Haiku, Poetry, WritersIsland

pescador

this week’s writer’s island: no 21 posted a photo entitled fisherman by vane kosturanov [see below] …and from there it’s a sorta freefall…. be sure to stop by the island this week…

having recently visited a blog senderupwords who has numerous conversations with hemingway [excellent series] reminded me of his wonderful story about “the old man and the sea” and when i arrived at the island and saw this week’s prompt abt a man fishing… well, went fishin’ myself and brought this up from the deep and floated to the surface….

caressing the small ark
the water splashes her wings
swaying the still

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SundayScribblings

here i am

the other day, i think it was tuesday afternoon, i realized i’ve been sleeping alone. happily roaming from side to side in simple satisfaction. when the prickly sheets became too familar i’d roll over to the other side, the quiet soothing sheets cool and crisp anticipating my sleepy warm body. peeking all along, reality radiates before me questioning my stinging surprise. i alone sans souci creating a collection of memories without a second thought. harvesting delineated colors casually registering the saturated brush on the crazy sometimes chaotic canvas of my existence. how could one be complete without the other terra incognita? curiously i could not help but to ponder, awakened from his slumber does he too wait for me to notice the unhurried element of emptiness. suppose we came close, nonchalantly heading our billowing sails into a different wind, shifting the cosmic kismet decree. a transitory waterway facing the next sunset we travel onward. you and i we wander undiscovered side by side. secret shadowed mirror smiling in sincerity reflects we’ve past once before.
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SundayScribblings No 124 topic: observation; photo: here i am…., Unfurled, flickr

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Poetry, ReadWritePoem

brush strokes

paint and brush

careless colors
of her subconscious
spilled over onto
the white canvas
yet touched by
her brush

each thought
propelled by motion
created an opposed line
of form unrelated to
the pressure of her
own brush

trespassing strokes
appearing in odd angles
displayed a tongue of
unknown origin

disappearing
her body lacked knowledge
of the unknown presence
stealing her soul

ReadWritePoem #28: Write a poem about something that doesn’t exist.
photo: cillialou1124, photobucket

 

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