The Requisite Poetry Page

The Requisite Poetry Page

BLAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, so everyone has an online poetry page, right? Who am I to break the trend, right? So, here it goes...

I'm a lemming, yes I am,
It's by mistake they call me Ham!

Remembering Summer

Mercedes

I walk through the streets of the mid-Summer desert town. The hot asphalt, sand and concrete burn my feet and I skip to reach my destination more quickly. The promise of refreshment, self-abandon, and companionship drive my pace yet more than the scorching ground. I arrive before the crowds and claim my patch of shade where the line will start. Throngs of children, my own age, flock behind me. Young mothers with still younger children struggle to smear greasy protection from the sun on their babies' sweat-streaked faces.

I pay admission for the 50th time this Summer. Safely tucking my shorts and towel in an uninhabited corner, I gingerly stride towards the cool blueness I've been waiting an hour to enjoy. I test the water, knowing that it's going to be cold. Finally, convincing myself that there's no other way, I go round to the deep end. With nervous anticipation, I approach the end of the fiberglass launching pad. In one less-than-graceful leap, my shoulders warming as they near the sun, the summer heat is suddenly quelled. I burst through the surface, gasping for breath after the shock of going from summer heat to arctic cool. I reach out with Neanderthal poise to swim for the edge of the pool. Dragging myself clear of the icy water, I stretch my coltish limbs out in every direction, soaking in the rays of the arid season and absorbing the heat of the sauna-like concrete surrounding the pool.

Wend Thus It Came

~Christina Rightmer/mylesmommy~

Sliding, slipping, not grasping,

What do I do?

Traction to hold on

But none to be found.

Falling, fast into abyss

Wont let go, hanging tight

The darkness creeps ever so close,

But will never let go to succumb to it.

Feeling the suction of the tentacles

Grasping, gasping, tugging, pulling

Beckoning – come to me, come to me.

But alas; strength not know where it came

A lighthouse of aura celestial peace and the fauna of success.

Digging, kicking, screaming,

Trying to fight the lure of hell

Will success come?

Will it be there?

Looking, searching, feeling

The spikes try to set their snares

And trap what they can.

Running, zigzagging across the deserts

Hot scorching sand

Inhabitable, but life abides,

Small and powerful in its determination to endure.

Persistence, strength from within

Is it the key?

Will it make a difference?

Do not know from where or whence it came.

But the heavenly northern lights and the sweet soul smell of the stars above

Will guide its pilgrims through the barren wasteland.

To be taking thus road thy will need to be

Watching, sensing, olfactory nerves afire

Looking out for the pitfalls of the dark beast

To entrap again in despair.

To conquer the labyrinth and maneuver through the passes of time

Will find thy perfect light and thy mystical Shangri-La.