do pockets dream of being inside out?

do pockets dream of being inside out?

  

what difference between me and the big deity?  show of hands.

whose tableside is most near the shakers of salt the shakers of pepper?

what quest to engage, untying the knots laces sometimes mistake for certainty?

will it be bananas or pizza this morning to eat?  calories no measure here!

a spoon or fork to stir the coffee?  how much sugar too?

do the laundry or is that shirt good for one more day?

which side of toast to butter first?  how’s gravity feel about that?

do we say who to love, and who not?  notice that may not be a prize.

what brand detergent or beaten with rocks?  no stone unturned.

step by step or taken leap?  how do we feel about broken bones?

do you choose?  buttons or chocolate beneath the sheets?

although nothing nothing is ever without consequence.

even not-knowing is flagrant choice.  the way water rolls uphill.

even disbelievers count.  ten fingers ten toes.  matter matters.

how do you handle sadness, doubt, water wandering feet?

then again navigation is turn left turn right turn left turn right, you see.

what if choice is merely thought?  describe your thirst.

 

neil reid © april 2012

 
comments:
Write a “spiritual” poem, so asks the prompt.

Seems a fair enough request and challenge too. Delicate subject? Some ways yes, yet again, rather core to the notions of why are we here – of course! Although not to preach. Maybe even more, be not all too obvious? Bread crumbs. (I like that.) Make a question, make a wondering. Worthy I’d think. Like fish in the sea?

Written for the We Write Poems prompt #102 Poem spirits!.
Responses of others are linked here.

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how far down does the water go?

how far down does the water go?

further than your pockets, past your toes.
further than the holly tree you uprooted last year.
further than the wren, crow, even past the web-footed duck.
further than the pitcher that slipped and fell and spilled.
past strangers tears. past long dead relatives.
past the shovel forgotten and left out in the rain.
past the sorrow of that first best lost romance.
further than shoes misplaced when you moved.
further than mother’s first memory of a plum blossom
carpet floating over the fresh laid Spring valley floor.
past your birth. past your death. past any one life.
past consequence.
past the moon.

neil reid © january 2011

[commentary] List poems are like water to me. And its been raining of late.

Don’t do new year’s resolutions, but maybe this is what I do!

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Exception to the rule

prompt # 020
Exceptions To The Rule
by staff@wwp
Read the full prompt and poem responses by other participants.

Rules are made to be broken, some would say. Tell us about the rules you are willing to break, or not. What rules do you see carved in stone, or not. Any golden rules? Or how do you feel about others and their rules. Simmer, and see what poem comes. (Such was the prompt.)

Exception to the rule

Take one step forward. I didn’t.

Didn’t seem to disqualify conventionally.
Just that one unstep left to me.

Set loose the dogs of war. Slowly.

Took years of quandary to address.
Dire results either way perhaps.

Real consequence.

One I was willing to suffer, one not.
One marriage on the side, foolish counterweight.

An angel who saw and said the better truth.
Made the dogs surrender their bite.

Never happened, he said. So did they.

Not dismissed, rather, full measure expunged.

A lesser bitter after-taste I wondered about,
bare beyond that public field of debate?

Then one day a man shook my hand,
said, let me buy you lunch!

Honestly, that felt as odd as all the rest.

neil reid © september 2010

Process notations:
Obtuse, I know. Doing poems on the dime makes for unexpected results. This one is yet some uncomfortable to write. Obvious. (And my thanks for this prompt.)

Are you my generation? You’ll more understand (one way or the other way perhaps). Came a day when they said, son we want you to fight. I was perhaps agnostic at that time (no longer so), uncertain of near everything, yet one rule that seemed right when read to me, Thou shall not kill. Never heard an exception to that rule. No fight, no run I wanted to make, only one stance to adopt and so I did – refused to step into line. About as scared as I’ve ever been, but what other choice? Thus my stance and consequence.

More personal than political, although our actions do produce what result they do. Longish life as its been has taught me not to caste judgements so easily – of anyone, yet also that first I need answer to my own heart. Maybe admitting this might make you think the less of me? Yours to say, not mine. But ask me about “rules”, and here’s what I remember first. Maybe some rules are made to be broken. And others to be tested by the measure of our lives. ~neil

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