Cue the light of morn; this candle cuts through the dark then fades out to day
for Algot
A place to gather words before they get lost.
Cue the light of morn; this candle cuts through the dark then fades out to day
for Algot
Resplendent in dress and feathers, the finch consumed the seeds of flower, then flew forth into uncertain weather
for #mastoprompt
Vending Machines Kevin
I mean, who knows what you’ll get from these crazy machines when you punch in a dollar and dream:
a poem, perhaps, spit from a slot with lines that rhyme, more often than not,
or snippet of sonnet or perhaps haiku, a cinquain falling on a couplet or two
an experiment in prose disguised as verse that’ll scratch your head as it digs through your purse
Or maybe it’s art - what it is that drops from a companion contraption down a few blocks:
a sculpture to fit in the palm of your hand or a paper clip, bent, in the shape of a fan
a sketching of ink on a discarded shirt or a Warhol print all scuffed up with dirt
colored blotches stamped on ancestry cards where signatures fade like ghosts in the yard
Yes, cigarettes once tumbled down for a couple of bucks - now there’s a surprise, inside, if you can get it unstuck
Available here, too: https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/e/2PACX-1vQHwAebkcxanwS4wBh2M5xRyn85RSx4XiJ26s4ZBRtewkxzlVebapcJhpLGpGGoGNu6YA3awb0qsruJ/pub?start=false&loop=false&delayms=3000
Walking The Trail, Noticing
It’s in the pause of walk and mind that you take the time to notice the way flowers bend to wind, a dance to a song with grace - you settle in, slow down, listening becomes an act of gratitude
An aged wall beckons, stone surface all moss and lichen and rugged, a reminder of those who long ago forged out farms here, divided these lands with rocks pulled up from this dirt, a straddle between time and place, and the original people here even before them
A leaf free-falls, green with red fringe and orange veins mapped at the center, a floater from a branch above, and you love the motion of it, the tumbling – the turning, and how gently it joins its brethren on ground, resting for its next act as nutrient to nourish the soil
Further on, the river bends, then breaks beneath a small concrete bridge - you duck to follow the flow of water into the dark, cooler air, unsettled, the shadowed curves of smooth walls knitted with graffiti hearts and chalk marks, the stone pathway slippery under foot
You are boot-jumping roots now, in through the wetlands of woodlands, mosquitoes whispering in your ears, the pungent stretch where thick muck grabs and holds you, and this green, an illusion of stability, of , of solidity, of steady, but it’s not, and never will be, of here where the tricksters await
Then, just beyond the trail, trees open up arms wide at the edge of noticing,: bright summer light suddenly spilling in, a liminal space between this wild, and not, transforming into transitory, made complete by an engine motoring by, the quiet of the woods left behind for another day
Come along - Bring the song - The melody awaits the ones who arrive to sing with a reason, and invitation, to belong
for #mastoprompt
Days are sweltering; We're sheltering under shade of summer's slumber
for Algot
The young boy shudders - his fear, filtered - another sign of another day, caught off-kilter
for #mastoprompt
From late spring to mid-summer, vines grow
Tenacious in design, their stranglehold lets me know
I'm only a temporary caretaker of the havoc it sows
for #mastoprompt
It won't ever suffice to roll the dice, to ignore advice, to not think twice
The game we play every single day - the decisions we make - impacts this planet's life
for #mastoprompt