dogtrax

Opening the screen to read the prompt: A Nonet? Heh! Counting fingers so I don't forget to write within the poem's limits - but I'm wandering within the lines of this poem that now ends

for DS106 Daily Create

In a week, my empty suitcase and I returned.

from 'My Life Was The Size Of My Life' by Jane Hirshfield https://poets.org/poem/my-life-was-size-my-life

Lost, I thought, lost in thought, I thought I lost it all but no, I hadn't - my odds and ends of a life had only been misplaced, maybe borrowed; something to blame for something I couldn't name – not stuff merely stolen, only, I thought: lost, and later, found, but at what cost?

Audio: https://sodaphonic.com/audio/9NVpaURhezj8LNJvWmF6

for #VerseLove

If the rest of what you read from this point on, is true, then this is probably false:

Poetry might yet save the world Poetry might save the reader Poetry might save the writer Poetry might yet save ourselves Poetry might just be scattered words, snippets heard

Notice the hedging - it's the ink-line of poets threading the line, damn near every single time

for #verselove

Edged out in eraser marks, these faint lines of something once written, now gone,

I lean my pencil against the line, and dream

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Movement arrives slowly -

I'm all mosey with not nearly enough engine

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Word tinkerer wrangling an idea into text — the next thing you know, it's a mess

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So tender is the writer with words tucked inside a pocket, fearful of how fraught the eyes of attention can be

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Phase phrasing: a gentle dimming of meaning where words in your head don't mean the same on the page — for the heart, intervenes

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Our tired eyes telling lies for what we see is not what we saw

(poems written in Terry's blog post margins: https://impedagogy.com/wp/blog/2024/04/07/10325/)

01053

Oh Leeds Oh You river mill community - I adore you

for #VerseLove

A watercolor landscape in the dreamer's mind; what Spring thoughts might find

for Algot

Balanced at the top of the mountain, looking down in silence, no words filled the gap, no words needed, as we drank in the valley

a Tanka of a moment for #verselove

Louis Prima – he ain't gonna whisper, nope, Louis' gonna shout - gonna shout my ear out but I'm all game to leaning in, imagine him sing, to let him bring the biggest noise in the biggest voice anyone's ever called, the musical siren of New Orleans, jumping – jiving – wailing off the wall

from the image: https://flic.kr/p/2oj1mGT

We settle into our seats as the orchestra of quiet begins

to play inside the living room - a mix of Cage and Copeland -

our fingers tapping in time together, light drum skins, we begin a rhythm

for #verselove

While Bill Martin Waits

v, too busy chatting with z, didn't even see the coconut tree, missed it by a mile and so it was left to c to find v and then z, and bring them both back to the coconut tree, only to realize that b, d and g were now lost, too, you see, and so what a mess it was that morning with Bill Martin waiting at the coconut tree

with apologies to Bill Martin (and his co-writer John Archambault) and the letters of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

for #verselove