I really enjoyed this week’s prompt and was proud how it turned out 🙂 Thanks so much, Kristiana!!
As blues turn a tangerine orange,
dusk surrounds each of us with the promise
of another day, soon to peak through
the leaves of this old tree, reaching,
straining, but never able to feel blue.
How small is the tree, as the sun radiates,
warmth engulfing everything with the hope
that the vastness of existence pours through
everything with a purpose that we, reaching,
straining, are never able to understand?
I counted her freckles like rings
in a tree trunk, soft kissed by the sun,
and on particularly warm summer nights
I lose the number, finding myself instead
tracing her face, hinting at red,
burning as another day
fades gentle, another mark of beauty.
misery wears a crown,
on his head.
old men wave
stars don’t dance
I step into
a cloud of purple.
the sunlight plays
Mozart as I waltz
beneath the shade
of a tree,
empty of leaves,
leaving me grazing
Part of this process has involved going back through decades of stuff I’ve written, combing through hundreds of documents and deciding what is at least decent and what is unquestionably embarrassing juvenalia. There seems to be a fair amount of both. For every turn of phrase I’m glad found voice, there seem to be severalContinue reading “Taking stock”
But I’ve reached a point in my life (mid-life crisis cliche) where I am comfortable, determined, and motivated enough to throw myself out into the world and see what comes back. Will it be universal ridicule? Wide-ranging rebuke? Or, most terrifyingly, passionate indifference?