but (something) beautiful - the way the sound of the night plays against the echoes of the stage, notes bending in the light of each fading day

for #OpenWrite

The muskrat, Chuchundra, trembles as he relays the news - his cousin, Chua, reminded him: snakes are everywhere - Can't you hear? Can't you hear?

for #OpenWrite Riff off Rikki Tikki Tavi

Whipped cream frosting on a whipped cream cake

My mother, tossing sugar, with the oven set to bake

A once-a-year adventure she'd once agreed to take

I'd sit and watch her work, and dream and contemplate

then after celebration, we'd dig in, without haste

I'd close my eyes in wonder and lose myself to taste

for #OpenWrite

So much becomes us only in reflection

dappled surface of river running towards the patient ocean

against the bend, the boat pushes against timeless currents

and then, the heart, a mirage we make real by remembering

for #OpenWrite

A song is something to remember a memory by -

a melody hiding inside
a scaffold of a poem -

Sometimes, you sing together; sometimes, you sing it alone

for #OpenWrite

https://claude.ai/public/artifacts/46c5ab6d-37b2-49ca-9d7c-cad6670fa03e

Maybe you can remember how we've become Entangled; Not just merely Tempered, but enmeshed Inside these echoes Of Newness and the now

Acrostic poem (“mention”) for #OpenWrite

It takes quiet, doesn't it, to notice the lone leaf, dropping?

The way it swoops its way downward, taking its time dancing on the currents

This, the first sign of summer ending, signaling something to a sleepy world

for #openwrite

We thought it was surprise snow, in June, in middle America, because we were young and didn't know any better, the two of us, barely still boys, in that old Buick, barreling back to New England, from Madison, the mission to Wisconsin to woo her back, a failed one, but still, a college break adventure, and it was a swarm of bugs, not flakes, a night cloud of them knocking glass and waking us up so fully with surprise we finally laughed at it all, and that's what we still remember the most: the storm of insects clouding our view as we drove east, back towards home

for #openwrite

Even broken strings on an old broken guitar sing in deep repose;

the memory thrums - the hand strums an architecture of notes

Somewhere, that familiar song still plays in a broken key; its resonance, floats

for #OpenWrite

I'm often wandering through the words of poets, sneaking small pockets of ideas, stealing seeds for sprouts, holding out hope on how poems emerge from dirt tilled by others; take a breath, blow, and let dandelions flow

for #OpenWrite