Damn this life.

Damn its empty existence.

I once was young , you know.

 

What was the purpose, the destiny..........it seems to have passed me by.

These waters I see before me I don't understand, I'm sure they in turn care not for me.

So let this solitary bay deal with this shabby hat that I cast away in distress.

 

I have become a sea apart from human understanding and a universe of separation from the answer to why.

I seek not reciprocity, agreement or amnesty.

My body sags limp inside baggy pants, my mind downcast, I'm saddened by a departure of faith.

Alone in mind, frozen in snapshot time.

 

The now of soft water is lapping at my feet, inexplicably soothing my uninspired woes.

It's not my age that hampers nor the white of hair.

It is the unknowing of my genesis in a universe guided by entropy that speeds evermore rapidly to empty.

What is my destiny? Do I ever get to know?

 

So alone I remain frozen in photographic poise, eyes and head downcast in despair.

Yet in defiance the might of my right arm rebels and flings my hat.

Could it be my reverie searching for some time before or possibly a better heavenly after?   

 

I'll wait a moment before I look up to see if that hat will float away or chance a route of return.

Life is but happenstance with a probability ring.

So will my mindless hat, by gentle wave-assist, return to me or slowly drift away without a solitary care?

Returning a sign to hope and pray; drifting away a sign to remain apart in an uninspired way.

 

 

           With Pen In Hand      Richard Carr

With pen in hand we scratch a page
with etchings from our hearts.
These markings form the letters
of the words to which they’re parts.
And the words, in turn, become the means
by which we bare our souls
and speak our minds in lines of rhyme …
we poets and our poems.

 Of course, words alone cannot express
the wonders life presents
to each and every one of us
from birth until our death.
And, despite our “crafty penmanship”
and clever use of words,
the truths we write and read and speak
have yet to find a cure                  
                                                                               
            
 for the illnesses and madnesses
 which plague the human race.
 And so, we poets must keep writing,
 ever writing, just in case
some one of us, come someday,
pens the world’s most perfect poem
which maintains its rhyme and rhythm
in every language ever known.
 
It will likely be a simple piece
that’s easy to recite
which our kids will learn and
share for fun with giggles of delight.
And it will touch our “better spirits”
as if God had pushed the pen
to help this world of foes transition to
a globe of peaceful friends.

 Copyright©2016 Richard Carr
                                                            

Moonset On Sunset Beach                  Richard  Carr
 
As the moon sets on Sunset at six-thirty a.m.
a new day is beginning to dawn.
The ocean is calm while mere traces of waves
wash ashore causing barely a sound.
The birds are hunting their prey in the usual way.
The only thing out of place here is me.
And, as I watch the moon sink upon the western horizon,
the first rays from the sun to the east kiss the beach.

 Soon the masses will arrive with their
bundles of civilization to spread on the sand.
There’ll be young boys and girls and grown women and men.
here to play, or to just work on their tans.
Then, come the end of this day, they’ll pack up
their belongings and go home … but their footprints will remain.
But now … it's moonset on Sunset ... all is peaceful and calm.
Such sweet moments in life keep me sane.

Copyright ©2014 Richard Carr
email:  roeandrich@att.net

                            FADED PHOTO                                Nick Kalvin MD

                                    Each day, I blow a kiss, to your photo
                                             Above my dresser, then go on my way.
                                   That old  picture, so long up on the wall
                                             Last few years, that the colors fade away
 
                                   Happy people, birds, waves, beach, golden sun,
                                            All seem to dim as I reach eighty years.
                                   You two, first son Tom, me in uniform.
                                            If I look too long, my eyes blur with tears.
 
                                     Wish we could go back, lovely Mom, dear Dad,
                                           Instead, I move forward,  use up each day...
                                   So, please tell  me, just how is it, where
                                           Loved ones stay and never fade away?

                               

                                    Copyright 2015 Nick Kalvin

 

WINNER OF OUR SHORT STORY/POETRY PROMPT

Uninspired Fling                                                          Don Erdek

This is a collection of some of our members short stores and poetry. Stop back often as the entries will change from time to time.
​Views are the explicit opinion of each author and not that of Marco Island Writers. Caution: Some content is graphic in nature.  


Prose and Poetry.

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