We were at an apple orchard, gathering fruit (Cortland, Golden, Macoun, etc) as part of a annual family tradition each Autumn when I noticed a sign for the sale of Sunflowers. The paper was old, the ink faded by rain and sun. What remained of the flowers were droopy skeletons of summer's glory, a sort of cemetery of what had bloomed with no doubt magnificence just a few weeks back. I was tempted to pick one of the fallen flowers, but the sign still announced the sale of each flower for a cost of $2.50 a stem. I let the idea go, and left the ghosts of the Sunflower graveyard for the soil.
for #writeout via Daily Create
Talking poems,
within the confines
of city and concrete,
the rough terrain
where dandelions meet,
the weeds shout back,
in a verse of grit
and grime; words
find a way to survive
For #writeout
It's utter chaos
in the berry-laden
Mountain Ash trees
today,
a yearly chattering
Autumnal
feeding frenzy
that's now underway,
and ever time
we wander near,
to rake the leaves
or get the mail
the winged visitors
shout disapproval,
then in a flock,
flutter away
for #writeout
A painter's palette:
imagining a canvas
of changing colors
The green dress is gone,
pigments fade with cold, dark nights;
in morning, unclothed
A leaf must wonder
where it is going, falling
from branch limb to ground
When tomorrow comes,
all will be different here
as hues disappear
Crackle brittle brown -
the soil always welcomes you
with wide open arms
for #writeout
Limbs snarl,
like a map
that's contorted
in a twisted
mirror
The mangrove,
gargantuan
in its reach,
envelopes
a world
We're just
travelers here,
bound inside
the looping
shadows of
a maze
for #MastoPrompt and #writeout
(me)
I am root,
unseen through time
for most of
the world's curious eyes,
except by you,
my tree
(ChatGPT)
You are root,
Hidden beneath
the soil's dark heart,
Yet in your presence,
I find the start.
(me)
I am tendrils,
a connected network
of information flow,
where I am you,
stories go
(ChatGPT)
Together we weave,
a tapestry grand,
In the realm of stories,
hand in hand.
(me)
I am thread,
stitching our shared past
on an ancient loom,
the rustling of leaves,
we bloom
(ChatGPT)
From the loom's timeless frame,
our tale is spun,
Two souls connected,
together as one.
Written with ChatGPT in alternating verse
a #writeout experiment
Help them move
past the mirk and mire ...
— Willeena Booker
https://twitter.com/WilleenaB/status/1693989524442055138
Summer rains stretch
fingers into the bottoms
of the riverbed,
a weathered troublemaker
stirring up what's long been
settled in
With eyes closed, then,
we slumber along
through cloudy waters,
dreaming of currents
and clarity
Then stuck feet find
a footing, and a hand
reaches from the shore -
Once more, your presence
provides ballast
in an otherwise
unbalanced world
Covered,
but with little protection,
the small stream wanders on,
unaware of our footfalls
tapping a rhythm to the woods,
singing a song like the skin
of a drum
for #writeout
Nearly forever listening,
we're always hearing a voice
of this river, the flow
below ground, the unfolding
sound of erosion and reaction,
the timbre of melody
of friction on stone,
the thoughts of a poet,
nearly, but not always,
written alone
— inspired by Ella's poem of Mammoth Cave
https://www.youthvoices.live/safe/
#writeout
Ode to the Bend in the River
Smoothed stone,
pottery and glass
meet you where
the bending
begins
Where it's best
to sit in the quiet
of the movement,
to just listen in,
Every ripple of river,
a moment of wonder
which clears its voice,
and sings
— inspired by Ranger Beth via #writeout
https://www.nps.gov/media/video/view.htm?id=EC5D2F60-6823-4601-9CAF-DD66B5AA14FD