Learning to Meditate

background balance beach boulder

Think of one word.

Focus.

Focus…

My mind races.
Other thoughts enter,
I cannot
do-

Forgive yourself.

Try again.

Try again…

Will I ever be
Able to do this?
I cannot
reach-

Transcendence requires patience.

Don’t rush.

Don’t rush…

There’s no way
To empty my mind.
I must give
up.

For today, perhaps.

Come back.

Come back…

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This post was inspired by Jade Wong’s World of Words prompt this week, shanta, which is a Bengali word meaning calm and peaceful. This reminded me of when I tried to learn to meditate and how reaching any sort of calm was so hard. Patience, young grasshopper, patience!

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Big Science Mountain

scientist

The mad scientist created
Freeze rays and said, “This is the best,
I dare anyone to beat me.
I’ll freeze banks and avoid arrest,
Then freeze folks at the city hall
To cause the government to fall.
Yessir, I’m gonna have a ball,
With my freeze ray and my money.

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This poem was pooped out of somewhere for the Terrible Poetry Contest #55, “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” In order to do this, I had to read up on the song and found out it was supposed to be about Hobo Paradise. I wrote about Mad Science Paradise.

I chose this photo because all the science done in the 50’s and 60’s was mad science because they didn’t really care if they died from some insane exposure to chemicals or whatever.

Photo by Museums Victoria on Unsplash

You Carried Me

purple crocus in bloom during daytime

You carried me.
I didn’t ask,
But then again,
I couldn’t speak.

You settled me
On soft, silken,
Pinkest pillow,
Kissed me tender.

My eyes were shut,
But I still knew
You adored me.
I cherished you.

I wanted to
Clean the sad pile
Of tissues at
Your well shod feet.

Did my urges
Disrespect your
Sadness and grief?
I allowed tears.

Upon your exit
Through sanctum’s door,
Someone shut my
Coffin’s wood lid.

When you returned,
You carried me
In my casket
To earthen home.

But my spirit
Carries you now
Until you come
To rest by me.

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This was written for the January 9th Carrot Ranch prompt. Sure, I took a long time getting to it, but it also took a long time to figure out what to write. Also it didn’t turn out to be a flash, but you know, I tried…

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Christmas Comes Too Early

Jingle Bells

Christmas is celebrated
By buying all the bargains.
Put them in packages, bags.
Enjoy with Zuzu’s petals.

Why?

One of the wise men brought gold
To the babe in a manger.
From that moment cold, hard cash
Was God’s sign of approval.

So,

Since sweet Jesus invented
The American dollar,
What’s wrong with you, customer?
Do you hate your own children?

Oh.

You’re poor, have nothing to spend.
Don’t fret! Usury is friend!
Borrow emergency cash,
And spend, spend, spend, spend, spend, spend!

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This was written for Chelsea Owens’s Terrible Poetry Contest #46. I haven’t participated in a while, but this prompt was just too good to let go by.

The Days of Old

grayscale photo of explosion on the beach

“Tell me about the days of old,”
Asked the little girl.
“Tell me how the giants collapsed,
And towns in fire whirled.” 

The bard hummed and strummed his citurn,
And his strings did tune.
“This is not a song for the weak,
But it’s before noon.

“I hope tonight you’ll soundly sleep;
Blame yourself if not.”
The young girl sat with bated breath,
Hoping to be distraught.

“Back before the nuclear fires,
Buildings did shimmer
And reached to lofty sky with spires
‘Til skies grew dimmer.

“The sun disappeared behind airplanes
Carrying the bombs.
Then cancerous growths emerged
On those who survived…”

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This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #118, Song. I feel like this was left incomplete, but perhaps we’ll investigate that some other day?

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Paradise

atmosphere blue cloud cloudiness

To meet again in bliss
With the people you love,
You must forgive the foes
You hate.

Lose the antipathy
Against your enemies,
And I will reward you
With peace.

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This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #117, Antipathy. I usually have a very hard time forgiving people for even little things, so I wrote this poem as a way to think about it.

As a side note, I probably won’t be as active this weekend. I’ll be ok, but I’m feeling pretty depressed and think I need to slow down on social media for just a little bit. Hopefully I’ll be back up to speed soon. — H

Ballroom Dancers

active dance dancer dancing

Each step increases their skill,
Creates muscle memory,
Gets them one step closer to
Winning the qualifier.
“What if we lose?” asks Emmy.
“Then we go on,” says Oscar.
“We will just practice harder.”
“We’ll hit all the beats, my dear.”
The amateurs danced their best,
But the pros defeated them.

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This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #116, Amateur. I sometimes wonder what it takes to jump from amateur to professional; often, I think it requires focus, dedication, and time.  If I treat writing as a hobby (like I currently do), will I ever be able to feel like a pro?

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Independence

musket

There’s nothing wrong here.
Ignore all that blood –
With a mere grimace
I can bear through it.
Don’t open my coat,
Don’t look too closely.
I can operate
And get the bullet

Myself. 

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This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #114, Grimace. The little poem was inspired by a drunk history I saw when just letting youtube play whatever it wanted. It was about a lady named Deborah Sampson who pretended to be a dude, fought as an elite soldier, got shot, and chose to operate on herself rather than get caught. So, a week late for the 4th of July stuff, but good nonetheless! AMERICA

Remember The 80’s

synthwave-3941721_640

Let’s build a place
That’s perfect.
It has
Gated reverb,
Hair metal,
New wave.
No tech distracts
From our friends
Or fam.

Let’s build a place,
An idyll,
A dream,
Based on a past
That didn’t
Exist
Anywhere but
In our heads
And hearts.

Let’s build a place
Without the
Bad stuff.
Forget crises,
Ditch sadness,
Leave pain.
No AIDS, racism,
Trickle down,
Cold war.

Let’s build a place.
Remember
Goodness.
Recreate time
Untainted
And pure
An ordered time
With new wave,
Not hate.

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This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #109, idyll.  This look into the past was inspired by Chris Molanphy of Slate’s most recent Hit Parade podcast about Phil Collins and Genesis.  What could be more 80’s nostalgia?

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Information Superhighway

Chip

Information flows

Through gates yes and no.

Mercurial thoughts

From teenagers taught

To glean likes and shares

Then with friends compare

Fruits of their labors,

Zings sharp as sabres.

To human misdeeds

Our freedoms concede

And internet feeds.

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This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #108Mercurial.

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