David Wright - Daily Quordle Poem

Tribalism

BASIS for judgment: norms applied to strangers,
WAIVEd for self long ago-the good now a strange
VAPOR, true north obscured many turnings past.
IRONY: pilgrimage shifted to crusade and trafficked away the pilgrim.

Story of Body and Spirit

PUBIC, crotch, groin: words flare in creature’s attention,
ENNUI, lost purpose drags on spirit’s fragile state.
UNDUE focus might choose body, might choose spirit, thus not
EXCEL at story of body and spirit, thus pick threads from aa seamless garment.

Flinty Finn MacCool

FLINTy Finn MacCool,
FLAILs his blistered hand, nurses wound, imbibes
HAZEL juice, is transformed, a Salomon among druids-stands out for wisdom like
RUMBA dancer at a minuet.

Excerpt from the book "At Home In Nature, A User's Guide" by Mary Choate and Aaron Brachfeld, which cover the significant of hazelnuts and the salmon of wisdom in the story of Finn MacCool. — Excerpt from the book “At Home In Nature, A User’s Guide” by Mary Choate and Aaron Brachfeld, which cover the significant of hazelnuts and the salmon of wisdom in the story of Finn MacCool.

I Know

UNCLE Claudius knows not that I know.
BEGUN, with father’s ghost appearing: dread,
GROWN now, till no redemption path remains.
SAFER to be born a serf to serfs with no ambition.

Dauntless

LARGE ants,
LEECH filled puddles,
MUDDY sidewalks: these can’t make me
SHIRK my quest. There’d better be Wi-Fi, though.

Grant Me Something Real

ENDOW skill, senses, for living anew, I plead.
TWEETs, hyper ephemeral form, form of
COVER-in everything the meaning’s veiled,
AUDIT can only document traces of what has vanished.

Hidden Door

DONUTs in the parking lot late one winter night,
GNASHes of stress fall away, dissolved in moment’s joy,
RECURrence is rare, this hidden door to another self.
SHYLY wonder: do others have, not door, but thoroughfare?

Gamboling

HAREM of new lambs
GAILY gambols over pasture
TRITE though it be, their cuteness
KNEADs youth into stiff joy muscles.

The Word that Almost Won

SHALL this be the Quordle Poem that got away?
DWELL I hence in shadow of defeat,
CRUST of loss replacing victory’s feast in decay?
WILLY: the word that near would not complete.

A Reckoning

ADEPT in ordering our affairs, or not, yet comes the time:
PLEAD with our maker, if we can name him, for healing, for more days.
COMET appears and carves its warning path. A table of precepts,
DECALog’s worth, arraigns, heralds judgment, forces pleas for grace.