At the tree of the impossible, we imagine each translucent leaf, veined in ink and running free, as yet another opportunity to compose a lucid dream
A place to gather words before they get lost.
At the tree of the impossible, we imagine each translucent leaf, veined in ink and running free, as yet another opportunity to compose a lucid dream
Great Blue Heron: Standing silently or flying high - slow wing beats, its head hunched back
blackout poem for #writeout
Crinkled, like paper; the edges of a small leaf, disintegrating
White clouds, whispering secrets to the distant sky like signals in smoke
Tree-limb picture frame, like arms reaching for the stars; a focused beauty
An ant crawls, pauses; balanced dancer in the wind on a stage of grass
Young poets, quiet writers pondering nature on a notebook page
for #writeout
A spark beneath the brittle soil, a seed
starting a Collab Poem for #writeout https://yopad.eu/p/digitalforestpoem-365days
Was it in the woods or along the river, or maybe it was along that ledge where our bare toes touched, where some old whisper of who you once were stuck a sound inside my ear, and when I turned to hear, you were gone, again; perhaps you were never even there
inspired by https://substack.com/home/post/p-149562962
A ‘New Day’?
An autumn warm spell;
No wonder -
the Earth is off balance
(and) early warnings
disrupt the rhythm:
A landscape symposium
for #writeout via DS106 Daily Create, using the Mastodon hashtag #climate for a found poem https://mastodon.social/deck/tags/climate
Some rivers meander - pushing, pulling, moving, pausing for a moment for a swallow of land, then: they continue on, traveling towards the sea
for #writeout via DS106 Daily Create
Sit beneath the Maple tree, where a soft wind blows its fabric, free;
One then another then another then another
until the dress you wear is stitched from a pattern of Autumn leaves
for #writeout
Plants reduce carbon dioxide
The challengers dissented
a blackout poem for #writeout via DS106 Daily Create
Every leaf speaks bliss to me ... — Emily Bronte
A chorus of voices singing a softened melody of forever falling
I'm here, calling, wondering, for when the Earth stops spinning,
will we finally find our footing, and break ourselves free?
for #writeout