Hot and spicy, a fire in your mouth
Watch the red rise on your face
The tears form in your eyes
Hot and spicy, some people really like it
Not me, not me
Hot and spicy, your head’s going to explode
The burning might never end
This feeling might finish me
Hot and spicy, on inferno in my mind
What to do, what to do
Hot and spicy, quick get me some water
Oh no, it’s getting hotter
And this is only three of ten
Hot and spicy, I’m such a spice wimp
Yes it’s true, yes it’s true
Just a short poem today.
The deed has been done, no one has won
Mistakes were made, memories will fade
Let the memories go, forgive your foe
Holding a grudge is like walking through sludge
You hurt no one else more than yourself
And if you cannot forget, at least try to forgive
And while you’re at it, forgive yourself
Writing in response to the prompt from napowrimo.net to write a poem about a picture. I have deviated from my normal style of poetry and am writing in free form poetry. I am using a photo from Flickr.com of fog and fields around a town. It can be viewed at https://www.flickr.com/photos/ritman/8945663517/
The fields are full of life.
The land is in strife.
The fog is invading.
It covers the low areas first, then crawls up the hills, slowly creeping, silently sneaking, making its way into the village.
The land is resisting. It rises sharply into the air as though to cut off the invader.
But the fog will not be stopped. It breaks over the crest and into the fields. It will have its way.
The town is cut off from the fields by a wall of white now.
The fog is closing in.
It will invade the town, noiselessly covering the streets, obscuring the sky, muting all sounds.
Then it will leave, as quietly as it came.
Nothing will seem amiss; it will leave nary a trace.
Only those who saw it will know it was there at all.
The town will return to its normal existence.
The fields will go on living in peace until the next time the fog is on the prowl.
I want to have a cake for my birthday
But I’ve never made one before
It’s not hard my mom would say
I’ll go to get one at the store
I choose one that looks nice and yummy
I even get frosting for the top
I can’t wait to get it in my tummy
There’s no way this idea will flop
I take it home and mix it up
Manage not to make a mess
Even keep it from the pup
What happened next you might guess
I take the cake from the oven
It looks like it’s been in an earthquake
It’s split right in half, but I’m fun lovin’
So I called it California cake
If I had to do it again
If I had to start all over
I would learn to use my hands
Just as much as I use my head
If I had to use my hands
I’d put them to excellent use
I think I’d like to learn a trade
That’s the path I’d like to tread
If I had to learn a trade
I’d make something that people need
I get hungry, I need to eat
Perhaps I’d learn to bake some bread
If I had some bread to eat
I’d make so much that I could share
I’d give some to each person in need
Till everyone is fed
Written in response to a challenge by napowrimo.net and the daily prompt.