Lay your eggs, Nature says. Lay your eggs, Biology says. Lay your eggs, Fate says. You’re the youngest you'll ever be again And that's not long at all. Not anymore. Caterpillars can't see the horizon But you're almost at the finish line. With only days to fly, Your flaps are numbered. Wings irrelevant after a…
Poem prompt: "Today’s daily resource is the online galleries of the Whitney Museum, where you’ll find artwork as varied as this fun portrait of Billie Jean King, a Frank Stella sculpture that looks like what would happen if a space station fell in love with a bridge, and this contemporary take on the classic embroidered sampler. And now for today’s prompt…
Today I found beauty in depression, in the pre-Raphaelite art of tragic characters. It is not my intention to romanticize self-harm, but rather see the beauty that lies even in the darkest of outlooks. I find, for me, that gives my depression value, and me a boost of confidence in the expression. 988 Suicide and…
An antisocial anti-establishment poem in the guise of an angry bird. Just because. CW: contains swearing. Poem prompt: "Our resource for the day is the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The museum’s online image collection is practically endless, and to call it varied would be an understatement. There’s over 2,000 images just of baseball cards! To say nothing of candelabra…
Veering slightly off-prompt again today, to write my true emotions, thanking my mother for her example rather than anything specific she taught me to do. Our old house just went up for sale again, and I'm having feelings. Poem prompt: "Today’s daily resource is the Uffizi Gallery, in Florence, Italy. If you are at all interested…
On to actually-today's prompt! I really like this one, and riding high off the concert I went to last night I am freshly inspired by song lyrics. There's one good thing that came of my friends all ditching me a few years ago. It gave me some new trauma to delve into with my art.…
A cave that seems a stone’s throw wide feels safe, a haven from searching storms, until curious children hear the clatter of the chasm paddle-pressing the pebbles down a flat scale, descending to a baritone staccato echo only a wraith hidden in mist could purr. Hours pass until a hollow plop unveils the dark rippling…
Daddy's been dead for 20 years. Sometimes I feel I'm still stuck at the age he left me. Eleven years old right after my first period. It's interesting he chose to take his own life right when I entered puberty. Maybe it's coincidence. But from my perspective, he didn't want to meet teen me. Not…
Dragging arms under shadows of cedars, the string-torn marionette finds comfort in the darkness of webbed branches blocking lunar spotlights from shouting her position: here, knee inverted like a bird, there, arm twisted behind back, now, neck at ninety degrees, then, spine stretched under split legs. But all the pain of twisted threads is worth…
Shrub roses raspberry and spiderwortpurple by the locked garden gateonce colored rainbow our irises, but since my sentence started, I find smiling buds distasteful.I don't want to spit on their blooms,but dark clouds close in like wallssuffocating my view. It’s possible I could let the sunshine in…through fence picket prison bars.Tunnel vision was fated by…
National Poetry Writing Month
Keeping the world immersed in stanza.
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"The silence of the night awakens my soul"
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Saralyn Caine Poetry 