dogtrax

In the dusk of the wild red leaves ... – Carl Sandburg

The stealth boy with hair as crimson as the woods of a changing season, disappears, or maybe only imagines he does, hoping his mop top camouflage against a game of hide and seek in the woods where his sisters are looking but not nearly noticing how different the world seems now even as the days begin to fade

for #WriteOut

We were at an apple orchard, gathering fruit (Cortland, Golden, Macoun, etc) as part of a annual family tradition each Autumn when I noticed a sign for the sale of Sunflowers. The paper was old, the ink faded by rain and sun. What remained of the flowers were droopy skeletons of summer's glory, a sort of cemetery of what had bloomed with no doubt magnificence just a few weeks back. I was tempted to pick one of the fallen flowers, but the sign still announced the sale of each flower for a cost of $2.50 a stem. I let the idea go, and left the ghosts of the Sunflower graveyard for the soil.

for #writeout via Daily Create

Talking poems, within the confines of city and concrete, the rough terrain where dandelions meet, the weeds shout back, in a verse of grit and grime; words find a way to survive

For #writeout

It's utter chaos in the berry-laden Mountain Ash trees today,

a yearly chattering Autumnal feeding frenzy that's now underway,

and ever time we wander near, to rake the leaves or get the mail

the winged visitors shout disapproval, then in a flock, flutter away

for #writeout

A painter's palette: imagining a canvas of changing colors

The green dress is gone, pigments fade with cold, dark nights; in morning, unclothed

A leaf must wonder where it is going, falling from branch limb to ground

When tomorrow comes, all will be different here as hues disappear

Crackle brittle brown - the soil always welcomes you with wide open arms

for #writeout

Limbs snarl, like a map that's contorted in a twisted mirror

The mangrove, gargantuan in its reach, envelopes a world

We're just travelers here, bound inside the looping shadows of a maze

for #MastoPrompt and #writeout

Huddled silent beneath the eaves, the writers share their notes, an esoteric exercise in keeping stories, secret

for #MastoPrompt

Inundation starts with a single drop - the pull of gravity, from ground on sky that never stops - and then, on cue, the deluge begins

for #MastoPrompt

Poetic fragments, like broken snowflakes, melt on contact, dissolving into something akin to memory on skin

for #MastoPrompt

(me) I am root, unseen through time for most of the world's curious eyes, except by you, my tree

(ChatGPT) You are root, Hidden beneath the soil's dark heart, Yet in your presence, I find the start.

(me) I am tendrils, a connected network of information flow, where I am you, stories go

(ChatGPT) Together we weave, a tapestry grand, In the realm of stories, hand in hand.

(me) I am thread, stitching our shared past on an ancient loom, the rustling of leaves, we bloom

(ChatGPT) From the loom's timeless frame, our tale is spun, Two souls connected, together as one.

Written with ChatGPT in alternating verse a #writeout experiment