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ds106

The way Autumn ends, with cold and wind and rain; days grow short, again

for #ds106

Heritage, tangled up with things nearly heard;

the faint rustle of lineage and blood lines, carved journeys of experience

this recorded quiet always brings with it some of the noise, static voices of the past

intruding in

for #ds106

Chromatography and Serendipity

An artist hardly knows what ink might make what the spill might create when the fiber takes the colors for a run

Poetry Reading

Some of the best poets we read ask that we not never not ever use their voice when devouring their verse - an argument that it's best for a reader to cut their own lips along the margins of the page, gnawing like small jackhammers on internal rhythm and rhyme beating out time in order to best discover something like love

for #ds106

We are merely transient, travelers here for such short times, these turning leaves of Autumn remind us that we must pause to savor each moment, to rediscover repose, arc the eyes at an angle from which to look anew at a beautiful world forever in transition

— for #ds106

Every Poet Is a Juggler

What at first glance seems simple enough - one word after another, so how hard could it be? - turns complicated when a writer realizes not every word belongs before the previous or after the other and failure becomes another poem dropped like lightbulbs to the floor

— for #ds106

Shredded paper pictures – do your best on this Rorschach test - we're only watching to witness what it is you make — what three pieces of abandoned trees, create — then, compost the art, as fiber fill – freeze the frame in image, still

for #ds106

We close our eyes as the end of summer breeze blows by; nothing today but clear blue skies

for #ds106

What gobbledygook we took and whatnot, too so flummoxed with malarky, bamboozled by you

for #ds106

ıʄ ơŋƖყ ɛ۷ɛཞყ ɬყ℘ɛʄąƈɛ ῳɛཞɛ ą ʂɛƈཞɛɬ ℘Ɩąƈɛ ῳɧɛཞɛ ℘ơɛɱʂ ɠơ ɬơ ʂƖɛɛ℘ - ı'ɖ ℘ơıŋɬ ɬơ ɬɧɛ ʂ℘ąƈɛ ῳɧɛཞɛ ῳơཞɖʂ ཞųŋ ɖɛɛ℘

for #ds106