dogtrax

As the wall of cymbals ring, each soft mallet brings the sound of waves, crashing in our ears

for OpenWrite https://www.ethicalela.com/septercet/ inspired by performance by percussionist Tony Vacca

Morning writing sparks on an idea out of nowhere - somewhere, someone else is making art, too; a collaborative trick of DS106, the threads of connections just click

A Sijo poem for DS106 Daily Create

Ragged edges, scratch skin, red where the blood begins; the rose resistance

Can you imagine that single drop of rain, that watery blur, dancing tango inside the gravitational rhythm of air, the swirling, pulling, pushing, as it's falling – always it's falling - catching one another before finally letting go?

for #WriteOut and #YouAreHerePoetry, inspired by 'Can You Imagine?' by Mary Oliver https://www.nps.gov/places/poetryinparks1.htm as part of Ada Limon's You Are Here project

Tracking in the mud debris from river and glade; Oh, the mess I made

Feet in sand, ocean waves beckon in rhythmic song; currents carry me

… the rivers

will set their stones and ribbons at your door if only

you’ll let the world soften you with its touching

from Reasons To Live Ruth Awad

–

Raw sound bathes the boy, the ripples of river on stone, he submerges himself, nearly but not really, alone, his mind, a million miles from home

Line borrowed from the collection: You Are Here: Poetry In The Natural World Edited by Ada Limon

the moon mistaken for a hole in the sky

from If Fire Jake Skeets

–

fingers in the stars, then,

the galaxy, a tapestry of etchings

I’ve begun to come unwoven again

filling space with words and dreams

Line borrowed from the collection: You Are Here: Poetry In The Natural World Edited by Ada Limon

I only use words like stones because we are far away

from Close-Knit Flower Sack by Cedar Sigo

—

We used to search riverbeds and shore lines for the flattest of stone, the thinnest of story, just smoothed-out words, in order to skip across the surface as if what we were saying was lighter than air, but no longer - now we spend time on the odd rocks with strange angles, the kind that makes a distinct sound one rarely forgets, before plunging under water

Line borrowed from the collection: You Are Here: Poetry In The Natural World Edited by Ada Limon

make small steps. in this wild place there are signs of life everywhere

from Lullaby For The Grieving (at the Sipsey River) by Ashley M. Jones

–

slow go slow this we know but always forgotten - that the wild places wild spaces have stories to tell, poems composed beneath roots, reverberations of a turning Earth, cursed to forget the role of reader: slow go slow this we know

Line borrowed from the collection: You Are Here: Poetry In The Natural World Edited by Ada Limon