This was from a prompt given on Legendfire Writing Forum. Prompt was to write an Octopoem. Directions here. The fractal I created in Chaotica rather than my usual Apophysis 7.x program.
Scorching blue embers
Straddles fall leaves
Inside a small, thirsty forest
Then a screeching sand-storm
Sears and ignites the forest’s undergarments
It cavorts and careens like a skater on ice
burns through the fall undergrowth
the scorching blue embers.
Epistle to a Loyal Friend
On these yonder frozen fields,
In the gaze of thy moonlight,
I spy thy heart’s inner ills,
the world a brush of starlight.
We come down to the river
deep in its waters we go
the cold instills a shiver
And I melt into the flow.
Tell me why we ride so far
down this mountain peak so high
to soar above ardent stars
Yet we always go awry.
Hope bleeds feeble melodies –
Despair blinds us to our proof
there’s no static destiny –
we must search for our own truth.
My second poem for National Poetry Month is a Rhymed Tercet. The title of the Fractal is the Echoes of Spacetime.
Creation
by A. A. Zingler
Blazing hot inferno explodes into life
in its superheated soup of particles
the spark of inflation rapidly spikes.
Dust coalesced by gravity’s attraction
form the weave of all galaxies’ bones
and jumpstart protostars’ inner ignition.
The seeds for life erupts into existence
cooked in the crucible of massive stars–
their supernovas spew out ingredients.
New stars birthed in the galaxy’s nurseries
Gather supernova dust into planets
These abodes cultivates life’s biology.
Fractal created by A. A. Zingler
I still have hopes for this blog, and I hope to rekindle it with more poetry and world-building and writing articles. But I still am recovering from painful events of late.
Sitting in my drafts is a review of the movie Arrival, which I hope to one day finish, when I feel well enough to focus on nonfiction writing again. But in the meantime, I highly, highly recommend everyone go watch it as soon as they can. It’s worth every nanosecond of your time.
Splintered glass strewn across the ice,
like a broken mirror that rips and throbs
with the rippling cracks of heartache
each drop of blood a window –
My footsteps falter, the rain biting,
I hold up my hands, streaked with cuts,
my tears tangle with the droplets,
and I dance alone into the night.
Footprints in the snow, encased in ice,
a golden spire that overlooks the lost
shards of a shattered and crying heart.
Hidden in the nook of a tread lies
a single stubborn stem, its pale blossom
opening slowly in the veil of moonlight.
Poem and art by me, A. A. Zingler
Antennas by A. Zingler
My heart skips a beat,
Darkness swells and crashes
on the shoals of time –
I can’t see, I can’t breathe.
Spun into a tornado I hurl
my spirit onto the crags,
the molten decadence of hope–
Don’t look for me in the moonlight,
Don’t look for me in the daylight.
Our feet balance on a spire,
the ground howls below,
mountains crushed into stones,
the antenna of time vibrates
with the resonance of souls.
We are not heard, we are not seen,
Don’t look for us in the moonlight,
Don’t look for us in the daylight.
