Exceed expectations -
fueled in part by the anticipation of surprise in the eyes of detractors
for #mastoprompt
A place to gather words before they get lost.
Exceed expectations -
fueled in part by the anticipation of surprise in the eyes of detractors
for #mastoprompt
A purposeful pause in the game, whether or not we're ready for it
for Algot
Banging out beats on the heads of his drums
My world had music, from the time I was young
'cause my father was a drummer, a rhythmic machine
a paternal pattern maker who encouraged us to dream
for #mastoprompt
Only upon return did we notice:
the way shadows slept in the sunlight
the tilt of the branch of the flowering tree
one lone robin singing forth into the world
a ragged fox slinking through tangles of bushes
an open door otherwise long kept closed
a hand, beckoning, a greeting of remembrance
a kind word
for #mastoprompt
Any attempt at obfuscation, in words or otherwise, will be met with contempt, the meaning sent by eyes or in writing
for #mastoprompt
Mo’olelo
we don't listen we barely hear we forget noticing we lose ourselves
we the stories of the world embedded in this place remain undiscovered
we wander this terrain of rock and soil and river
we need to linger longer in the quiet, listening for
us
we should listen we can hear we are noticing we find ourselves
here
This museum of you contains dust and debris, and artifacts worth remembering,
like: half-written poems and unsung songs and essays you meant to throw away, but never did,
scribbled etches on paper from an imaginative kid, and notes you wrote to someone you lost,
receipts of objects where you circled the cost, gewgaws and baubles you didn't want anyone else to see,
but still – I looked in and wandered around, for there, on the inside, on the scattered grounds of the museum of you, I discovered a mirror: the museum of me
Numbers, arrayed like artwork -
each digit, a dot on an expanded canvas -
click the switch to view the results
for #mastoprompt
Fragments of poetry pottery – Terry Elliott https://impedagogy.com/wp/blog/2023/06/12/catching-moles/
We are kin -
this kiln fired our words, folded our fingers then molded our hand into the tangible,
only to later be broken by a moment of wonder, when curiosity lightning struck before its thunder
Yet each shard of a line on which you etched ideas becomes the heart of words, spoken
and I am connecting your words back onto this surface, a penned poem nearly always worth the salvaging
Hummingbirds dance and dip, then for a moment, hover to take a sip from a cup of sweet nectar: the flower, a tap of sweet rejoice
for #mastoprompt