Mont St. Michel

There was born a glorious plan
To bring angel’s favor down upon man

To build a church in St. Michel’s name
So grand the world would know its fame

Bricks tirelessly carted, hand by hand
Brought with care over dangerous quicksand

Tool carefully carried past receding waves
Feeling the way with stout wooden staves

Men gently crafted both tower and spire
So as not to attract St. Michel’s ire

Out from all far corners of the land
Many come and brave the deep sand

Wishing to pray atop island rock
Never heeding how others might mock

Surpassing sand and violent tide
A mighty feat of holy pride

Peril matters not on this holy quest
For without this journey, souls shall not rest

They gather to pray through night and day
For between the worlds St. Michel holds sway

They hope to melt angel’s heart of ice
So he will open the gate to paradise

Time

Slipping away faster than the eye can see

Crawling more slowly than the slowest continent

Never the same speed twice

Random words: rupture, gulf, dire, off, salt

World thrown off kilter, tossed aside by the hand of the angel

Faced with the yawning gulf, the possibility of infinity, or an infinitesimal future

Ruptured time strew across the room to collect in pools under the furniture

“How many minutes before they get here?” she asked

As dire need floated on air and tension played havoc amongst the flowers

Yet, “Time is of no consequence.” So observed the grain of salt, sitting unnoticed, left behind where even the broom could not find it

Packed Identity

they came one day and
packed my life away

took it somewhere I did not see
somewhere I could never be

now I can do naught be sigh and
always wonder, who am I?

Uncoiling by Pat Mora

I like it. It seems strange that I like it since I read it during the MCA testing. But I do.

Writing to the prompt, "A walrus in a golf cart going through Wales."

A walrus in a golf cart going through Wales.

What possessed me to be come a greens manager?

Oh right, I remember.

My loving taste for adventure.

My boredom with the mundane.

I was tired of a desk job, I wanted a life.

The sky is so clean. Pure, crystal and blue.

Golfers are weird people.

They spend their lives hunched over, holding metal rods, swinging at tiny white balls.

Manipulating their bodies into uncomfortable poses, walking up and down up and down.

They all carry nets. Ready to fish their balls out of the resident duck pond.

What a brilliant way to see some amusing sights.

The perfect way to get outside, earn some money and see some excitement.

A walrus in a golf cart going through Wales.

Mine eyes do not lie.

I had them checked only a fortnight ago.

I am sober. Alcohol turns my stomach.

I think I might’ve picked my job too well.

Change

Change is: The absence of familiarity. The heart stopping, death defying plunge into the unknown.

Change is: The dawning of a new day. A new sunrise. Unfamiliar skies. Longitude, latitude, slide on a grid.

Change is: The vanishing path. Rebuilt as your own. To take you wherever you want to go.

Change is: The future, not set in stone. Drawn in pencil. Erasable.

Change is: The choice. To do, or not to do. Choose who you will be, what you will be, what you are.

Change is: Not bad, nor good. Different. Uncomfortable. New. Unpredictable. Exciting. Whatever you choose to make it.

Change is: The jump. The leap. The drive to find a new life. The will to make a new future. The heart to weather life’s storms, come what may, through joy or sorrow.

Adaption, evolution, the formation of a new species: This is change.

second line
time spins on a dime
fast slow, maybe so
second, to hour, to day
in the sea of time

What will you do?

What will you do when the world starts to crumble?

Crumbles, crumbling, will crumble, crumbled

What will you do when the seas dry?

Dried, drying, will dry

What will you do when the sun bursts?

Bursts, bursting, will burst, busted

What will you do when the earth rocks?

Rocked, rocking, will rock

What will you do when the sky falls?

Falls, falling, will fall, fallen

What will you do when the very universe begins to die?

Died, dying, will die

You/we/I/us/me/all will survive

Will survive, survives, survived, surviving

20 minute poem

I wander the silent house at night
my feet cold upon the floor
the darkness presses against my sight
I come to an old wood door

What secrets do you hold?
do I really want to know?
will I really be so bold?
yes, I will, please do show

I wander the silent house at night
the only door my imagination
against desire will I fight?
no, I yield to temptation

I open the door

I step forth

To a new world

Insanity

You really shouldn't take me seriously

My grip on sanity is labeled 'precariously'

I'm not referring to myself. It's just an interesting line Ruby thought up a while ago. Wouldn't it be interesting to make a poem based around it?