Incomparable

I wish that I could leave a journal
and pen by my bedside table
so that when I woke from sleep
I could jot down my dreams
but I rarely remember them
unless they are frightening
and I flee from them
to the waking world

instead I daydream
and make up stories
and on occasion I manage
to tell a story
that is inspiring to others
or so they tell me

there have been stories
of strange, enchanting lands
where the people sleep
beguiled by the lotus

there have been stories of bold heroes
with torsos bulging with muscles
alluring maidens who wait for the hero
or go off on their own quests
a devious villain to antagonize
the hero or heroine

what is incomparable
is not the pleasure of writing
because it's not just play

I work at it
more than I care to admit

but the joy of reading
what others have created
and I take immeasurable pleasure
in reading the comments
on what I've written

that is what is incomparable
the kinship of readers and writers
none of whom are my actual kin
just kindred spirits

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the Incomparable prompt at Writer's Island, using the words from Wordle 8 at The Sunday Whirl.

Addendum: This poem also works for the cocktail of words prompt at We Write Poems.

"I am sorry about my fear"

I am sorry about my fear
it was my mind's way
of avoiding pain

I know you loved me
you asked me to stay
that made me want to leave

I loved the feel of your
body beneath mine
it was always best

in the morning, the sun
on your skin, the bottles
of Speakeasy beer on the floor

by the bed, but the burning
inside my heart was not
passion, but fear

and the beer smelled
and the sun was too bright
and I just wanted to be without

* * * * *

This poem is in response to a prompt at Big Tent Poetry that begins "I am sorry about...". I also used a Prompt Mash-Up from Not Without Poetry:

The following prompts are from Bill Alton. Use them as titles, opening lines, or combine all of them into a single poetic form.
1. My body is a speakeasy
2. Morning comes without the sun.
3. I loved him most when he asked me to leave.
4. Pain is the mind’s way of burning through fear

Process Notes: I took all of the nouns from the sentences above (body, speakeasy, morning, sun, pain, mind's way, and fear), some of the verbs (loved, asked, leave), one adjective (burning) and one preposition (without) to use in my poem.

Flattery Is Not Forever

flattery is not forever,
it lives a mayfly life

if it could sing
it would be all crescendo

shouting its message
to the world     then nothing

a silver phrase heard
by others also gone

not even divine perfume
could recall that memory

a body fallen, rotting,
leading to the sprouting

of new life from the scars
of the old life now fled

but flattery is not a song
it is a crude utterance

an inept attempt at love
that recounts only desperation

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to the Sunday Wordle prompt from Brenda at Beyond the Bozone.

I've enjoyed writing poems to Brenda's wordles; this is my third this month. But this one was especially difficult and challenging, because four of the words she chose were from one of my poems. Thanks, Brenda.

Articles

The was giving A and An a hard time
No one can be the greatest without me

Nobody says a greatest
or an awesomest

No, that's true, said A
while An rolled her eyes

You may be the superlative
but we're positive and comparative

We're helpful in ways
you could never be

Besides, how often does anyone
reach the peak and actually need you

The was slightly crestfallen
but that did not slow him down

It's not just that, he said
pointing at the book and the apple

True, said An, but there are many
books and apples, reaching out

for A's hand - We work together
while you're always alone

Yes, said A, you're so definite,
boxing yourself in, so limited

For everything you can do
we can do too more openly

An said, pointing at a book
and an apple sitting on a table

But, said The, you're always nearly
You're never quite exactly

A started to argue back
but An put her finger on his lips

There's no point, she said
It's just his nature

And they strolled off together
an arm around a waist

* * * * *

This poem was written in response to two prompts. The first is Unlimited at Writer's Island and the second is Nearly (#260) at Sunday Scribblings.