Author: David Wright

Empty Spaces

CEDAR chest of records in the attic:
RUMBAs, Bossa Nova, sheets of sound,
WIDOW enjoyed the listening, but her husband queued them up.
TITHE of memory has tripled, the present will soon be tithe.

ISSUE there was none for them, are the memories her children?
MOUNT Yesterday recedes, is all to be downslope?
OVOID remembrance; might it hatch a new life?
SANER ramblings unsettle less, yet are uncharged with hope.

WOMAN fumbles through the actions of the morning, toasts a
BAGEL, makes the coffee, always too much coffee for one.
SUPERimposesd are scripts and sounds with him.
ARISE. Somehow walk into an empty day, and wonder if its spaces might fill again.

The Big Catching up, A Draft

Note: I’m 21 days behind, and it’s time to get back on track. This will take some work.

Prelude

QUELL my fears and now adopt
GUISE of Dante or Vergil, paying long verse no
UNDUE trepidation. I steel myself, face slightly
PALER, but my spirit game: 21 Quordle days in one poem herewith!

TRAWL ephemera, gather flotsam, harvest words found as bread on the desert floor:
CRUDE data will be shaped, threads be woven, scattered stones gathered for structure’s plan.
BRAVEry of consciousness: scram, particles and pulses, we declare history in your stead.
FURRY scamperings in the woods are naught, we undertake tales: this forest will be our Arden.

Our Protagonist Awakes

HAZEL tree in forest’s heart, our protagonist coming to, drowsing among root limbs.
REACT! Eyes open. Slow intake of scene, slower recognition.
SPOKE he: “I’ve lost my bearings, have wandered from the straight path. I can
CHART some meanderings, a life so aimless, but cannot recall what got me here”.

WRUNG from him thus regret at his poor accounting of life’s way, his poor passing of time, Time
TAKER of life, unstayed hand that pushed him stumbling on the path. Memories return: fearsome
TROLLs along the way–fled, survived, yey lighter in unearned purse and bruised for wear. Some rare memories
ELATE, spark joy of higher tale, the strong pace on a narrow path, the journey briefly right. Yet most memories condemn:

QUACK, he. Seller of surface of himself, the appearance of wisdom; he is mercenary, counter of
SCALPs, climber and pusher, treader down of souls for gain. He had sought a lush estate, not the
DRIER sands, the waterless wastes of a life mis-lived. As he recollects he rues the main motif:
FOLLY. Self-declared self-sovereign, supposed master of himself, he has serfed his life for folly.

A new chapter

STAMP
BONEY
TRACE
CLOVE

LOWLY
CORAL
PLANK
AMISS

LIBEL
SAVVY
VAULT
TROLL

COBRA
CORNY
MINCE
CHILI

PASTA
RABID
UNFIT
CURLY

JUROR
BUSED
SAPPY
VYING

SHORN
FRIAR
THREE
UNTIE

HORDE
LOSER
GUSTO
PRONE

DUVET
BLAST
FILMY
CEASE

BRIDE
TILDE
LOWER
REVEL

AMAZE
BINGO
MUMMY
WEIRD

FIELD
BRINE
BEGUN
PITCH

BILGE
LEAPT
GLOAT
PLEAT

GAUNT
SLANG
ROUSE
UNITE

SCARE
RIGHT
IRATE
ORBIT

STRAW
APPLY
MAGMA
CLUED

Thirst

BOOZE, inward fire of an inward frailing, yielding view
ASKEW on self, on life, all blurred by buzz, curved by thirst.
REUSE crutch, drink each day’s addled quant of time outside of time.
PAYEE: mad, sad habit. Payer: liver, or the thread through it all, or the better moments never met.

GUILT–theologians argue its inheritance, moderns banish it from
BIRTH. Yet he knows, in sober moments: his thirst is his own.
QUOTH a voice between his ears: perhaps today I will not drink, will
EVADE my urge. And then, as thirst builds, says the voice: perhaps tomorrow.

STUNG to soul’s root by thirst, he asks: is there in the
SHAPE of him, in the depths of him, any part of him that does not
QUAIL at facing life, that does not flee his day, that does not
BLURT to him: drink, drink, so this day might wane and tomorrow seem far off?

BRICK of alley wall, he stumbles, he slurs. Brick more solid than himself–
TIGHT chain, as it tightens, loosens hold on all, till self seems glassy leaned on brick.
SHOWY beauty of drink, light through amber fluid, showy burning in his throat,
ARDOR of his thirst: what substance in this show, what memories to call his own in the chambers of a reeling mind?

The Cadet

CADET may mature to general,
RIPEN through life to lead, to vanquish, now eating
BREAD, drinking water, while burgeoning a
CREED in brain that will later marshal every farm and river for battle.

APRON strings? Coddling? Might they stymie this path? Would
UNDER-loving produce the martial spirit through unfulfilled desire? Or love
ALIKE confer the needed element, a belief in fighting’s duty? Is the warrior
FRUIT of nurture? Or fruit of what else?

BLASTs in battles, wounds, flesh exposed and
SKULLs laid bare in daylight may be his tutors, may school to
VAUNT defiance, to fire steadily, to not be a
LIEGE of death, even as death blossoms all around. Or: will he be a

FLYER? Win experience at altitude, shot at no less, yet on
CHIME, with bucking controls, press a button, release bombs, and fight back to base?
VALID paths of warriors now outstrip bronze age Hector or Achilles. Yet, the shimmery
LUMEN of glory still entices. Death still eats its tithe before time.

Note: my first four day effort (I’ve had a few threes). Trying for coherence across 16 random words imposes its own fascinations.

Turbo Needs To Go

ANNOY me no more! I shall
ELECT a new word in your place, less
STALE, less ubiquitious, less you,
TURBO.

Note: of all the words to have the highest frequency in DQP, turbo ought not be it: 6 times as of yesterday.

North by Northwest

GULLY scarred in the field, yet corn
RISEN in my face, block view–almost fell in. Would
CHAFE at the obstacle, but biplane drones from behind, reminds: I’ve more to
CHEAT than topography, heart in my throat, lungs heaving, legs jellied.

Still of biplane over cornfield from movie North by Northwest.

Arrival

ALARM would have been in order. Short
PAUSE, then flight into the forests, when Cristóbal
COLÓN and his men arrived.
BURLY? Men on either side were so. Yet guns, germs and steel . . .

LOATH I to join in fashionable decrying, through
MEALY phrases about empire, yet
BEGAN then a new chapter of an old story.
REUSE it in every installment: new moments letting settled depravity flare up.

GRASS sighed in a breeze, pigs
BELCHed contentedly, and far from fleeing,
CROWDs assembled at the sight of the tall ships, which would be
SHOWN in all the paintings, focus of the gaze, the people small and incidental.

Note: another 3 days in one effort (I like the challenge of trying to make 12 words work together).

Dinner

EAGLE swimming back to shore,
SLICK feathers unfit for flight.
SOLID plan for dinner turned to miss and splash.
TAKEN in perspective, eagle’s had better days.

WIDER river in spring, boars linger,
AWAIT a moment, await instinct, await daring to
CROSS for better feeding on other side. Will they be
MEATY prey for crocs?

WHINY din of forest, is it all for hunting,
LUSTY creatures ravening to feast?
NOISE of restaurant breaks in on day dream. Table and
BOOTH artfully conceal that I’m in my own nature show as I eye the menu.

Note: Another 3 day catch-up. Challenging words for it. Also: https://www.npr.org/2019/06/14/732843218/bald-eagle-caught-elegantly-swimming