dogtrax

Inside me there lives a gentle hillside of quiet, rooted with a small growth forest of elm, oak, walnut and birch, dotted with the paint of flowers, all about to witness bloom; I take my pen into the writing room

for #VerseLove

A surprised pheasant, flushed from a tightly-wound bush, bursts forth in wing sound

Yellow buds, blooming - but just barely – a season in the midst of change

Small spots of color pushing their way up through dirt, the crocus, blooming

Small purple buds sleep the sleep of winter, dreaming - with sunshine, scheming

for Algot

This soil's resistant to metal tongs and hard work; still, we till this earth

Street feet, like thunder, sounding warnings of dissent; Collective protest

for #NoKings later today

A word, lost in thought; I swallow every moment, no matter the cost

Hold your brimmed hat down, or the sudden gust of wind might make you a kite

Imagine absence but not loss

the silhouette of a lover's imprint on the pillow of an unmade bed

a torn-out well-read page of a book with many dog-eared folds

the hollow body of an acoustic guitar, a dream-catcher of sound vibration

a canvas with a single mark to start an idea flowing, with no way of knowing

Silence is the space where words imagine meaning in the lean-in listening

for #ds106