Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry


We are vessels, base elements
And primal chemicals, wrought
In the furnace of ancient into
Living sentience, but never
Understanding what made us,
Nor what we are, and love is
An unexpected reaction of these
Strands of acid never meant to
Be mixed, never intended to be
In contact with eachother, and
The explosion vivid and out of
Control, and final.

R 27/01/2023 08:43

Even this late January, the sun
Warms my shoulders, wrought
Billions of years ago in its cauldron
Of fire and plasma, flung me out to
This barren rock which so became the
Universe’s island and oasis, until
The cold came, until I froze into the
Ground and survived as the only one
Of my kind, to be resurrected as
Mortal flesh which feels too much of
The pain the absence of light slices
Into me in these dark years. I want
To fly back to where I came from
And burn forever.

R 27/01/2023 13:15

Today’s #MastoPrompt was #wrought. It’s actually produced 5 poems today, which is quite something. Some of them too long for the Mastodon character limit, but that’s not the only reason for not putting them all up there or here. I just feel the need, as I’ve said before, to keep some of the best stuff for myself in case I want to do something else with it – like more spoken word works, or entering competitions, or putting them out there in some other way.

Colonel L did say in our weekly vidcall today that he thought a lot of of poems were very dark (“what has he been soming today?” he said, but I did remind him that the human soul is a very dark space, and didn’t tell him I’d not smoked any illegal substances for at least 30 years). I said I’d write a rhyming happy one for him one of these days, maybe tomorrow.

Life. Such a rich thing. We need a universal wage to allow more people to make the most of it. And a decent government to give us all the healthcare we deserve to go along with that universal wage. Just a thought in a moment of positive self-reflection.

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