Time was an afterthought as the clouds called us to attention, demanding we acknowledge through misty eyes or other fog-soaked facilities the half-eaten candy of a pastoral dream where rolling grasses trampled through an otherwise quiet afternoon.
The half-hidden sun implored us to come outside, though we misunderstood as he went in circles for days, refusing to get to the point, so we sat inside, anticipation dawning with dew-drenched ideas of misadventures masked by another day’s ascent.
That memory we used to share comes asking for blueberries when I close my eyes. I see a kaleidoscope. Purple juice carries more than it thought when pinched between fingers that just a moment ago looked white.
You tried to ruin me but I know tomorrow jumps two ways. A shooting star tells the tale for only a moment, extinguished on descent, though its arc burns red against the black as if the contrast should surprise us. The fire reveals the fruit.
In what part of the world do you live?
Tell us a little about yourself.
I am a native of Durham, North Carolina, where I live and write poetry. A husband and father, I find happiness in family, friends, reading, and of course writing. Though writing embarrassingly self-important poems since childhood, it was only at age 39 that I published my first collection of poems, Paint the Living, Plant the Dead.
Tell us about your journey as a writer. I wrote poems for much of my childhood but, with the intrusion of adulthood, only sporadically wrote while my career took hold. When I lost a job unexpectedly in 2018, I turned back to writing, working on a novel and diving back into the world poetry, which has been therapeutic and rewarding. Though my unemployment was short, I could not shake…
This tree wraps the sky in its arms, a promise of salvation buried beneath bark as leaves peak at the surface, buoyed by the world’s pledge of protection softly cooing on the wind.
The breeze dissolves as all things must into an atmosphere of unmoving refuse where changing winds turn away against the backdrop of cows laying still under the too-slow warming sun.
And still this tree shivers looking ahead, optimism scrubbing bark clean of dirt and other residue otherwise clouding its defense, stronger in the effort while grasping at the heavens, uncertain as they are.
Standing in the mirror she failed to divine the scope of a universe just above the horizon. Unseen within herself, distracted by visions of reflected glory, her dreams begged for sunlight.
The astronaut neglected to recognize the gravity of the situation, but with luck she will seize the opportunity another daybreak illuminates, light bounding among the star-point hopes shining in the dark.
Today at dVerse Poets Pub, Mish asks us to choose last lines in a book and find inspiration in them. I took inspiration from this quote: “She shuts her eyes. Drifts off untroubled, everything clear, and radiant, and all at once.” — “And The Mountains Echoed” by Khaled Hosseini.
Written for the Go Dog Go Cafe Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: “Standing in the mirror she”