Prayer
Prayer
I wish I could pray every day,
Over dinner or at bedtime
Or anytime during the day perhaps.
I would say I have nothing to
Pray about, but that would be a lie.
I have plenty to pray for, both for
Myself and for others.
All I would need to do is
Clasp my hands, bow my head,
Talk to God.
Then my hands become repelling
Magnets, my head, full of helium.
My prayers stay stuck in my throat,
Choking my soul.
On occasion, I vomit up these
Words caught up inside,
Spewing out of my eyes and mouth,
Screaming a silent scream as
The rain streams down my face.
It's either this, or the prayers
Frozen in place would chill my heart,
Turn me to stone, kill my spirit.
More Posts from J-i-poetry and Others
Desert Cherry Blossom
Under lacey shade and golden rain
Desert cherry blossom trickles
Bright desert light onto a bed of pebbles.
A verdin hops branches, calling all the time
Honeyed warble from blue-green twigs.
Florid sprigs along crooked boughs,
Silken sun-drops flit to the ground.
Bees delight in their bounty,
Bobbing from petals, bringing new life.
Soon, these skirts are traded for
Seeds, their pods forage for locals.
Gifts abound from smooth-barked
Florida, this Parkinsonia blessing
All who alight in and around her
Resplendent wings.
on the one hand, extremely funny to get told “get help” by a fortune cookie, on the other, i can’t believe betterhelp has breached influencers and podcasters and started getting fortune cookies to shill for them
Book Release
Hi Guys!
So, my book is finally out. If you want to check it out, I would be eternally grateful. And if you enjoy it, please consider leaving a review (but absolutely no pressure). Some of it was inspired by my fics!
Links to the book are in my bio. If the links give you any trouble just search "Under Your Nails poetry" on Amazon. Thanks :)
Snippets below:
I'm tagging my masterlist people since you guys read my stuff :) So sorry if you get tagged twice.
Between 183 and Liberty Church
The spot near the plastics plant,
Bare earth scooped neatly into mounds,
Preparations for a new recycling plant.
Skittering along the debris of a
Previously undisturbed wild,
Before my memories formed.
Eating hot pink clovers that tasted like
Sweet carrots, as mama said they would,
My little brother hopping in the lazy puddles.
This disturbed earth not a quarter mile
From my new home on the outskirts of town,
Our lot barely having grown it's beard of grass.
The newest children in my small neighborhood
(if there are any) Will never know this place
Apart from where their fathers might work
The spot between the 183 and Liberty Church
Where once was trees and clovers
Where once kids scrambled over piles of dirt
Where once all seemed well in the world
Where earliest memories were made
THE METEOROLOGIST SAYS SUN
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