A place to gather words before they get lost.

Just don 't delet e me – the delete ke y won't fr ee me – it will only remove m e and I wan t you to se e me

for #mastoprompt

Freed but forgotten: the emancipated people of our collective past still languish at the bottom of memory

for #mastoprompt

Fragile Earth

Where is the line of wonder for those of us whose lives tumble beneath the weight of a fractured world?

Thunder beckons this night, a flashing storm of zig-zag jagged light, a dangerous reckoning, beautiful, eerily bright

and safe in this house, we huddle to see a generational tree, born before collective generational memory

its branches broken: splintered into unrecognizable splintered beyond belief splintered as shadow, in relief

Change forces us to reconsider:

Are we the home built upon the dirt?

Or, are we the roots in a fragile earth?

A tribe called (it) quest - built inside beats, listened best with headphones on, up too loud, ear-worm samples and word play: urban music getaway

a tanka for #mastoprompt and #ds106

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:

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

For whom? -

The chime rings out the time

the bell tolls

for #mastoprompt