30 Day Poetry Challenge - Day Five

Day Five - Make something. Anything! Write a poem about your spontaneous
making experience.



Made to Order


What did I make… what did I make…
What did I really make, today?

I made my bed.
Messy, unsightly mass of lumpy rags
In desperate need of smoothing...
I flattened and folded and tidily tucked in
To reinforce the façade of order.

I made my way;
I set out on a journey;
The bumps sought to break me,
The hills tried to wear me down,
But I kept my wits about me
And made it ‘cross the finish line.

I made my choices.
I uncertainly lobbed pebbles down
Into the infant stream
And set the course
For the southbound raging river
Of destiny… let’s see where it goes.

I made my daily dough;
Walked in, sat down, punched in
Tuned out, piped up, nodded off,
Drank up, hunkered down,
Stood up, clocked out, and drove off…
Job well done.

I made an ass of myself
(I do that sometimes… I’m doing it now)
Perhaps it’s just a thought,
A doubt, a word, or an idea,
But my brain didn’t sync up with my mouth
Before I vomited up stupidity.

What did I really make today?
I aimed for the stars, but failed to launch,
And now I’m making excuses.
So I grabbed a Sharpie and some paper;
Made a stick-figure Mona Lisa…
She may not look like much,
But she ties the room together.

Rebirth

Rebirth

By Brandon Palzkill

What had he accomplished,

when all was said and done?

What did it amount to?

He took stock of his life;

explored the consequences

of ill-fated decisions

and poorly conceived ideas;

individual threads

spun into the web

that was his failed existence…

As each wasted moment

flickered through his memory,

the web became a net,

entangling

and constricting,

as fine strands of despair

wrapped tightly around

his throat.

He gasped and choked

on his own shortcomings,

clawing at the growing walls

trapping him within,

desperate for freedom.

Yet, each silken strand

carried its own silver lining;

the promise of change.

He stopped and took notice;

found the surrounding web

was so much more than some mere trap

to bind him to his own

sinking disappointment.

Finally, he saw it for what it was;

a cocoon; a catalyst;

the spark of metamorphosis,

destined to transform him.

Isolated in

his converting chrysalis,

he waited for the

transmutation; the rebirth;

waited for his ideas

and decisions

to spawn the man

he was meant to be.

It’s been a slow transition,

but he’s been patient;

he sees the change within,

sees the world change around him,

and knows he’ll finally be

himself.