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.

Make sure you use the appropriate pencil
Don't draw freeform, use this stencil
Armed police keep you safer than a fence will
Dress for Jesus, and don't be sinful
We don't want you led astray, we'll blur out those pixels
That's a fire hazard, now take down that tinsel
There's a war on Christmas, it's as clear as crystal
Remember, it's not hate if it's official
You don't need medicine, just take fish oil
Always respect authority; it's just that simple
You should love America; we've the biggest missile
Stop and Frisk isn't profiling if they've always got a pistol
Learn to respond promptly at a bell or whistle
Children should always be polite and cheerful
Never talk back, protest, nor so much as bristle
No matter what, your clothes and skin mustn't wrinkle
You need to compromise; we won't meet you in the middle

Now forget everything you've learned; we've a fire to kindle

via Daily Prompt: Lecture

Read more of my poetry here.

Be wilder:
Baby girl please don't age; you're so pretty
Be wilder:
Pretend you're a ballerina
Be wilder:
But be nicer to Tina
Be wilder:
One day you'll travel the planet
Be wilder:
Make a wish; the candles are lit
Be wilder:
But don't rip your new dress
Be wilder:
Only a good girl can be a princess
Be wilder:
The world is your pearl

Be wilder:
You should dress like a girl
Be wilder:
Don't get mud on your knees
Be wilder:
Wear a crown of daisies
Be wilder:
Dance beside the campfire
Be wilder:
But don't arouse his desire
Be wilder:
Don't you want him to like you?
Be wilder:
Stop reading; there's no time to
Be wilder:
Life's too short to care about grades

Be wilder:
We're gonna hit the raves
Be wilder:
Grow your hair out long
Be wilder:
Put your lipstick on
Be wilder:
Hell yeah, six inch heels
Be wilder:
You'll be hell on wheels
Be wilder:
But no, not like that
Be wilder:
You look like you've got the clap
Be wilder:
Less like a used up city tramp
Be wilder:
More like the girl from summer camp
Be wilder:
Might as well, you're getting old

Be wilder:
Now no one minds your belly roll
Be wilder:
Wear clashing colours
Be wilder:
Go outside in your rollers
Be wilder:
Hit on men you pass in the street
Be wilder:
They're no threat when you're no treat
Be wilder:
Cause you know life is short
Be wilder:
Get drunk in Miami airport
Be wilder:
You're free now, we're moving on to your child

Be wilder:
Live as wide as a country mile
Be wilder:
Learn from my mistakes
Be wilder:
Don't listen to those 'girl power' fakes
Be wilder:
Don't accept 'boys will be boys'
Be wilder:
You can play with army toys
Be wilder:
Get dirty, be loud, fill your own space
Be wilder:
I was given a small taste
Be wilder:
They want you in a cage, but it doesn't have to be.

via Daily Prompt: Bewildered

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.