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
dVersePoets – Tuesday Come Sail … it’s all about the “boat”
written in a blue language
deep open sea sonata
port of a peculiar pitch percussion
cannot help handcuff desire
navigate in leisure, lower the anchor
cooing at the quiet pitch of soft and stern
spark ignite release
stoic sincerity
the soul starts to sink
decoy deck disappears
catching the underground rail
a link that lingers
hook line and sinker
time and a half later
in the wake of a moonlight night
shimmering sounds of rippling rails
store ones thoughts
in a pure place pivot
poet note: there is a place between boat and water…..
he noticed the situation had become concerning. fumbling with familiar feelings, just as quickly his anger dissipates in a fog of reason and compassion. heart-rending, wretched and yearning, he concluded there’s no way he was gonna find the truth. too deep, too wide, he’d end up drowning in the effort. dreaming of freedom he grasped at the clasp. appeased within he turned, breathing deep dropped his suitcase and started again as if he never packed.
sunday writing – choosing your context He noted the situation had become grim/concerning/chucklesome.
Sunday Whirl: Wordle 213
red wine woman
she sips with hollow eyes
a puzzle piece missing
one winner won
startled she slips
a stinging red stain
watching wearily
hidden heart divine
wicked winner he smiles
chiseled charm abstract
lucid lips pucker
he simply won’t do
stepping through
another open door
luminous light beckons
feckless contemplation
foreign sounds allure
there’s no going back
superior view
she decides to stay
dumb luck stumble
does there have to be a reason
sitting alongside to next across the street
whenever the sun smiles watching the light lift
withered wings appear appeased
writing a word and then another
one sentence starts to sing
fairy forgiven hands slay dishonor
feet walking away from here
another approach turns three times
the newness smells so sweet
______________________________________
my every day journal entry. page possibly 7. i’ve lost count. day 7.
weather outside is cold and wet with a chilling wind. just the way i like it.
Piece of Pie ala Mode 