Based on Themed “Challenges”
No Joy on the Horizon
I had no tale to tell of joy
that would be straight not “slant”–
of triumphing and climbing high,
my strong voice sweet in chant.
As misery is vertical–
it has no left or right–
does not seem worth the fight.
Making No Sense
This is my voice, and I won’t give it up.
For it feels strength, and it shows weakness.
This is my sight. It sees what it sees.
And I won’t deny it. And I won’t make it pretty.
Here is my hearing, pastless, with unknown future.
It hears my voice, current, without a whimper.
Here is my touch, for I can’t give it up.
So it tightens, for I won’t weaken.
That was my scent, but I will keep it.
As I don’t choose to linger…but will.
That was not to my taste, yet filled.
It was what it was, yet it left. Me too.
[No, this isn’t all that I did in October. I’m editing a new collection of Beat-style poems in hopes of getting it published; and my hunt for the elusive steady paycheck that comes with a good old-fashioned day job continues as the novella I’m supposed to be working on languishes in a pile of post-its and notebook paper.]