A Giant’s Game

A spark. A flare. New ideas form.
You ponder what they might be worth

a plan

Words begin crackling into life.
The die have been cast, and they roll.

you write

Sometimes you’re lucky, and you win.
Sometimes, you need to cut and run.

a chance

Overseers observe, perplexed,
but fervor is not diminished.

a joy

The parts are assembled upon
the factory floor and reworked.

a draft

As lyrics converse in a song.
Gloriously it emerges.

a verse

— ~ —

The writing game can make mice of
men. An encounter that looms large.

go on

The mouse grins. Satisfied that he’s
tamed the giant. A poem now

complete

By Sarah ©2019

#NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day 28; and also, The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 401

Wilderness

Teeth chattering with fear, I go
Forward into the wilderness.
Alone.

All the guns in the world won’t help.
I’m out of bullets. I have me.
Just me.

I inhale the smells – pine, dirt, smoke,
Sweat. Earth’s perfume is assaulting my
Senses.

I feel that I am being followed.
In my periphery, a flash
Of brown.

The hunter is now being hunted.
The irony’s not lost on me.
I laugh.

I’ve followed the river, as taught.
Still, I’ve managed to lose my way.
What now?

— ~ —

The remote chimes as I press pause.
I pick up the phone and ring room
service.

I lay back on the hotel bed,
Comfy. Warm. And thinking of what
I want.

By Sarah ©2019

The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 398; and also, #NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day 22

The Writer

I write these nonsensical words.
Hoping that out of the quagmire
Comes gold.

As I scribe, the words loom larger
Hovering over the page. Loose.
Swimming.

They move around by unseen hands.
Making new sentences. Reborn
as prose.

“But this isn’t what I wanted!”
I think to myself, frustrated.
Full stop.

I scramble to make sense of it.
Like a jigsaw, I place words piece
by piece.

Slowly, slowly, the writing creeps.
Finally filling up the page.
I’m done.

— ~ —

The reader sighs – sympathising,
Relating, delighting, wrangling.
Enthralled.

Ne’er do they suspect the battle
Between the writer and the words
The end.

By Sarah ©2019

#NaPoWriMo, 2019 – Day 21

On Repeat

A synchronicity poem has eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. It is written in the first person with a twist revealed within the last two stanzas

Seabirds sketch patterns through the sky.
The sand darkens with their shadows.
Silver.

I see grey clouds hold back sunshine
and wonder at their malleable
power.

Cottony fingers streak deftly
Painting shades of the coming day.
Promised.

Yet this optimism’s not shared.
I trudge wearily in today.
Empty.

My feet are stuck in yesterday.
In mud that was born from the storm.
My life.

Mundane thoughts swirl about my head.
Or are they snowflakes pretending
To be.

— ~ —

The gnarled branches of the trees catch
The plastic glittery pieces.
Again.

The child shakes their precious snow globe.
Not realising life’s on repeat
inside.

By Sarah ©2019

#NaPoWriMo – Day 20, 2019; and also, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Saturday’s Mix – Lucky Dip