Go on. Try it.

Maybe start with a word. The most lovely word. Your favourite, in fact.

Describe its colours. Describe its sound. Tell us about the music it forms in your mind.

Set that paragraph into a context. A scene. A moment. A memory.

Put someone in that context. Maybe you, maybe not-you. Maybe not a person at all.

What do they do? Do they paint those palettes you created? Do they sing the music you wrote? Does their voice sound like that word? Do they reverberate with the same frequency?

What emotions do they have? Are they that of your word, or are they reactionary? What are their thoughts? Do they share your love of your word?

Think about the world they live in, a world of your word. In an instantaneous moment, it sprang forth from a seed that you cultivated. Are you not a god in this act of creation?

You have created from nothing, in defiance of all the known laws of the universe.

How mighty you are, how powerful and wise.

Carry this knowledge of your strength, your wisdom, and your vision, in a special place within you.

Draw upon it in your hour of need, and nurture it in your times of triumph. Keep it hidden, but easily accessed. The world you inhabit fears the dark, but it fears the light even more. We praise it in its absence but seek in terror to snuff it out in its presence.

Guard your light. Guard your nugget of truth. So that you can share of it with the world, linking it up to all your infinities.

"Annie! Annie, are you up yet? I'm taking the kids to school!"

Avery's voice carries well throughout the house and reminds me of home. I'm awake, but have yet to rise. I have to now.

First stop is the bathroom. I see to Mother Nature's necessities and then my own. In the mirror, a woman with average length hair in a boring colour stared back. Her eyes peer passively back at me, and her flawless skin doesn't reveal her age.

As I brush my hair and apply just enough makeup, I wonder if thinking of myself in the third person is normal. It's not important, unlike breakfast, which Avery's prepared for me.

I have enough time to say goodbye to my family. My two children, Summer and Jim, are good kids. They're well liked, and rarely spoken of. Sure, they could be smarter, or more attractive, but they're solid B students and that's what really matters.

My stalwart husband, Avery, is as average as his children. He tries to stay in shape but it's hard to fit it all in, between helping me with the kids, church responsibilities, and his job as an accountant. He has a car in the garage that doesn't run but he swears it will one day.

As for me, as far as most people are concerned I'm a meek, boring housewife. But it makes for a good cover as the neighbourhood's number one option for the dirt on Mr. Next Door. That's right, I'm Mrs. Body, the person behind the Busy Body Private Detective Services.

The wind howls, but the sails are still
Stiffened in the inescapable chill
Rigging once full of avian cries
Now just cloth encrusted with ice

Creaking wood moans low under the wind
Trapped and left with nothing to defend
In the bowels, straps and bars and manacles
On the prow, a sculpture encrusted with barnacles

Her crew is gone, alone she drifted
Untold eons since her sails were lifted
Her resting place is no captain's fault
For he's just bones encrusted with salt

The captain sits upon his throne
An eternal vigil, all alone
He stayed with the ship, followed all the rules
Stayed to guard treasures encrusted with jewels

One day she'll stop resisting the call
And into her marine lover's arms she'll fall
He'll devour her body, she'll be lost to history
Her captain, his treasures, his hubris, encrusted with algae

via Daily Prompt: Encrusted

Read more of my poetry here.

Change is constant
This is all we know

I'm a spring singer
a summer sojourner
in autumn, an artist
and a winter writer

Live in an instant
Just go with the flow

I'm always uncomfortable
because I'm always changing
my identity's portable
we're not in the business of prearranging

Staying the course is nonsense
Burn down the status quo

Are you a shark, a crocodile, maybe a tardigrade?
No, and that's why you have to progress
I've never sat still, I've always strayed
No delivery, just carry out, when you order success

Change is constant
You know which way to go.

via Daily Prompt: Constant

Read more of my poetry here.

cavity social poem

cavity
like the one in your chest
just because they said you were resisting arrest
cavity
like the ones in your teeth
leading to extraction cause you can't afford to treat
cavity
like the ones that get searched
by the ones that never put your dignity first
cavity
like the way your stomach feels
when you gotta choose between your rent and your meals
cavity
like the one violated
by somebody who said they loved you, but couldn't be sated
cavity
like the growing divide
between knowing they told the truth, and knowing they lied

via Daily Prompt: Cavity

Read more poetry here.