NaPoWriMo Day 27

Day 27

Today's poetic offering is simply strange.

STRANGE

"Strange how I find myself upon your shore"
"On Your Shore" by Enya


Strange how I find myself at your door
fingers caught in mid-knock
anxiously biting my lower lip
Do I stay if you answer?
Do I leave before you do?
Strong wind pushes me forward
into the shelter of your porch
Waiting
Indecisive
Your dog does not bark in greeting
But it waits attentively at the door

Copyright Celena Diana Bumpus

Stange by Celena Diana Bumpus is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://mevoj.blogspot.com/2013/05/napowrimo-day-27.htmll.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://mevoj.blogspot.com.

NaPoWriMo Day 16

Day 16

Today's poetic offering is a matter of questions without really wanting answers.  Because answers can be too finite.

CIRCULAR

Pervasive thoughts
Hidden agendas
This lost dream
Is there anything to salvage?
No comfort in silence
Same frustrations spoken
I know there's a solution
Afraid to let go
Prisoner of my own dependency
I don't dare ask "Why?"

Copyright Celena Diana Bumpus


Circular by Celena Diana Bumpus is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://mevoj.blogspot.com/2013/05/napowrimo-day-16.htmll.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://mevoj.blogspot.com.

daY TEn

...a un-love poem...

Sitting at the top of the staircase

I imagine my life without you

What life would have been had we never crossed paths.

I wonder if my dreams would be different.

Would my prayers include you even though I wouldn't know

who you are?

I am curious if you would look for a girl with green eyes

and long hair, thick lips and thighs or if the girl you would find

would be very different.

Would she be tall and slender?

Athletic?

I imagine quiet afternoons with no children

and my fingers tapping on the faded letters of my keyboard

writing things that I don't think.

Experiences that I never had unable to press out of my fingertips

existing in a world without you.

And without the things that have molded my poetry into

this.

Standing on soapboxes with scratchy microphones in

darkened rooms

Reciting poetry with too many lines

As if you never even existed

© Ginger Galloway 2013