Mary Lee has yet another great image this morning, to spark poetry. It is of a bubble.

Here’s what I wrote:

Hold me gently:
fingertips touching tender skin;
for inside,
I remain invisible
and vulnerable to the way things have been.
I float above this world,
in a cloak of color
but my rainbow drains easily,
so be gentle.

And the podcast:

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Peace (in the poems),
Kevin

Mary Lee posted an image this morning of a castle, and I imagined it a flat place, full of stereotypes.

And so began my poem …

I light a match
to this cardboard castle
and burn the story to the ground,
finally free after so many years
of the roles into which we have been thrust:
the hero in shining armor
the damsel in distress
the fool juggling lives before the fickle king.
So now begins the new adventure,
free from the shackles of past
riding hard and fast
into the fading sun.

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Peace (in the restart),
Kevin

Mary Lee had an interesting video up this morning to inspire poetry as part of her month of sharing resources from Wikimedia Commons. The video (above) is of a revolving sushi bar, and that got me thinking a bit about how the range of choices might actually be limiting.
Here’s what I wrote:

The predator hunts,
biding his time,
as his dinner cavorts
with others in line.

One might think
there were hours to wait,
as dinner flows by
on a small blue plate.

Another night
with too many choices,
the predator slinks home
in his stomach, the voices

call out for some meat,
some rice, some fish,
something of substance
from the small moving dish.

But, alas, that won’t be
so he takes out his bread
spreads peanut butter and jelly
and slinks off to bed.

And the podcast:

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Peace (in the poem),
Kevin

Bud posted a few new images this week to inspire poetry. The first is of an abandoned shopping cart at the edge of the ocean. Here’s what I wrote:

I’m not sure what’s taking him so long
to get the groceries:
the list was simple enough –
a gallon of milk,
a dozen bananas,
a little bit of orange juice …
I wonder if he has gone off the deep end
again.

And the second is a quiet scene — just two people holding hands, walking down the street. Here’s what I wrote:

She’d like to think
the silence,
a blanket;
She’d like to think
the fingers,
a thread;
She’s like to think
their dreams,
a quilt;
She’d like to think all that
but she’s just not sure,
and he’s not talking as they continue walking
into the quiet.

Peace (in the poems),
Kevin

Mary Lee has been posting some nifty images and media files over A Year of Reading, and asking us to write poems inspired by the work. It is part of her push to share more about Wikimedia Commons. Yesterday, she posted this animated image:

By Silver Spoon (Own work) via Wikimedia Commons
It reminded me of a conversation I inadvertently eavesdropped on the other day between a boy and his father. Which led to this poem:

“It only takes 20 moves,”
the boy whispered, as his father stared
at the young fingers
quickly swiveling and twisting the color tiles,
remixing the cube back towards its original and perfect state,
“and I can do it in less,” the boy boasted,
barely looking at his hands in movement,
matching up colors in a blur of speed
and confidence.

Instead, the boy gazed intently at his father,
seeking a compliment, or comment,
or an acknowledgement at the very least,
but all he got was that dead-eyed look of an adult
suddenly realizing just how difficult it would be
to put his own fractured world back together in just
20 moves or less.

Peace (in the cube),
Kevin