Poetry, sunday whirl, wordle

not.yet

wordle469

Sunday Whirl – 469

deep end distant damage
silver chain of footsteps folly

seeds of time sprouting raindrops
sifting through the sand and brick

memory mist of sudden rain
a well of water splashes me dry

sitting, standing, leaning or lost
stay or go, sleeping and awake

constant calamity calm
the days drift into night

skyblue thinking
looking up, the starspeak silence roars

Standard
Poetry, stumbling toward ecstasy

it’s not that simple

rebecca’s stumblin toward ecstasy
photo: red_04, Zita B, flickr

red_04

standing still suggests
his heart quakes a quiver
attempting to capture one
slippery scent of security

slightly retrospect
he turns and smiles
a warm touch remote
signals the lock of his heart

walking towards a
world a way
closer yet he comes
his soft blue shirt shimmers

just as before
not hardly a change
he now walks
soothingly slower

he bends his frame
encompasses my life
we start all over again

Standard