Daily Poem
Poetically speaking, this has been a far-from stellar week. Nothing rhymed. I missed a few days. I really wasn't sure if I wanted to post at all. But I suppose this will be good for my humility, if nothing else.
November 1
Shaking with excitement,
I can not sleep tonight -
God's go-ahead resounding
In my ears -
Unfolding
A new chapter
Of this life I have on loan.
Obviously, I didn't do much sleeping this week. :-/
November 2
Sleep runs away
On swiftest feet.
I strive
(In vain)
To catch her.
November 3 (etched into my notebook page with an ink-less pen)
'Blessed is he
Who has not seen
But has believed'.
I ache for that day
When I can
Truly see.
November 4
What shall I write?
There are no words,
Only empty lines
To mock me
With their stubborn silence.
A man once said
That writing about writing
Is what folks do
Instead of writing.
I think I see now
What he meant.
Oh goody! A two-fer! I think the second one might be dead, though.
A silver moon,
A silver dawn,
A silver silence
Augmented
By the whir
Of wings
In frosty air.
This
The morning magic.
No fit place
For me to abroad in -
My big shoes
Crushing
All the frost.
No cats were harmed in the making of this poem. I promise.
November 5
Curiosity
Killed the cat
As she followed,
Arch-backed,
Behind the dog.
November 1
Shaking with excitement,
I can not sleep tonight -
God's go-ahead resounding
In my ears -
Unfolding
A new chapter
Of this life I have on loan.
Obviously, I didn't do much sleeping this week. :-/
November 2
Sleep runs away
On swiftest feet.
I strive
(In vain)
To catch her.
November 3 (etched into my notebook page with an ink-less pen)
'Blessed is he
Who has not seen
But has believed'.
I ache for that day
When I can
Truly see.
November 4
What shall I write?
There are no words,
Only empty lines
To mock me
With their stubborn silence.
A man once said
That writing about writing
Is what folks do
Instead of writing.
I think I see now
What he meant.
Oh goody! A two-fer! I think the second one might be dead, though.
A silver moon,
A silver dawn,
A silver silence
Augmented
By the whir
Of wings
In frosty air.
This
The morning magic.
No fit place
For me to abroad in -
My big shoes
Crushing
All the frost.
No cats were harmed in the making of this poem. I promise.
November 5
Curiosity
Killed the cat
As she followed,
Arch-backed,
Behind the dog.
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