Sloppy Sonnets

prose, prompts, and poetry from my heart and soul.

[iambicthoughts]

Prompt: write a haiku about love.

They say love is blinded.

They don’t know her like I do.

She sees me deeply.

[iambicthoughts]

I, the Passive Puppet: A Haiku

On purpose, perhaps, or not your presence pulls pins and strings of my heart.

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I’m Awkward Because I’m Afraid: a haiku

Words pour out like rain

careening into the earth.

I am left empty.

[iambicthoughts]

Inner Cinema

Broken, full of stars,

we shine an open heart light

out upon the dark.

[iambicthoughts]

I sit beneath my luscious

sun spraying honey light

to rain shining beauty on

my garden.

Lazy wind whispers smooth

diamond milk to tiny frantic

dreams, revealing sweet music

from the chanting language of

my bitter blood.

I am the water through the rose.

[poetryprompts]

Write a haiku about summer.

[iambicthoughts]

Heat pulls sweat from skin

as it dries up affection

leaving me empty.

[iambicthoughts]

Moon petals reveal a picture spray of music to sing the forest sweet shadows. Time doesn’t drive the tiny whispers of spring to ask the summer goddess “Did you go away to see death blowing a bitter storm, recalling how the wind ripped frantic dreams up and out of languid sleep?” She screams it sadly through her garden symphony.

[iambicthoughts]

There are times spring doesn’t see delirious shadows as languid light, lathered in luscious whispers of sordid  forest music, sing raw bitter beauty to summers sweet storm.

[iambicthoughts]

The Regulars

Hot days, cold bar stools, warm tea, and a blanket of burble wrapped around soft smiles and close company as the  day ebbs into  the loose, warm embrace of evening.

And, as the season slips through fall and leaves from  sleepy trees tumble into the air so, too, does laughter whirl about in here.

New faces come and go as the leaves, when ice and snow cover traces of their tumbling. But we, the regulars - artists, entrepreneurs,  students, poets - stand as trees in any season to practice the sacred rite of coffee shared and warm delight.

[iambicthoughts]

Blooming: a Rondel

There’s room to grow in times of sun if we’ll open our petals out. Instead we tend to reach when shrouds of weeds and thorns have overrun

as if our growth has just begun. Need we suffer to become stout? There’s room to grow in times of sun if we’ll open our petals out.

In times of peace our muses come. Oh, fair artist, you need not drought to let your fairest flowers sprout. Create from joy, it can be done. There’s room to grow in times of sun.

[iambicthoughts]

Atlas Burdened, Atlas Free

There is no one way the world must be. No cosmic should to will the world and bring to light fruitions crafted from designs of higher hands expressed by higher minds. The world spins on with casual entropy.

In the chaos of this cosmos of the free we must accept responsibility and choose to act as agents of our time.        There is no one way.

I believe in your abilities and will revel in your victories and join in mourning when no comfort you can find and sit in quiet moments so sublime. The world is ours and ours the world must be.         There is no one way.

[iambicthoughts]

Coffee words here over our open glass. This slow rhythm, bringing the universe with delicious joy, flowers fire and air and smoke out a ferocious salt cloud.

[iambicthoughts]

What is "commitment" but a concept retroactively assigned to a relationship long lived?

Blue Sail Conversations

[iambicthoughts]

You There, With The Blue Hair: a haiku

Your blue hair and brown eyes speak simple sonnets to warm my tired heart.

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Love That Lasts: a haiku

I slay myself in

your name and curse the god who gave me

love that lasts

[iambicthoughts]

Definition: A haiku "Calm" is the choice to sit boldly still and practice patience in the storm.

[iambicthoughts]

Your Ever-Distant Love

Word: petrichor Word web: Earth Smells Grow Petrified Dewey Shower Rain Flower Life Significance Listen Glisten Body "Of water" Afterglow Adore Abhor Core Poem: Your Ever-Distant Love From dust to dust I chafe and rust as the dry earth of my body trusts in the life-giving rain coming with the shower of your company. From hither to yon I'll grow the arms of my hardened branches petrified by the absence I abhor of the one I adore, and reach out to the voice that sings cleansing droplets to my core. From now to then I'll listen close for when the gentle thunder foretells a down-pour that, from dust to water, between hither and yon, my body becomes. And we'll sit glistening in the dewy afterglow as the petrichor - smells of significance - flower into the cool breeze of contentment and, for a time, I'll cradle the puddles of your ever-distant love.