Would the moon make a song if it knew I were the only one listening?
I think of the sound it might sing to me, as my dog puts her nose touching the ground on the first morning walk,
my boots and her paws beating rhythm on ice and snow, waiting on a melody
for #ds106
An old Kenmore stove, all rusted and unplugged, left here for the rewilding deep inside the grove of trees
the discarded metal remains of someone's kitchen, and to think of the trouble it took to cart it here and dump it here
and the memories it contains
for #ds106
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
Each morning, with coffee, I open the web I avoid the news, and find the Create instead I read it and ponder - remix and yonder - and spend the day with the art in my head
for #ds106
Even deep in night, leaves lose touch with their branches, tumbling in darkness
for #ds106 #DailyCreate
In the moment of the Eye, when the storm catches its breath - when the air becomes as still and settled as death – we wander remains of tree limbs and pine cones, the power of the unknown more present than not, then head for shelter as the wind kicks in and tightens its knot
They Are From There
They are, to me, indecipherable as language, but beautiful, too, barely legible in the pen swoops capturing landscape and loss, the ancient land beneath them barely there, yet remembered like breathing, like singing, like writing poems by candlelight for someone else to read later
for #ds106 with this poem by Mahmoud Darwish as inspiration https://blogs.transparent.com/arabic/arabic-poem-%D8%A3%D9%8E%D9%86%D9%8E%D8%A7-%D9%85%D9%90%D9%86%D9%92-%D9%87%D9%8F%D9%86%D9%8E%D8%A7%D9%83%D9%8E-by-mahmoud-darwish/
My friend, Murph, was a drummer, extraordinaire - his back-beat, precise, like magic in the air
Calligram for #ds106 Daily Create https://flic.kr/p/2rxgbCZ
'tis the season for neither rhyme nor reason — no, wait — I rhymed that line that time — oh darn, and there I go again — forgive me, my friend, and allow me to make amends — oops, well, I suppose it's a songwriter's curse, and what's worse is that I actually tried — no, wait, hold that: I lied
for #ds106 Daily Create