Zealously I sought
a miracle; hope was dashed.
This poem is late.
In Honolulu, mere hours.
In Kiribati, a whole day!
I have been writing based on the daily prompts at Writer’s Digest, which runs a “Poem-a-Day” Challenge in April. I’ve spent most of the month playing catch-up, but in the end, just didn’t.
There once was a church in Dumfries
That passed daylight hours at peace.
But when the dark fell,
the dead rang the bell
and the townsfolk danced in the streets.
Since you can’t, I want
to be sure that I grow more –
but an inch each day.
This is a “remix” poem – the original is here.
A thousand times a day
they caress me – some gentle,
some rough, impatient.
I know only that they go, not where
and the remaining balance
on their travel cards.
They brought these words home,
forced them to dance a new way
to serve their purpose
Their meaning ingrained
in the curvature of brush
yet unbound from sound
To meet or to match,
or to meet with misfortune?
Footprints? Bullet holes?
Braving a challenge
or dishonouring a god?
Contravening laws?
A permanent job
or comment on my lack of
popularity?
My one advantage
with my clearly other face –
no shame in asking
————
Japanese is written with a mix of alphabets, one of which was originally borrowed from China (known as kanji in Japanese, hanzi in Mandarin). The fit between the characters and the existing Japanese language was imperfect, and as Japanese does not have tones, this has created a lot of homophones, or words that are pronounced the same but have different meanings.
I dream of a day
when we have automated
the weaving of song
When no human
pours words into the darkness,
when soul does not speak
I dream of a day
when AI prints me $$$
and my brain can sleep
I have craved this need
for validation’s caress,
heart of this affair.
Toes indent on loam,
the breeze tickles with water –
I unfurl my leaves
Caroline Hutchinson 