Poetry

3ww.twice_now

privately
i wonder
where is it

miniscule
moments tearing
away horizon’s edge

restless
sounding siren
deviant dwelling drift

grasping
trivial triumphs
traveling neckbreak speed

retrieving
old records
new needle niceties

resting
rock hidden
evergreen branches blanket

nestled
neatly between
ipseity and intangible

the taste of freedom feels foreign and unforgotten. just outside a wisp of wishing near the weeping willow tree whispers. wind’s written sureties surrounded in the gale one hears the stories stilled. 

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three word wednesday: deviant, miniscule, trivial
my every day journal day 8 page 8

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Napowrimo, Poetry, ReadWritePoem

dinner day 22

read write poem napowrimo day 22 a wordle 12 word choice use one or use them all. why not i mutter use all… ; photo: Canário-da-terra, Saffron Finch (Sicalis Flaveola), Bertrando©, flickr: sunday scribblings: dinner

deciding tomorrow‘s dinner
the image of green spinach pie
came to my dizzy delirious disposition
as the black crows in the surrounding
tall evergreen trees begin to batter
in spontaneous agreement

being in a saffron sunny spirit
i casually make a decision and navigate
the local market noting the excellent
selection of spinach and kale priced perfectly

a sudden hollar draws my attenion
his cropped head from a distance smiles
over the counter and in a booming voice
there’s an excellent choice today mam’

in a fierce minute squall
my gray peppered hair reality
began to reverberate through the
tiny tendrils of my suddenly saddened
electrified brain manifesting sprouts
when did i become a mam’

responding to an unexpected ache
of a latent sting i smiled a smile and
spoke sincerely thank you sir

later two aisles over stirring speculation
the recipe calls for eggs and grated
montery jack cheese

lost in the reverie of how old am i really
all the tomorrows and yesterdays simmered
and bubbled with little requirements of fire or flame

with my basket before me the rust wheels sqeak round
my dinner disillusioned and forgotten i find
little appetite unwilling to view the fine mist
of emporium delights fluttering before me
as colorful flags telling a tale of the finch who flew
away when the door of his cage mysteriously opened

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