Shimera's Bad Poetry Shelf

autumn 2024 prompt poetry

A very generous & enthusiastic friend uncovered a prompt challenge for us in fall 2024. Below are my entries!

Stillness
There is an edge
In the air
A crisp chill
That leeches out
The ever-present damp
And leaves crystalline latices
Adorning the treetops and grasses

There is an edge
In the air
That suppresses the life
Inherent in all things
It slows the heartbeat of life
And puts it to a deep slumber

There is an edge
In the air
That most would
Shake and shiver at
And bemoan the loss
Of the warmth and sun of summer

There is an edge
In the air
That I adore
It’s stillness
Marks the cold
That makes the warmth
Sweeter

Top of Page

Swirl

I will always remember

The summer the world crumbled

When empathy died

And my heart grew hard

But I don’t remember it

For the things I lost

I remember the warm smell of summer

A gentle breeze teasing the trees

The hum of the trimmers

As we learned a new skill

I remember that first trim

When I ran hands through your hair

Finding swirls and patterns

That I normally couldn’t see

I will always remember

The summer the world crumbled

When everything was bleak

And I learned to find joy anew

Top of Page

Scissors

Take a blade

A sword

Victorious and useless

Find it a mate

A twin

To match it in eternity

Fashion a hinge

Twine them together

Two becoming one

Repurpose them

From something that ends

To something that makes

Let them fight on

In a battle of beauty

Instead of blood

Top of Page

Volume

If silence

Speaks louder

Than words

I am constantly

Screaming

At the top

Of my

Lungs

Why don’t you hear me?

Perhaps

It is

Time

To start

Screaming

Out loud

Top of Page

Suitcase

I used to dream

Of packing it all away

Into a few boxes and bags

And driving off

Following the pavement river

To whatever terminus it ran

Leaving behind only memories

And the burden of expectation

Top of Page

Grand

Survival is not the grand things

It is no longer a fight

In the woods

For food

Or glory

It is the little things

Waking up and making coffee

Finding joy in a video clip

Soft fur under sleepy fingers

Jokes shared with friends

Finding a shiny rock

A pretty leaf floating past

Survival isn’t grand

It’s not a painting to hang on a wall

Survival is the little things

A thousand thousand tiny things

Pieced into a mosaic

Ever growing on the floor

Top of Page

Harbour

Midnight drives

Down winding roads

Through hills and forest

Following river

To ocean

Quiet music

Rushing wind

Smell of wet wood

Tang of salt

Moon hangs high

Full and bright as sun

Stop to take it in

Hear the waves crash

Breathe with them

As heartbeat slows

Loneliness gives way

Being one with the world

Top of Page

Heat

(I didn’t do this one, lol)

Top of Page

Edit

I bleed words onto paper

All the ones I’m too afraid

To say aloud

They flow like a river

An endless geyser

From a wound in my soul

But the same fear

That keeps the words

Dead in my mouth

Compels me to edit

To prune back

These words too

Some softly flutter

Into the wind

To be lost evermore

Most hang like an

Albatross at my neck

A mark of shame

Top of Page

Mottled

Shutter clicks

Film winds forward

Trees dressed in mottled autumn

Bottled for another day

Top of Page

Curve

Curve of tail

Trilling chirp

Cold paws

Warm purr

You wrapped around

My heart

And kept it beating

Your love

An imprint on my soul

Top of Page

Movement

My world had

Stopped

Its gears rusted

Shut

In permanent

Stasis

I hadn’t

Realized

Or perhaps

Care

Numb to my core

Frozen

Then I saw it

The stillness

In your home

A moment

Crystallized

Never to

Change

And suddenly

I gasped

Wind rushing

My lungs

Gentle breeze

Wiping

Cobwebs from my soul

You rest

Eternal

But your

Memory

Moves me

Ever forward

Ever changed

Top of Page

Figure

In the mirror

Is an imperfect me

Too short

Too thin

Too flat

Too few curves

I am not the porcelain doll

That others say

A woman should be

But when I look

I see something else

Too short

Too chubby

Too curvy

Too wide hips

I wish I could take

These imperfections of mine

And gift them to another

One whose body needs them

I am not a porcelain doll

I do not wish it

Do you?

Top of Page

Choice

In a yellow wood

Two paths

Diverged

But

Was it

Really a choice?

