A space upon the shelf. We stare and sigh, and rummage pointlessly in the vicinity. But we know, we knew before we came, there would be none to find. We knew when we heard the news, our helpful media made sure of that with their wilful mischief. Don’t tell me they didn’t know that all it would take were four small words: ‘No need to panic’. A stampede of the desperate. A frenzied footfall filling up their trolleys. Their greedy stash packed smugly in cupboards and lofts and garages, leaving nary a single one for the rest of us. And one wonders, if news of a shortage produces such hysteria, how will we cope when the shit really hits the fan?
This is the last prompt (No 13) for Muri’s Poetry Scavenger Hunt. A Rant Poem. There are so many subjects to choose from, but panic buying is with us again. I don’t know who’s worse – the media for fanning the flames in the first place, or us for over-reacting and panic buying. Just how many toilet rolls can one family use? How much pasta can they eat? How much sunflower oil do they really need? I despair at how selfish we in the West have become – thinking of ourselves first, ignoring how our actions deny others. So, rant over. I guess I’m just going to have to fry everything in butter instead!
Their feet step and slide gently as the Music Weaves its strands and chords around them Like a Soft caress of cashmere pulsing with a Heart beat And slowly they sway in its folds feeling its Whispers Murmur, come closer, touch me With love.
This is a Waltmarie (Prompt No 12 for Muri’s Poetry Scavenger Hunt). The Waltmarie form requires that the even lines are two syllables only, and when all the even lines are read together they form their own micro poem!
I once thought the world was a limitless sphere. Beyond the forests, the oceans, the land Infinite space would duly appear, Vast meadows of grass, wide beaches of sand. Its not just the rockets and bombs that I fear, It’s the spite and hate I don’t understand. For what can survive ‘gainst this type of rain? There’s not enough room in this world for such pain.
Linking this to Muri’s Poetry Scavenger Hunt, (https://murisopsis.wordpress.com/2022/03/30/looking-forward-to-poetry-month/) Prompt No 11, to write an Ottava Rima.The title refers to the diameter of the world (in miles). Not sure how I feel about this poem – it has been bumbling in my head for a while, but perhaps the form is not the best one for the message. Oh well, in for a penny, as they say …
Choices glint in the streaky, clouded light, tossing, twirling, inviting your performance. Candy floss sticks to your lips, manure and straw to your feet, while skin tight promises of fame and fortune give the illusion of a star ready to explode.
As you flex, limber and leap the audience are enrapt, believing that they have seen you fly.
Duende ‘can only be experienced in certain surroundings like an intimate flamenco session where a singer will be possessed by the dark tones of the song and the spirit will enter the mind and soul of anyone who opens up to it.’ (https://www.andalucia.com/flamenco/history.htm).)
Linking this to Muri’s Poetry Scavenger Hunt Prompt No 9, to write an Espinela (or a poem on the theme of passion).
I thought you looked sexy, lying there, vulnerable, the sheet rising, almost imperceptibly, the monitor, dancing its red pulse across the screen, bleeping in time with your heart, whilst mine was racing. But then, without warning, your eyes snapped open. You looked at me, then at the tube attached to your arm, and with an angry cry ripped out the iv line.
The earth is flat. We covered it with brick and girder, Squashing down mountains, forests and waterfalls, Forgetting to leave a breathing hole. Soon we will gasp and fry. The gods watch, Unmoved, Rustling chips in the pan, A dash of ketchup on the side.