dogtrax

A place to gather words before they get lost.

Too dark to see so I ask her, and it's the same answer as nearly every morning until seasonal darkness fades and our eyes can see for ourselves

for #ds106 #DailyCreate

The forgotten remains of last year's discards wait at the top of the bin;

an old banana peel grinds from morning coffee a tangle of teabags bread ends moldy green peels of an abandoned orange

I stick a pitchfork in, and push, tilling the past to tend to the present

for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/look-closely/

Depending on when you met me – you might have found me:

lost inside the moment of practicing my saxophone, lonely but not alone

writing little poems in a yellow notebook I kept tucked out of sight

teaching myself guitar, searching for a spark, somewhere inside the dark

turning poems into songs, singing words, ever so softly, even I could barely hear

for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/depending-on-when-you-met-me/

You might have liked me to be a child of sticks, of snare shots, sizzle, and coordinated drum kicks

Instead, you had me, a curious kid with fingers on the keys, a tongue on mouthpiece and reed

We all find our way in

for #OpenWrite

My fingers, caked in mud, removing Winter's weeds as I ponder a patch of lilies

A patch near driveway black, I too often forget where they are; my fingers, caked in mud

until the days I'm reminded of the remains of Winter's coat, as I ponder a patch of lilies

and notice among the dead, the determined vines pricker my fingers, caked in mud

But nothing short of blood stops my in my task as I ponder a patch of lilies

and remember last year's grace in blooms of tiger yellow; my fingers, caked in mud, as I ponder a patch of lilies

for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/villanelle-on-the-vine/

If every raindrop were a run, batted by clouds, cheers would be allowed

for Algot

I am from whole notes, a sound languishing over time, melody on the prowl for rhyme

I am from half-notes, broken apart like seeds, by a need to always quicken the pace

I am from quarter notes, articulation dots scratched along the top, reminding me to pause, breathe, stop

I am from eighth notes, a hand over your shoulders, a curved slur blurring us together in a riff

I am from sixteenth notes, in rapid succession; I disappear into the air before you have the chance to hear me

for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/where-im-from-again/

A hammer to the head — it's not what you think — but even so, years after, I thought about it, often, late at night, remembering the fall, the cry, the call, as I lay awake in bed

for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/scars/

On paper, at least, a travel itinerary's flawlessly built on possibilities: a leap in imagination of side alleyways, riverside wanderings, museum galleries, shops and eateries, and a language to wrestle your tongue into submission

for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/oh-the-places-youll-go/

Imagine a world of cloud rolling above the hills, alone, but beyond a crowd of daytime daffodils, with petals reaching towards trees, both, swaying to the breeze

a “borrowed rhyme” poem for #OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/borrowed-rhymes/ words borrowed from I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud by William Wordsworth https://discoverpoetry.com/poems/william-wordsworth/i-wandered-lonely-as-a-cloud/