OctPoWriMo Day 28: If The Sun Never Rose Again
A dark heavy blanket lies over the land,
and the bright white lights that shine through its holes
never dim as time goes on.
The moon in the sky still pulls up waves over the sand,
and those waking now from sleep
wait for eternity until dawn.
No more warm rays of light.
The night never becomes day.
If the sun never rose again
we would all fade away.
OctPoWriMo Day 29: Writer’s Prompt – “Breathtaking”
OctPoWriMo Day 23: Santa Ana Winds
It’s barely seven in the morning and I’ve just gotten out of bed.
The sun has just come up over the horizon
and I’m already sweating what seems like bullets of lead.
I get dressed, walk out the door, and feel the wind on my face.
The weather is brewing something evil
and spewing the devil’s hot breath like a canister of mace.
The mountain gap winds, so dry in their origin,
whip past giving whiplash to those who can still
withstand Southern California.
The Westward winds fan flames so unbelievably high
it feels like standing in front of a heater while dressed in a wool sweater.
Sadly, it seems the warm weather has made all my plants die.
OctPoWriMo Day 24: Water
OctPoWriMo Day 20: “Living Garden: How We Planted Dinner”
Living leaves of luscious green
grow to great heights,
having healthy helpings of water.
When the weather permits,
picking potted plants for dishes
delights the daring lodgers.
Leaving little, the guests
gobble the garden hastily
heaving heartily all the while.
We willfully wet our pallets
piling pairings of plum drink
down during dinner until it’s late.
OctPoWriMo Day 21: Tired
OctPoWriMo Day 16:
We help our people?
What about Puerto Rico?
There’s still no power.
OctPoWriMo Day 17: Journey through the Universe
around the sun to get here.
—Still hoping for more.
OctPoWriMo Day 18: Nightmare
OctPoWriMo Day 12: Writing Through Writer’s Block
There are days when there is a need to write and yet nothing to say.
A need to feel a fountain pen in hand gliding across a smooth page,
Or the demand to feel plastic keys move up and down like a ballet.
There’s a mission to move thoughts birthed and housed in gray matter
So that they can entertain and engage others out in the rest of the world.
Those days are the ones where the page is filled up with empty chatter.
The subject evolves from nothing into writing for writing’s sake,
And when the writing’s forced the theme takes a U-turn into procrastination.
Having nothing to say leaves the writer with so much heartache. (more…)