Skip to main content

Icarus

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #212.


Let's start a rumor of an urban legend
When the sky fell hard for the blacktop
Called itself Icarus and headed
to the beach, pressing over 85

We were lying three to a hammock
Under Keith's parents' beach house
Back when his dad still gave the weather
on Channel 5

When Icarus blew by
Blue sky comet on the asphalt twilight
Kissed our shoulders, lied.
Breeze says everything gets bright

When the sky blows through the night
When the sky blows through the night

Greetings and salutations! Glad to be back and writing. :) 

-- Chrissa

Comments

  1. I love the idea of an asphalt twilight kissing shoulders. That is a glorious line within an amazing poem of memories. So glad you are writing my friend!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Yes indeed, so many yarns to be weaved, so many stories still to be written.
    Bravo!!!
    Have a good Sunda Chrissa
    Thanks for dropping ny my blog

    Much💛love

    ReplyDelete
  3. Who doesn't enjoy watching comets in the night sky?
    Love this, Chrissa.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Your poetry inspires, satisfies and thrills me ... every time.

    ReplyDelete
  5. I can feel the breeze! Such a sense of both the mythic and prosaic in this one, and the detail about weather on channel 5 made it so immediate and cemented the sense of things already blown past.

    ReplyDelete
  6. "Blue sky comet on the asphalt twilight" Great image!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Turn Away

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse , for #193. Turn away, like the moon, listening... Listening to the planet that rumbles with a hundred million slaps. All the feet, all the rockets, all the  pistons in the cars on the asphalt over the chasm where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night. Running over the chasm.  Once or twice they ran to you. Once or twice they ran by. Greetings and salutations. The sky is an entertaining shade of concrete yellow as the rain promised earlier in the week makes good on its arrival. It's a disturbing bright sallow sky, the kind of sky that puts you in mind of old movies and degraded film stock and the pops and crackles incidental to the main story.  Several years ago I made a resolution to journal more and last year I came across a video that suggested I actually re-read those journals, at least those of the previous year, at the beginning of each new year. Technically, I have kept the journal resolution, making daily notes in...

By the Roadside

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #260  with much appreciation to Carrie & Shay & everyone. Just a reminder: if you have a poetry book, please drop a title in the comments. My TBR won't thank you, but I will. :)    I drive by the armadillos, dead where they fell. Sunlight is so heavy it folds into damp shimmers. All the roads are widening, dispersing the ditches, Grinding out parking lots, killing slow steps. I speed up; crisp winter in the passenger seat. We will arrive at the store soon; I will drag her Chill, into the store. Breathe for both of us. Brightness distorts the lots, now grown gigantic. Roads need blood, the state needs the kills. We will make it through barriers if we wear them: Dead armadillos, caliche dust, gunmetal sunshine.

To Blue Fields Far Below

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #228 , The Fashionable Twenties.  A sycamore fairy sits crosslegged in the road Dragons swim toward smooth hills above the storms Vines embrace the telephone poles  Someone washed the blue skies and she knows  It's time to dare the salty foam It's time to wade through the eternal fields' folds And gather golden apples for home.  Hoping this finds you with space to daydream and a good book in which to wander. Working on turning last week's prompt into a longer piece, as I found myself intrigued by the idea of tea in the garden as combat. Social situations are not my forte. As it's still Spider September, there will be a chihuahua-sized jumping spider that is none too happy about anything but hunting squirrels (that's for you, Mom).  -- Chrissa