the wicked,

But lose a little of ourselves

While hiding in the thicket.

It can serve no useful purpose,

Distrusting all we meet,

It’s really not what life's about—

Freedom is a two-way street.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

575 : Beauty

Haiku Heights had the prompt "Beauty"
Image from Facebook.


A phrase long held true—
Pretty is a shallow thing,
Beauty's from within.
.
---
© J Cosmo Newbery 2013
---

574 : Swings

Haiku Heights has the prompt "Swing".

Swing

I.

Higher and higher,

The laughter of young children,

Gravity defied.

II

Be very careful

Or the pendulum of life

Swings back to hit you.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

573 : Well Dressed

Photo from Lola's Loves

Vis-a-vis style, the French wrote the book,

Even more, they knew how to cook.  

And who could forget 

Marie Antoinette

With her ‘off at the shoulder’ look?

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

572 : The Lake

Poetic Bloomings has the prompt "Lakes, Oceans, Waterways".

The Lake

There’s a joy that few can know,

To move upon the lake,

To cast off your landlocked cares

And leave them in your wake.

The nights,

The sounds,

The smells,

The sights.

Now there’s a freedom that you’re wielding

And you can enjoy the calming glow

That the lake is yielding.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

571 : The Demons

One Single Impression has the prompt 'Demon".

The Demons

We all fight, in separate ways,

The demons in our minds;

Creatures of the dark recesses

That trade in the unkind.

Freud knew,

Our inner knows it too.

Stresses

Build upon the angst within

And so put fractures on display,

To let the demons in.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

570 : A Measure of Trust

Haiku Heights has the prompt 'Measure'

"Never lie to someone who trusts you.

Never trust someone who lies to you."

― Deanna Wadsworth

As a basic rule,

To have a friend you can trust

Is beyond measure.

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

---

569 : Baptiste the Dragon

Baptiste the Dragon

Baptiste the Dragon was so kind,

As kind as kind could be.

He breathed no fire,

Played songs on a lyre

And had sticky buns for tea,

For tea,

And had sticky buns for tea.

Baptiste the Dragon was so kind,

As sweet as a baby lamb.

He would hold open a door,

And would never snore

And offered his seat on a tram

On a tram,

And offered his seat on a tram

Baptiste the Dragon was so kind,

All sugar, with no spice.

He was so bland in every sense

Even St George took no offence,

And children asked his advice,

His advice,

And children asked his advice.

Baptiste the Dragon was so kind,

He loved to smell the flowers

He’d bathe in the sea,

Drinking chamomile tea,

And read poetry aloud for hours,

For hours,

And read poetry aloud for hours.

Baptiste the Dragon was so kind,

But there’s a lessen for those of his ilk.

He was completely beguiled

By a sneaky little child

Who ate him with a glass of milk,

Of milk,

Who ate him with a glass of milk,

.

---

© J Cosmo Newbery 2013

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