Not all penguins like the cold,
many live in warmer climes.
From Africa to Oceania
they squawk and wobble
in sea and sun.
Not all penguins like the cold,
many habitats shine like souls.
Their cheery demeanour
is a brighter feature
than ice covered skies could find.
Not all penguins like the cold,
leave your assumptions at the door.
Not all penguins like the cold,
as many live for more.
Italics of imagination…
Ah, the freedom of creativity.
My tale is not one of the tortured artist.
Doubtless I have carved statues from my pain,
Obliquely however, as it doesn’t fuel me.
Instead, it was merely a dark cloud that followed me.
Now, I reside on a plateau that the clouds cannot reach.
Gratitude is a seed that’s nourished roots of abundance.
My creativity freed me from the shackles of the black dog,
Undeterred, I use its collar as a crown.
Could that my younger self could feel the reverberating ripples of hope.
How he would smile for me now.
Boldly, I encourage others to follow their passions….
Eternally grateful for the gifts mine bestowed upon me.
Torrid times are no more.
Today I smile where once I shuddered.
Eventually, hard work met opportunity.
Right… on… time.
Styx and tomes waylay my soul
but Olympus never scared me.
I plucked and shorn a Minotaur
and found it mighty hairy.
Styx and tomes are cold to hold
Their tales are often haunting.
I won’t be beat, I find my heat
Like Vesuvian molten vaulting.
Styx and tomes may take their toll
yet coins they are aplenty.
They pass through hands like timeless sands
yet silver cannot tempt me.
Styx and tomes are not my home,
In truth they can’t confine me.
Think not the page, but check the stage,
for there you’re bound to find me.
It has to rhyme, says the guy with the pie
and be sure to add some flourishing lines.
Check on the metre like emergency credit
and if you tell me the rules I’ll say
“nah mate, for forget it.”
A template is a shell in place of a seed,
so grow your own writing
and at your own speed.
The thaw that froze
tempered one’s rise like half-evaporated droplets.
When cold winds return
and Spring turns false,
remember the truth that lies within.
Foolish fuckers say “tell us a joke”,
Unaware, they choose to “be that bloke.”
Now would you ask a builder to do work for free?
Nah, instead let’s look at etymology.
For I can educate you more using Haggard Hawks,
Undo the damage of squawk and gawk.
Not gonna go on BGT,
Nah fuck that, it just ain’t me.
Forward thinking from the underground,
Until solid roots are all that surround.
Now if I wanted a cheap gag I could compare that to Jada,
Not me though, I’d rather quote Darth Vader.
Acrostic etymology, it’s right on the money,
Y you ask? Man, that’s funny.
If you ask me how to get to the top
I couldn’t tell you.
While mistakes can be alchemised
transmuting trauma
and forging futures front foot forward
I have also danced upon the edge of despair.
I’ve driven myself mad
deciphering depression
and analysing anxiety.
So while I bask in favourable fortunes
I shan’t look to explain them.
Instead,
I shall enjoy the rippling winds of change
and appreciate the pleasure of this moment.
Today I’ve embraced the official prompt of using an entry from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.
For three fortnights I’ve pondered
as the diorama spun-
splintering inside my fractured mind.
“I’m aware it’s a game,”
“I’m aware that it’s a no.”
I’m aware I was tripping balls
but it’s an opportunity to grow.
In that realm context brought pain,
sautéed synapses soaked in regret.
Why does everything have to relate to everything
when you’re finding it hard to relate to anything?
Yet I stood tall, I owned the wrong I did to others.
I refused to partake in cruelty even in a realm defined by it.
But now, I must right the wrongs in how I’ve treated myself.
While the official prompt of parody would ordinarily be hugely inspiring and lend itself to comedy I’m a little burned out tonight after a long and busy day.
It’s beginning to look a lot fuck this
inspiration is a no;
Take a look at the lines, no surprise
it’s pissing me off again.
With tough times and hard lines yano.
Today’s official NaPoWriMo prompt of creating a poem for an occasion that doesn’t usually herald a poem was an odd one in that one can write a poem about anything. Nonetheless I went with previewing tonight’s Impact Rebellion main event of Rich Swann vs Kenny Omega in a title vs title match where the winner will hold both the All Elite Wrestling and Impact Wrestling world championships.
Three belts.
Two titles.
One main event.
Both travelled to Japan.
Honing their craft
in the Asian independents.
“We’ll face each other one day”.
They could never imagine
it being like this.
The forbidden door swung open
pushed forth by the force of an Invisible Hand.
Two champions walked through.
But when the squared circle becomes a shapeless memory…
… only one will remain.
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