Daily Prompt

Quantification of Soul

by ZacharyWGilbert

A spirit, contemplates as an outlier to the kingdom of flesh.

Warm pressurized blood, circulates existence to the blind.

…

Can love be calculated?

Are there scales built to weigh the tarred stick of hate?

Where are the jars that hold sorrow, like rotten candy pellets?

…

A spirit, knows the bitter bite of drinking pure evil,

measures the value of light.

If the libation is enjoyed, light is a lost commodity,

and has no value.

If the burning drink, causes nausea and vomiting,

then light, framed in golden beams

has its depth of value measured and defined.

…

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

 

 

Words Wash up on Listener’s Shore

by ZacharyWGilbert

Words spill from hot mouths,

White smoke rolls, over talk,

that is heated,

Ugly green worms,

fall from invisible clouds,

in twisted slime,

roll into ears,

Tiny eggs,

made of twisted letters

soon rot, within the mind.

…

The red dripping blood,

falls like spilled paint,

from the sharpened tip,

of the silver tongue.

…

Words, are but loaded boats

that carry cargo through air,

Why is the speaker, often in denial,

about the goods, shipped to the listener?

…

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

 

The Z & G of Things

by ZacharyWGilbert

(Zach)

…

Sharpened axe, flies,

swift and silent,

in the forest, then

in a quick moment,

“Zzz ahh kuh!”

echoes through living trees.

…

“Zzz aah kuh”, sounds rattle out,

a blown hum in a buzz,

tongue behind slightly open teeth,

“Zzzz”, swirling noise, born

in darkness of the throat.

An axe raised.

…

“Aah”, the sound of breathing out,

lungs deflate below an open mouth,

Not a sigh, but yet…  a pinch

in the  dry throat,

a dying breath,

without words.

The axe finds its,

speeding arc, head falling

fast toward its prey.

…

“Kuh!” the back of the tongue,

opening of throat pressed,

a gust of breath pops

loose, a “Kuh!”

The full name said,

the wood now split,

falls over green moss

…

The swung axe,

weeps tree sap,

a fresh gray gash,

sits silent, upon a yellowed

tree stump, spelling the name,

Zach.

…

…

(Green)

Green pine needles,

Sway, under a mountain breeze,

clouds weep life.

…

 “Rape!” Earth cries.

Now naked, brown dirt

green clothes stolen.

…

Passport required,

to move near to, Earth’s lost,

greener grass.

…

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

Dear Writer, consider the ratio…

by ZacharyWGilbert

Dear Writer,

How many words will fall from your mind and make broken sentences?  How many paragraphs are born weak, and frail, then die within a casket of saved files, and dusty hard copies on the shelf?   Writer, what if I told you, that your 1,000,001 word would be your best one?  What if I told you, to enjoy the view from the accomplished summit of the high mountain, it takes sacrifice.  Missed steps, twisted ankles, lost breath, and half of a good day.  In the end, the final step gets to reap the fortune of earned victory.   So let your fingers dance on the keyboard until the keys are worn and faded.  When the F and J keys loose their bump, and the space bar is greasy smooth.  The elevation feet are broken, and the Ctrl key sticks from the coffee you spilled on your third edit.   For one day, upon your wall, you will hang the trophy of your published work, next to empty pens and broken keyboard.  All of your lost and dead words, will lay the foundation for the ones that live.

The war of writing will consume many words, the fortune of victory is found by sheer numbers.

  Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert