Discolored past

Photo by Sue Vincent

The rocks mark the ground
between prospering weeds enriched
by the warmth of a sun surging overhead,
encircling those of us interred
on a planet whose
percussive heartbeat rocks me to sleep.

I sense the presence of wildflowers,
of ants scurrying together in the dirt,
of life — too bountiful to count or name — 
thriving in the darkness or 
at least out of sight — 
I dare not note a difference in perspective.

Photos remain after we pass on
a gentle breeze that thoughtlessly turns
blacks to sepia, discoloring too many memories
otherwise cruelly lost
in darkness 
though the sun shines tomorrow.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2020

My first poem of the new year! Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub Open Mic Night #257

Written for:


Chill

Photo by Sue Vincent

As I leap into middle age 
                    (knuckles white)
I wonder if the greatest adventure 
is merely to breathe 
                    (snow meets altruistic land)

In a world spinning its wheels, 
                    (frigid morning scrubs icy)
the eager sound can’t whine for change,
stale taste of winter
                    (skin burning with the chill)

The calendar will jump to Spring
                    (teeth rattle loose)
anticipation blooming every dewy night
I snore away
                    (gray hair wind-blown)


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Chill #writephoto as well as Free Verse Revolution’s December Writing Prompt #2: to breathe.

Submitted for the dVerse Poetics Pub Thursday OpenLinkNight #256.


My memory (to come)

My murky memory extrapolates the smoke, 
pixelated recollections somewhere in the cache 
that clears itself (a grasp slackens)
as I hasten to replace lost echoes 
with reminiscences to come,
not forgotten among the ash,
rising breathless if we dare stretch.

The future — always fuzzy like sleep 
that won’t rub out of our eyes — changes 
every time we look at it, as we push forward 
carrying the momentum of those better angels 
urging us to grow our own wings 
and launch ourselves to join those 
refusing to leave progress to others. 

Time will tell what tales we create, 
proceeding weightless where we dare.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for Go Dog Go Cafe’s Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge (leaving) and Free Verse Revolution’s December Writing Prompt #1 (time will tell) and dVerse Poetics “Less is more, more or less


Cracked ice

What monsters creep
on broken ice, cracks
beneath the weight of overlarge
beasts,
frigid footfalls frozen
in the night?

Is it the chill
or fear that has me
clattering,
clamoring
for warmth and home,
hounded by unseen glaciers,
winter’s snowy persistence
tapping my shoulder.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Submitted to the dVerse Poets Pub Quadrille #92: Take a crack at poeming and the Free Verse Revolution November Writing Prompt #3: monsters.

My first collection of poems is available at Amazon now! Check it out!


One perspective

The caged butterfly beats wings
against captivity, hostage to forces
beyond the walls imprisoning it. 
Arresting (and attractive) orange 
(dotted with black) elegance — 
I am enchanted by such
spunky thrashing against its netted bondage,
beauty bound for something more.

What makes me move on past 
the incongruous scene (set behind 
an inhibiting screen) is the thought
(or is it hope?) that the lattice serves as shield,
protecting the gentle innocence within,
armor against the elements — a matter
of perspective authentically mine,
beset with doubts until it’s out of view.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for so many prompts:


Stuck in a vase

What intimacy in a rose — 
unafraid to draw blood, it
entangles (or ensnares) all brave enough
to reach (stuck in that moment)
for a thrill.

Its perfume no longer pricks 
my nose (in moments overcome 
by desire I stick my nose in) 
bred instead for its petals —
so red (or pink).

I’ll let this rose rest in a vase,
passion burning in tepid water
(I must remember to change
the water) — safe from plucky hands
(and fingerprints).


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for the Free Verse Revolution October Writing Prompt #5 : “roses”


Scars

These memories may thaw but 
they refuse to melt away — 
stubborn stains impervious to
my meticulous clawing. 
Blankets and band-aids cover scars
but the scorn burns — contempt 
for what was and won’t be.

We lack agency in our most
chilling moments, coughing 
against whatever fate has consigned
to us (Did I cough when
you left? That particular
memory escapes me) futilely
clutching a blanket for warmth.


Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019

Written for Free Verse Revolution October Writing Prompt #4 : scars