bosch pear

the seed of the bosch pear sliced open reveals small demons. why? prompt from PG


That sweetness you want on your tongue
that touches the tip
in her drop
just for you

released
supped
will send you

Little demons leap from seeds
turn to birds inside your gut
poke the inside of your eye
with a sewing needle

In eternity
you climb a lonesome mast
trying to hold on
feeling a slip in your grip
but no slake of desire
of your thirst
for the sweet

just a drop
once more

hold on

For today's prompt, I actually want you to write a "getting around to something" poem. Maybe the poem itself is distracted and sidetracked. Maybe a character has to get around to something. Maybe, well, I'll let you figure out.

Retirement Planning

What will I need?
Some nuts.
How many?
And a cup.
Some old love letters.
All that I can find.
A white shawl.
A distant gaze.
Slippers.
No more than three perfect songs.

Robert Burns

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pou'd the gowans fine;
we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne

We two hae paidled i' the burn,
Frae mornin' sun till dine.
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin' auld lang syne.

And here's a hand, my trusty friend,
And gie's a hand o' thine;
We’ll tak a right gude-willy waught
For auld lang syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

shh.

I should have something to say, I imagine, on this final night of the hardest ten years of my life. But I hardly want to disturb the perfect quiet with the tapping of the keyboard or a groping for words, summation, sense. I hear waves breaking off the Atlantic. I hear snow, unmoving, on the arms of the evergreens. My old dog's sighs. A motorcycle in the distance. Somewhere my grandfather shuffling cards, my father striking a match. Somewhere the words we said and our laughter echoing out into vaster space.

A day just of nothing but (a cold and) wishes for friends, near, far, found, recovered, lost. Forgiveness is thorough. Peace is palpable and life, for as long as it is, is a blessing I can only hope to be worthy of.

Blue Moon, bring peace. Set me to good and true work.
Love to All.
Goodnight, Moon.
Goodnight you miserable bastard of a decade.