Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 7
Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November.
Topic : Write a poem about a cherished possession. (bonus points if said possession is a book or other piece of art)
Form : Any
Line requirements: 8 to 12
Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish.
Questions?
A reminder that everyone is welcome to participate, and that 4 in 30 days is better than zero in 30 days. Game on.
Also, a reminder that you can catch up as you wish.
Teresa of Avila
Wrote 'the way of perfection'.
It belonged to my grandad.
What is a schizophrenic
scientist in the sixties
supposed to do but to pray
to the patron saint of insanity
his Lithium does it's job.
Tiger,
You've got to stop doing this!
First it was the most "overrated"
now it's something I cherish;
you're making me think too much!
Most dear to me is my dog,
but he's not a possession,
rather a companion, and we're
bound at the hip like Siamese Twins
and possess each other.
But if I had to choose an object
I guess it would be text of Ulysses
the Modern Library edition.
I have copies spread about,
one in New Mexico, another
in a mouse ridden cabin in Lometa, Texas
and two here where I live.
Happy now?
Almost Complete
My Kindle’s not a book– it’s many:
almost all, except for any
Amazon declines to publish
in her brass-bra’d woke-ish death wish.
I love my e-book regardless,
cover bulged, screen dim, Bluetooth-less
for its ever-present window
on the text-thought universe. No
dead-tree leaves of print to lug,
just one small volume, spare and snug.
Rope
My prayer rope weighs
so much in my hand
or on my chest yet
almost nothing in my pocket.
One night I dreamed I was
just outside the Hagia Sophia
searching for a silver cross
to wear for after my baptism.
There were so many people---
I used to wipe so many tears
with the rope's tassel, but now
I barely cry when I cry out
"Lord, have mercy!" however much
the days grow dark.
Goodbye
A faded pooh bear from birth--
It sits on my shelf,
silently contemplating
behind the film of dust
on its small black eyes.
Contemplating honey.
I cannot supplant my original
love and interest in it, so I
gave it to my little sister
She adores it.
(11-07-2022, 10:21 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote: [ -> ]Tiger,
You've got to stop doing this!
First it was the most "overrated"
now it's something I cherish;
you're making me think too much!
Most dear to me is my dog,
but he's not a possession,
rather a companion, and we're
bound at the hip like Siamese Twins
and possess each other.
But if I had to choose an object
I guess it would be text of Ulysses
the Modern Library edition.
I have copies spread about,
one in New Mexico, another
in a mouse ridden cabin in Lometa, Texas
and two here where I live.
Happy now? Getting there 
The Great Divorce
When we were first married
we bought books
faster than we could read them.
Garage sales were godsends;
every week you'd come home
with a dozen classics
for less than a buck--
some of them leatherbound.
In the separation, she didn't want them
and my one-bedroom apartment
looked like the Library of Congress
twice smart-bombed.
I saved the signed Burroughs,
the first addition Steinbeck, the Rabelais
and a couple C.S. Lewis...
(Kerouac's "Safe in Heaven Dead" pocketbook
was and is non-negotiable)
but the rest
I'm almost ready to part with.
It’s one of a kind-
they all are- those old
mine cut diamonds. Like the one
in my grandfather’s ring
that he gave to my father,
who gave it to me, and I then
gave to my son.
I never really knew
my grandfather, but I do know
where a part of him went.