Some things
stay whole;
others, break
apart; the heart,
like paper, folded
into intricate pieces,
as worded creases
displace the center,
faded lines, forever:
this is how we
remember
for #OpenWrite
Zeytun Gospels
https://www.ethicalela.com/witness-celebration-poetry-for-armenian-genocide-remembrance/
Each hand ticking
towards destruction
never stops, and yet,
here we are, people
of the world, working
towards a common
goal: for peace, we must
pause the clock
for #DS106 Daily Create
What was it
about Charlie Bucket
that kept us sitting
so long on that old couch -
an antsy boy on either side
of her – listening night
after night, as she read
aloud the story, the three
of us always wondering
who might be the last one
left to win the factory,
as if there were any doubt?
for #OpenWrite
I remember
the first night
in that apartment,
that old brick building,
the way the Mill River
roared just outside
the window, as if
life were suddenly
moving on
for #OpenWrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/i-remember/
Too dark to see so
I ask her, and it's the same
answer as nearly every morning
until seasonal darkness fades and
our eyes can see for ourselves
for #ds106 #DailyCreate
The forgotten remains
of last year's discards
wait at the top of the bin;
an old banana peel
grinds from morning coffee
a tangle of teabags
bread ends moldy green
peels of an abandoned orange
I stick a pitchfork in,
and push, tilling the past
to tend to the present
for #OpenWrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/look-closely/
Depending on when you met me –
you might have found me:
lost inside the moment
of practicing my saxophone,
lonely but not alone
writing little poems
in a yellow notebook
I kept tucked out of sight
teaching myself guitar,
searching for a spark,
somewhere inside the dark
turning poems into songs,
singing words, ever so softly,
even I could barely hear
for #OpenWrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/depending-on-when-you-met-me/
You might have liked me
to be a child of sticks,
of snare shots, sizzle,
and coordinated drum kicks
Instead, you had me,
a curious kid with fingers
on the keys, a tongue
on mouthpiece and reed
We all find our way in
for #OpenWrite
My fingers, caked in mud,
removing Winter's weeds
as I ponder a patch of lilies
A patch near driveway black,
I too often forget where they are;
my fingers, caked in mud
until the days I'm reminded
of the remains of Winter's coat,
as I ponder a patch of lilies
and notice among the dead,
the determined vines pricker
my fingers, caked in mud
But nothing short of blood
stops my in my task
as I ponder a patch of lilies
and remember last year's grace
in blooms of tiger yellow;
my fingers, caked in mud,
as I ponder a patch of lilies
for #OpenWrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/villanelle-on-the-vine/
If every raindrop
were a run, batted by clouds,
cheers would be allowed
for Algot