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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
January 27, 2017
For -- by leoraigarath has breathtaking imagery and leaves its magical imprint long after reading.
Featured by doughboycafe
Suggested by LadyLincoln
Literature Text
Bloom, bloom, bloom,
by the window, by the sun,
by the cooling shade of soft green cedar,
bloom, bloom, bloom.
When the chrysanthemums baldly raises
its heavy head to the dim-lit skies,
or cicadas shrill in train-speed rhythm
buzz and rest their wings on your shivering thighs
do not fear the world, the strangeness of Nature,
do not flip your pale small eyelids and waver.
Whenever burly oaks grow, wild-strong branches wide,
and benign barley bend and bow in a smile;
No - this too high; No - this too low,
Bloom, bloom, bloom.
by the window, by the sun,
by the cooling shade of soft green cedar,
bloom, bloom, bloom.
When the chrysanthemums baldly raises
its heavy head to the dim-lit skies,
or cicadas shrill in train-speed rhythm
buzz and rest their wings on your shivering thighs
do not fear the world, the strangeness of Nature,
do not flip your pale small eyelids and waver.
Whenever burly oaks grow, wild-strong branches wide,
and benign barley bend and bow in a smile;
No - this too high; No - this too low,
Bloom, bloom, bloom.
Literature
The Guide
For a minute there I thought I
was at the wrong house. Then you tried
to fetch your toast with a fork, while
it was plugged in. Now the tile
floor is scuffed up and you're all fried.
Makes my job easy. Oh don't try
to plead or beg. This is your time
to follow me, no need to lie
for a minute
or an hour. Whichever kind
of bargain you have isn't my
problem. My job is to file
your soul for future trial.
Though, I guess, I'll let you cry
for a minute.
Literature
Fading eyelashes
In his heart of hearts,
the husband knew she would always fear
the home,
would always fear
retiring from the desk in charge,
would always be
the nun who would excommunicate
all popes and priests,
-the heretical demons!-
who would grow up to gush
at her friends who married
blond, clear looking foreigners
-while she is stuck in her
cold too cold hot too hot
rainy too rainy country
He forgot to tell
his secretary
to not answer his
home phone
but at least he
lost himself in another city
in another job
other children
another time
unshackled of everything
unclouded of everything
perhaps he is lounging
in the mountains
with his new children
Literature
Story Time
Where honey bees blend into sunsets
They sit in a crooked circle
Writing non-love poems
Writing stories
Writing the lives of the living they never knew
As documents or poems or journal entries
Encoded with flavors only the pen knows
And curiously
They pass those words down the line
They read
They think
And pass the papers back, then begin again
With a new dream, speckled with what they know now
Like nascent freckles in the wrinkles of a sun-worn face.
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It was after midnight when I was laying in bed, my eyes focused on the wall and the yellow lamp light above me was slowly dimming. Some urge inside me pushed me to grab a pen and start writing words, which soon turned into a poem, and a poem turned into a deep sadness, and that sadness turned into awakening, and then I fell asleep. The next morning seemed brighter, and only two days later did I come back to that poem, copying it into my computer, wondering at its meaning, editing, understanding.
It is truly a wonder that some poems understand you far better than you understand them. Like good wine, you need to learn how to appreciate it.
It is truly a wonder that some poems understand you far better than you understand them. Like good wine, you need to learn how to appreciate it.
© 2010 - 2024 leoraigarath
Comments25
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delightful cadence; the "bloom" is a compelling drum beat.