dogtrax

Even the acorn exhibits patience - a tree seed waiting for its moment before rooting down, burrowing beneath ground, then rising up, restless at last for the endless sky

for #MastoPrompt

Flashku

I am wandering ALONE among Autumn, nearly UNNOTICED. I witness my feet FALL DOWN through leaves to packed trail. This day is already WRITTEN somewhere in the past, I am sure, the HALF-BROKEN memory of this same trail, these same woods, but not this same debris of tree. Each year, the forest dies different. My feet are soft mallets here, making SHUFFLING music — shish shoosh shish shoosh — and it seems as if I am wandering among an artist's studio, my boots covered in rhythmic hues.

Text: The Locust Tree in Flower by William Carlos Williams https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=20221

Image: “Réserve naturelle Alfred-Kelly 2” flickr photo by Duda Arraes https://flickr.com/photos/duda_arraes/33337863181 shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-ND) license

for #DailyCreate

Split the information signal – set mistrust and disinformation to the side of the flow we all must align to defeat,

then: repeat repeat repeat

for #MastoPrompt

The words you spoke as a promise to us

seeped in scorn and tinged with mistrust

for #MastoPrompt

Knee deep in dirt, we work to rescue the tiny tree,

fragile roots tucked under and daily watering on schedule;

for in a world where so much seems beyond our control,

this, maybe, we can do

for #MastoPrompt

Neither purple nor red, but instead, Magenta's something squished in-between

for #MastoPrompt

As Autumn arrives, so, too, does the changing rains; these leaves are falling

for Algot

Barely bendable; rigid, to the point of breaking

for #MastoPrompt

I am, of course, all ears, a rabbit at rest, waiting on another of your ever-curious, forever-furious, scintillatingly-spurious pronouncements of how the world really works

for #MastoPrompt

I wasn’t looking for wonder ...

from I Did Not Notice The Birds by Michael Sun https://moistpoetryjournal.com/2021/04/19/i-did-not-notice-the-birds/

Gaps in the day as memory runs free – I am only now remembering, the music of wind, of bugs, of birds, of leaves – they're all strumming chords in my ear, my night pillow pulsing in rhythm to things, today, I failed to see