Burning it Down

Just like that, my high hopes went up in smoke. Along with my trust.

I had never suspected that someone within my faith would be the one to introduce me to the consuming fires of betrayal.

Keep Reading and join me there!

Song

I am stuff’d with the stuff that is coarse and stuff’d with the stuff that is fine 

and I’m looking for you ahead of me, searching for bootprints in the grass–

you will wait for me, paternal and maternal and full of hope
that generations will not return void the legacy you bequeathed.

 

I lift my eyes to the brightening dawn and pull my soul awake
meet the warmth of day and walk into the open green.

 

I take hold of who I am–a woman of many nations,the smallest the same and the largest the same.

 

I am new every morning
and never change a thing.

 

I sing myself to the world and the world listens.
I am full of innocence and grace and find beauty in the slow moving snail
that makes its way across my step.
He journeys alone and free.

 

I sound the bell and wait for the echo to return.
My freedom is in the air, the wind, the song
that finds its way back to me,
as I follow you.

 

Footnote:
Leaves of Grass (Walt Whitman)
16

I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuff’d with the stuff that is coarse and stuff’d with the stuff that is fine
#SingPoWriMo2015Day07 #SingPoWriMoDay07#Prompt1: Woo your favourite poet with a poem.

The Economy of Poetry

im starting to feel like cummings!
with ran(dom) . & ,
taking up space in these lines

The $ of poetry
(^also known as the economy* of poetry)
is the stuff of word accountants
who tally up #s and %es
and formul8 !something! like this
and call it art.

*not a universally recognized economic system

by jb white

based on this prompt:

write a poem including the following symbols:
! $ &* ( ) . ,
bonus– include @ # % ^ < /