Inconceivable – Poetry

2010 Thailand – H. Bullough

Inconceivable

I woke before you
But I waited,
You needed more sleep.

The alarm rolled you out of bed,
Into the shower.
You kissed me good morning –
Your hair still wet –
Slipped out of the room with a click.

The shower beckoned me –
I heard the call
But I waited,
Knowing you would return for
One more kiss to say goodbye
Before leaving….

Apparently sometimes a kiss
Does not mean what I think it means.

H. Bullough 4-28-2017

Inspired by a quote from The Princess Bride, which I have on a t-shirt.

Sunset Synthesis

Sunset Synthesis

That evening the lake
Hosted a convention of stars.
They floated in an array of sequined glory.
You threaded your fingers through mine –
Pulled me from my chair –
“Let’s go see the show.”

We sat on the pier – our legs dangled.
I shivered and you tucked me under your arm.
We watched the sun ripen
In a lemony slide toward the horizon –
I could smell it over the water.

You reached –
Plucked the skyfruit –
Squeezed it into a cerulean cup –
A juicy swirl of red, orange, yellow.
You drank and it made you glow.
“Leave me some.”

I reached –
The cup vanished.
Lingering drops of nectar
Glistened on your lips.
I kissed them off –
Sweet and hot fusion
Escalated through a florescent sky.
We rode the current – a twining helix of two.

When I opened my eyes
I saw that we were starlight.

H. Bullough 4-27-2017
Inspired by a poetry prompt at www.poetryprompts.tumblr.com.
Challenge: Write a poem with the phrase “and we were starlight.”

My UPS Driver Works for the CIA

IMG_4669 smaller

Not related to the poem below at all, but I liked the picture.

My UPS Driver Works for the CIA – Rictameter Verse

Stealthy.

He grabs the box –

Carries it to the door –

Stashes it where no one will see –

Runs to the waiting van and speeds away.

The dog stayed silent – No one saw.

She came – the dog bellowed.

Heeled shoes are not

Stealthy.

H. Bullough 4-21-2017

Please Understand, I’m Writing – Rictameter Verse

Rictameter Verse: Nine lines in the poem, and a strict syllable count — 
2 syllables in the first line, then 4 syllables in the next, then 6, then 8, then 10,
then 8, then 6, then 4, then 2 in the last, with the first line repeating itself in the last line.

Please Understand, I’m Writing

Sorry.
I want to say –
I can’t answer my phone
While I’m at work. It’s destructive.
Disorienting. I get yanked away –
Time and space shatter and I’m lost –
Will I find my way back?
Tell the prince, I’m
Sorry.

H. Bullough 4-21-2017

Abecedarian Daydreams

An abecedarian poem. This kind of poem starts each line with the next letter of the alphabet, in order. Why? Because I saw one on someone else’s blog and just had to try it. Besides, I always wanted an excuse to actually use that word. Did anybody else ever read the Children of the Lamp series, by P.B. Kerr?

Daydreams of Perfection

Analog or digital? I wonder, standing in the
Baking aisle at the supermarket.
Can’t cook without a timer.
Distractions happen.
Everything else gets
Forgotten. Burn the house to the
Ground if I’m not careful. A timer gives a measure of
Hope that all is not charcoal.
I may never be gourmet, but
Just once, I’d like my cookies
Kind to the teeth. Not
Like hockey pucks or something that begs for
Milk to help choke it down.
Nobody wants cookies like that. For
Once, I’d like them to be
Perfect. The kind you wake up in the
Quiet of night, mouth watering, unable to
Resist the temptation to
Sneak down the dark hall barefoot on cold
Tile floors, braving the Legos you
Unwisely thought could wait till morning to clean up. I have
Visions of pain and
Writhing on the floor because of a
Xyphoid piece of plastic. Digital, I decide.
You need precision to make cookies worth risking pain and nighttime
Zzz’s.

-H. Bullough 4-20-2017

Poetry On a Day With No Inspiration

Unamused

This Jealous Day ran off –
Stealing my muse for an intimate tete-a-tete.
Their betrayal hardened my heart and
Convinced me in deed,
There is nothing new under the sun.
Anything worth saying has long-since been said,
Even published on the internet.
Don’t believe it? Ask Google.

Until at sunset,
Clouded in a perfume of rain,
She gusted through the front entry
In a flurry of pages, and slammed the kitchen door.
She found me despairing over a white page,
Kissed my head in apology,
And combed cool fingers through my hair.

Though I know her contrition is short-lived,
Her sisterly attention reminded me –
The world overlooked the red maple leaves
Teeter-tottering in the rain –
Wet spatters against the window.

She revealed vivid red, yellow, and green
Painted over a backdrop of gray clouds.
Together, we listened to the far-off thunder,
Telling of a fearless adventurer
Seeking refuge in the mountains.

Even the cat cried out in sympathy –
But perhaps she was just hungry.

-H. Bullough 4-18-2017

Good Things Are Coming

IMG_5125 resized for blogWhat a Long Time It’s Been.

Roughly three years. That’s how long it’s been since I have posted anything on this site. There was a lot of personal stuff happening that just sort of blew my writing efforts out of the water. But somehow, things seem to be unlocking for me now and I am back to writing. I am so grateful.

I have another blog that hasn’t been so dormant. It’s more about life and personal stuff. If you are interested, you can check it out at www.weatheringthejourney.com.

Here it’s about my writing. The struggles, growth, conferences, poetry, vignettes, stuff like that. I’ve been working at it for a while, so I’m not so much of a newbie, but I haven’t taken steps to get published yet, either. Maybe soon.