A place to gather words before they get lost.
If Monk hadn't hesitated, and if Mingus hadn't wandered, if Miles never shifted, and if Bird hadn't listened, if Chet hadn't been so saddened, and if Billie hadn't struggled, the wind might still have whistled, as it so often does, but maybe it would have been whistling in another key
inspired by Steve
Etching art on glass, frozen moments of night pass into memory
for Algot
Prime Poems
Two: the oddest of all and the first in line; the only one, even - the breaker of mathematical patterns
Three: the first of the odd, three-edged, and angled; and in nature, a three-fold symmetry
Five: a Fibonacci, like fingers on the hand or toes on the foot, or the squishy reaching out of the arms of the starfish
Seven: a lucky number, the colors of the rainbow or days of the week, and removing one gives up product of its first two prime cousins
Eleven: numerical palindrome, sitting just beyond ten, and any single digit multiplied by it becomes a mirrored number double
for #ds106 video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLcT_U5OJn8
Sipping some liquids by the fire with some friends; imbibe, chat and smile
the exhaled breath
steams the glass; all moments pass but this one seems extreme – the physical manifestation of a frustrated scream - and now my ear's filled with something less than silence
line lift from Steve's poem https://petespoemplace.blogspot.com/2025/11/some-moments-tip-quickly.html
The scritch and the scratch of withered grass in the wind, a soft marimba
In the small moment of waiting for the water to boil for hot tea
Snapping sticks and twigs to build up a bonfire; a time for stories
A thin flower stem withering in sun and wind; standing ground, strong