dogtrax

Is it me or has the carton gotten smaller?

It used to be taller, I'm sure, but now I'm starting to think:

everything that comes from the store sure seems to shrink

for #mastoprompt

A small plot of soil sits in the corner of the yard ...

reclaimed land soon festered in flowers,

dirt taken from an invasive species seeking to strangle the earth

in vine and root

for #mastoprompt

When cutting the day up into quarters,

queue up the sunshine and leave the rain,

each moment remembered becoming beautiful again

for #mastoprompt

Morning fog haze hides the icy glaze of mirrored street

booted feet finding solid patchwork of dry winter dirt

for #mastoprompt

It's difficult enough to know what tomorrow brings,

never mind to wonder what song next year sings,

but still, you don your glasses, squint into the future,

imagining landscapes hazy with sunshine and hope

for #mastoprompt

Moments drop everywhere

you look, the atmosphere

becomes something electric

for #mastoprompt

Snow bed covering dripping in the warm brightness of a rising March sun

Seedlings, you're awake too soon, exposing yourself by ignoring whispered pleas to remain deep

Sleep starlight beckoning, this day steals lost hours, a seasonal reckoning, and tomorrow, comes the unknown

The world won't listen to a single person, singing

Such hubris to think we can do it alone without collective voice

So start your song but share the notes, invite us in to harmonize so we can sing along

for #mastoprompt

An hour, hidden, borrowed, placed inside a box for some later time

for Algot

Marginal Poems for Tellio inspired by https://impedagogy.com/wp/blog/2023/03/11/foundling-poem/

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Minor chords turn on notes a half step off

My mind works the night in blue

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An envelope of dirt-rich seeds arrived, and it was your handwriting that caught my eye — the possibilities of something beautiful growing in the soil next to me

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It takes a sec for the drummer to find it to kick it the pocket woven by feet and fingers on the four

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I laze, daydreaming of metronomes, the beat of sound ticking off the song which never ends

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Is it still a map, she asked, in wonder, if I never write it down, never draw it out, never give directions, but only find a sliver of thread and pull?

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Gravity says they fall as hard and as fast as their heavy cousins, but poets know they land lightly, a tender kiss falling along the chin and cheek

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One is never ready for a dangerous reckoning; We become too lost in moments of the past's beckoning

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Been there Never did it Almost saw it Nearly wrote it then forgot it