Saturday, September 19, 2020

Inked Out of Soil and Sky

my garden blushes
in the most delicious shades

of ripening fruit

summer looks
much like autumn
springing before nature changes

when trees burn,
the world grows darkly


the wee notes

- the new Blogger and I are currently in the I-sincerely-detest-its-guts stage. I can never understand why some platforms take something that works just fine, and turn it into an unnecessary nightmare. I can’t think of a single Blogger “improvement” I like, but I can tell you which I really loathe: not being able to post clear photos.  

- to see the photos that inspired these poem bits, click here, here, and here.

- for Poets and Storytellers United (Writers’ Pantry #38: Ominous Times).

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

I Am

“No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life is only the core of their actual existence.” – Terry Pratchett

If you’ve read me for a while, you might’ve noticed that I’ve shared the quote above more times than it’s probably decent. I can’t help itwhenever the topic of “last words” enters the conversation, that particular bit of Pratchett wisdom finds its way into my skull. So... when Rosemary asked for writing which considered what our final message to the world would be, the quote spilled into my muse’s ink and inspired her to stitch the following American Sentence:

Weep—when goodbye hurts—but remember I lived and loved, therefore I am.

another wee note

- while I was searching for the wee poem, I found myself wishing the page had contained the word “wrote” instead of “loved”. Then, after I was done, I was glad that it didn’t. For I thought, Yes, “I lived and wrote” would’ve been cool. But “I lived and loved (to laugh, to run, to cook, to garden, to write, to read, to love…) is accurate.

- for Poets and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #37: Last Messages)

Wednesday, September 9, 2020

So Much Ash

they tell me, is so much ash
in delusion’s mouth.
I say nothing, but wonder
why their phoenix stopped burning.

photo by Volodymyr Hryshchenko, on Unsplash