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
Suddenly In Bloom
You merely blinked
and then it was
as if the switch,
flicked; the flowers
bloomed
for #OpenWrite
This
becomes
that and that
becomes
this, but which is
the what and what
is the which,
and where
is the when,
for when a look
becomes
that, and that
becomes
this – is it then
that this glance
becomes kiss?
for #OpenWrite
Ode To A River Current
Knitted along
the edge where
running water
caresses sand,
we stand here,
quiet, listening,
imagining ways
in which days
fold in, forever
looping, linking,
patterned inside
the sounds of
a fixed flow,
never broken
but for brief
moments of falling
for #OpenWrite
Every sort of idea
ignites the page,
astonishes the writer ,
as much as reader;
A poet is compelled
to uncover a poem
framed as something
new, something true,
But while we crave original,
we listen for the echoes
for #OpenWrite with this random word list:
ignite
astonish
compel
frame
crave
Start with a greeting -
more formal than
friendly – and then
a few notes to hum
alongside with (maybe
be in a minor key) – but
the start of something
longer belongs better in
a letter, not converted
into music manuscript,
or else you'll be resigned
to never being finished,
for words elude you:
this cover letter
languishes
for #OpenWrite
Sound,
of you
becomes me,
a symphony
in a major key,
a string of sixteenth notes
strung together, harmony
and melody merge together
so that one voice is two, me plus you,
resting beneath the sign of Fermata
An etheree poem for #OpenWrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/etheree-revisited/
Where not so long ago
there was nothing but
winter, now there is
color – forgotten bulbs
blossoming into view,
in brilliant yellow, purple
and orange, a menagerie
occupying a sunny corner
of the yard
for #OpenWrite
https://www.ethicalela.com/color-in-nature/