Storms dropping hailstones like baseballs, the young fielder readies for the out
for Algot
A place to gather words before they get lost.
Storms dropping hailstones like baseballs, the young fielder readies for the out
for Algot
When I am just a noun, a thing with a name standing, still, in place, you emerge as my adjective, a way to make me unique
When I am a verb, all motion and movement, you agree to be my adverb, modifying the range of my reach
When I'm stuck here as a word where the writer has me stand, part of a sentence at their command, you always break free, come looking for me — a brave figure of speech
for #mastoprompt
Deft with fingers and fine with touch
the man makes cards disappear and reappear
one after another after another after another
and my money soon follows my eyes in a street-corner illusory show
for #mastoprompt
In a voice of rough and brittle edges, strummed on guitar strings rusted by time but ever resilient, she whispered to us of car wheels and graveled roads, a story of her life as child in a song
for #mastoprompt (with nod to Lucinda Williams) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgnnrZfoZS0
Pride hides in the nooks and crannies of ourselves, drawn forth by praise and light and wonder
for #mastoprompt
Like a picklock with a tension wrench at midnight in moonless dark, curious fingers find the contour of each word, turning phrases within the poem to finally unlock a possibility, springing forth free
for #mastoprompt
Letters, carved words, engraved
the inscription on grey stone reads like a post from the past
removing space in order for us to remember
for #mastoprompt
I find you in a landscape of the digital
a dreamy place of abstract angles and color
an odd space our own words, written lightly, once made
But where will we go when the map fades?
for #mastoprompt
Slivers – this sunlight sends shivers through the darkness; my eyes; wide awake
for Algot