The field is abuzz with noise, an interlocking orchestra at work
A place to gather words before they get lost.
The field is abuzz with noise, an interlocking orchestra at work
Yellow petals drop; the bent stem droops – an aged man picking up papers
A palm-sized pencil, accidentally kicked by a kid, rolls its way to my foot, an invitation to writing; the graphite snaps before I scribble out this poem
a sorta Sijo poem, for DS106
Though seemingly lost, I am not; I am thinking of intersections
A flutter fly-by, the butterfly flies, onward; a long migration
It's the tug and pull; we listen to the rhythm of each passing wave
Evening sun, flickers; shadows on the patio wandering away
A wink of the eye, a word dropped in casual conversation: flirt
The wild's been waiting for this sun, the day's begun to blossom madly
for Algot
A percussionist pounding out beats on a tree; the woodpecker speaks