A story of reading

National Poetry Writing Month is upon us again. And so, the dormant writer brain rises from its long rest, and takes the first step toward seeing if it's still any good at this sort of thing... 

Today's prompt is based on a book cover. The one I'm working from is here. 

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A length of tendon rebounds

like a loaded guitar string - 

feels like an "A." 

Something dramatic, 

poetic, 

worthy 

of medieval illumination.

Next comes the word,

and it fizzes 

under the nails

like an unqualified acquaintance 

has wired the socket -

hairs on end, 

voltage meter questionable. 

But we plough forward. 

Plow? No, not yet - 

edit later. 

For now, the opening salvo, 

and the covering fire, 

and the last, defining volley. 

Ride the lightning. 

Discussions

Gone is the need

for patience. 

Now, he can simply 

wear the suit 

and walk in screaming - 

that usually leads 

the whole room 

to a satisfying uproar, 

and then he can sit back 

and wait 

for the high walls 

of propriety 

to crumble like shattered glass. 

Job done. 

Hierarchy

Another weekly work, this one sneaking in just under the wire. 

_________________________________________________

At last, 

we've built

a sturdy foundation

on the bones and dust

of nothing but

a thousand years

of someone else's

progress. 

Now, 

pomp and ceremony

akin to celebration,

brandishing hellfire,

lauding

the most vicious 

enthusiasts' work

and children ascending

as angels - 

but is it divine?

A thousand eyes, wings,

and a reach long enough

to touch men's souls? 

The knowledge of things

previously unknown, 

riches forbidden

to the lessors?

We thought not - 

and yet, here,

with sarcastic flourish, 

we are. 

Destinations

Starting a new project with friends - writing one piece per week based on a shared theme/prompt. 

This one is late, and feels unfinished, but also feels sort of complete. Not sure where to take it from here, so this is how it stands. 

_________________________________________________

The car rattled and made a sudden heaving motion - worse than before - and driver gifted passenger another repentant smile. 

"She's never let me down before," driver said, giving the well-dusted dashboard a somewhat less than inspired pat. The gesture was akin to a professional sport coaches' reassurances that his star player was definitely, totally, assuredly, no-way-no-how, not in the middle of a slump. 

Passenger sighed and made no effort to hide a heavy mixture of doubt and annoyance. 

It may not have been so disconcerting were they traveling on a more well used roadway. This one - never mind being surrounded by a forest so foreboding it would have given Bigfoot second thoughts - had apparently been forgotten, a theory well-supported by faded paint lines and a slalom of axle-bending potholes. 

Despite the vehicle's age, driver managed to navigate these obstacles well enough to keep the voyage in progress, but passenger feared that if they were ever forced to stop, forward momentum would never be regained. 

"I suppose this is a bad time to remind you that I said we should have taken the other exit," passenger said.