Top of Page

Glass

Sensitive

They called me

Empathetic

Kind

And watched me

Shatter

Over and over

In dozens of ways

Physical

Mental

Emotional

I am broken

Pieced back together

By my own will

With breath

And tears

And pain

Naive

They meant

Foolish

Delusional

But I will take these shards

These broken

Jagged

Pieces

They are mine

They are ours

They are more

Than the sum of their parts

They tried to shatter me

Like a pane of glass

They call me broken

And I used to think the same

But this is what they made me

Chipped away

Piece

By

Piece

No longer a pretty pane

But a jagged point

A lethal weapon

They could have had

That pretty glass

But they chose this instead

I am not broken

I am shaped

Not by a master’s hand

Nor by turbulent sea

Nor gentle waters

I am shattered

Shaped by hands

That wish harm

Upon me

They never thought

I would turn the point

Towards them instead

Top of Page

DPRSSN

Poetry is something I don't normally write off-the-cuff. Usually it bubbles up when the emotions get to be Too Much- which often means during Depression Hours. Here's a selection of things I've written while wallowing in the feels.

this little thing

I knew

it was a mistake

one I should have learned

ages and eons ago

I watched

over years

while

dust

drifted

caked

calcified

I saw it

shroud

everything

in a shell of

time

and

forgetfulness

I saw it bury

the box

packed and

wrapped

a lifetime ago

the final resting place for

a little thing

a little no’thing

it was not

grieved

it was not

missed

not noticed

I waited

in silence

with the box

and the

dust

as years

marched

relentlessly

my silent vigil

grew

transformed

from a transient plea

to a bleak statement

of fact

until I forgot

that I was waiting

at all

I felt

hands come

reaching

grasping

curious

by one

by two

by dozen

like Pandora

you found that box

you saw the shell of time

you read the warning

you cleared the dust

you pried it open

and looked inside

the box

crumbled

in those

myriad hands

your collective care

deforming

the rigid sides

irrevocably

I watched

horror

and

hope

pumping

drumming

racing

into

desiccated

veins

I watched

as you cradled

that little thing

in gentle hands

rough hands

warm hands

chilly hands

calloused hands

soft hands

I watched

you whisper

breath

ghosting

over

long

dead

flesh

the little thing

fluttered

moved by the

gentle cyclone

of your words

I watched

and an ache

built inside me

a quiet whisper

echoing

in the cavern

of my chest

warping

in that expanse

to become a roar

I watched

a scream

locked

behind my lips

lodged in my throat

its claws

tearing fresh wounds

in a place you can’t see

new damage

layered

upon old hurts

making

ugly scars

bleed

fresh

but you

oblivious

with childlike glee

you show me

that little thing

with its unsteady

quavering

beat

its little rhythm

an unsteady

staccato

I feel it

a long forgotten tune

every fiber of me

calls for it

pulses in that same

unsteady

tattoo

I watch

weighing your gift

against

my pain

you offer again

with a smile

a shy smile

a gentle smile

a coy smile

a cruel smile

I know

I could refuse

I could

take

that

wretched

little

THING

I could

shove it

into a

newer

better

box

I could

forget

that little thing

abandon it

like I did

before

I could

watch

again

as the

dust

settles

and

solidifies

I could

but

I know

from how

you cradle

that little thing

in your unsteady hands

how you care

for that little

broken

thing

I know

I can’t I deny you

when you look at me

with hope and love

and that smile

and those hands

I know

this will hurt

we will bleed

nothing will

ever

be the same

I know

this is a mistake

one I should have learned

ages and eons ago

I know

but I want

to try

Top of Page

Song Unsung

when i was a child

i would sing songs

some i knew

others i made up

some were told

by me alone

and others

were sung in chorus

as years rolled by

i learned new songs

found new voices

but the joy remained the same

but more years

tumbled in

and the songs

slowly

stopped

i still

hear them

sometimes

faint echoes

of the

epics

of my

childhood

i hold them

turn the phrases over

and over

in my mind

basking

in remembered

warmth

but gone

is the chorus

gone are the listeners

the sharers

my comrades

i try to sing

but

as my thin

wavering

voice

fails

in the

silence

that surrounds

i ask myself

what

is

this

for?

there are

no

listeners

not anymore

no one

to sing

with

so

why

waste

breath?

i don't

sing

anymore

the ache

still

too

fresh

after a

decade

alone

i live

with a

symphony

inside my head

a dozen

songs unsung

playing on

endless loop

behind

lips

sealed

shut

praying

that one day

i will forget

the notes

and melodies

what it felt like

to harmonize

maybe then

i could

open

my

mouth

without

a

song

on

my

lips

Top of Page

sorry (just deserts)

i bleed sorry

like a thick

viscous

sludge

it oozes

from wounds

of the soul

new

and

old

it weeps

from pores

on hands

face

chest

it streams

down

the crags

of my

face

it pours out

of my mouth

in a

gushing

flood

it's never enough

the deluge

pools

around me

thick

sticky

like glue

it holds

like amber

it traps

none of it matters

what's done

is

done

and these words

can't fix

something

that had been

crumbling

from the

start

i bleed sorry

ooze it

weep it

stream it

pour it

and now i am

dry

trapped

drowning

in the sludge

of sorry

i wish

that i could

reach

grasp

claw

do

anything

but inside me

is a barren waste

a space

void

of will

crushed

by the weight

of sorrys

and i

can't

so please

leave me

this place

is my

well

deserved

just

deserts

Top of Page