Poetry, sunday whirl, wordle


it’s a six-figure sign
a mysterious tip

table top lift
i’m gonna fly

it’s the wait
that tears and sows

mind-blown memories
cascading to defy today

below belting blues
the fiery kind with no smoke

above the birdlike sky
sings the ethereal aria

the sunday whirl wordle no 497



in a 180 roll
i’m still tumbling

wings pursuing the wind
free fall feverish flight

sightless vision
stirs the story

i’m gonna gather
my separated selves

into one, and
linger here on a lost lanai

where waves comes to shore
in a watery way

i’m forgetting the grief
and the ground feels real

**poet’s note to self: writing is a way of remembering a sister who has passed…** this gets harder not easier as family and friends move from one to another… writing is helping… a way of speaking that i could not would not otherwise…