Daily Citadel: 12/04/2022 - 12/10/2022
12/04/2022
Welcome to the Glass Citadel! This week, you can expect a different poem every day. I can think of no better way to begin Glass Citadel Poetry than to dive head first into creation. Thank you for reading, and be sure to follow to stay up to date.
12/05/2022
Instagram; "The Boat"
There was a boat floating down the
creek. It was dinghy, and small,
and its passengers had all already
jumped overboard.
So it wound its way beneath the
canopy, fading with the twilight.
It descended into a world it could
not believe.
It beached on the bank between
some boulders and trees. And
there it sat.
As the moon rose
and then fell.
As the sun rose
and then fell.
And again, and again, and again.
Its wood was weathered
by termites and squirrels,
chewed and clawed so that
it could never sail again.
But that’s okay.
Just because it is beached, and just
because it was made to tread the lakes
and oceans, does not mean the boat
hates the forest.
It loves it.
As the water dried up, and the forest
consumed the boat more and more,
it gave itself willingly to the animals
and the plants it had come to love.
When the boat was beached, its story
was never over: it had only just begun.
Twitter; "I spoke to some flounders..."
I spoke to some flounders yesterday:
They weren’t too happy.
I tried to explain homonyms,
And that it wasn’t an insult but rather
a coincidence:
They didn’t buy it.
I guess I see their point;
I mean, could you imagine if the word
Failure also meant human?
Like, it’s a separate definition,
But would you ever really separate it
in your head?
From now on, call them Dounts.
That’s what they told me to say.
12/06/2022
Instagram; "The Blueprint"
Paper clips. Thread and needle. Scotch
tape. Nails. Staples. A disused washcloth.
— The Heart will be put
back together, again.
Twitter; "Somewhere, a child mourned..."
Somewhere, a child mourned
their driveway chalk masterpiece
as winter came without mercy.
And when the snow cleared the next day,
it melted to water and flowed until
the person the child drew was crying.
At least the crying child did not feel alone.
Tomorrow, the child, with their chalk,
will begin the process all over again.
12/08/2022
Instagram; "The Reflection and The Shadow Talk"
As I stand before the mirror,
my reflection
rises and argues
with my shadow.
“Which one is the real one?”
they argue endlessly.
Neither
of them ever make a point
of addressing me, as if they
couldn’t see.
Twitter; "Red"
Red
from the new Sun’s glow
comes through the trees
like
an old best friend.
We greet each other.
I smile,
and ask ‘just where the hell
you’d been?’
I think you give a little shrug,
or at least the best a color could.
You say ‘the night’s are getting longer.
Just the time of the year,
or something.’
I guess that’s okay.
You say ‘the clouds are coming’
and that you have
to go.
I say ‘you just got here.’
You say ‘I know.’
‘You better be here tomorrow.’
The red just laughs and says
‘I will.’
The colors get subdued.
Red is gone,
and the sky is now
just blue.
Just blue.
12/09/2022
Instagram; "Ivory Tower"
You sit in your Ivory Tower
and ignore the mob of
elephants down below.
“Barbaric!” “Monster!”
ring the cries from their
trumpet-trunks, a symphony
of righteous indignation.
From the Gates of Ivory
come all the worst ideas.
Next year, you’ll just use marble
and pray the statues don’t wake.
Twitter; "All the Meters Below"
The rain always seems to pour
the hardest when the sky was
the sunniest only a moment before.
Sometimes the clouds
don’t even bother at all.
And you rarely hear your voice
when you’re talking except when
you’re looking for what’s wrong.
But yelling at change to change
won’t change a thing at all.
So join up with the tide;
roll with the waves (and the punches)
and stay above the water
no matter the depth.
All the meters below don’t
matter when you’re trying to float.
Don’t let the clock tell the time
when you can see how it flies
for yourself when you try.
An alarm doesn’t tell you
how to live, only when to start.
Start living now.
12/10/2022
Instagram; "An Apple"
falls
and smashes
hard
against the
g r o u n d.
The worm that’s inside
slithers out and then cries
For its home
lies in pieces
before it.
It can’t repair it
(worms don’t have hammers).
Worms also don’t have insurance.
The late bird then comes by
and spies with its eyes
the little sad worm
crying over its home.
Just this once,
despite the aphorism,
the bird gets the worm
because good things come
to those who wait
(for tragedy to do the brunt of the work).
Twitter; "When it Rains"
When it rains that’s just
A cloud crying
Because the wind went and
Blew it
Far from its home
And it’s over our hills it just
Don’t understand.
The clouds hate the wind
Because they just cannot
Resist,
Though they insist.