A Weed on The Curb

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #240 , poetry in the midwinter pause. Art by Michael Whelan Still angry at the bauble, the key to the vanished door Kept on a shelf as an inert memory, as dust-flavored time No one said we kept possibility just out of reach At least of the less-brave children, who never walked a shelf Or touched a bone or glass or a universe key But still, somehow, were wiser for their walk on this shore Than I have been making this discovery There is a not-insignificant part of me that would love to take this and make of it a novel in between the holidays, to create something out of that gorgeous painting. However, that may just be a brain freeze from standing in my stocking feet on the driveway while James strung Christmas lights over the front bed he'd just massacred and was feeling slightly guilty about. Sorry about the salvia. Have some Christmas lights. :)  front bed In my head, the reindeer is about to eat his way through the candy cane lights. Hope

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #239 , a weekly poetry & flash site. Come share! The doves and mockingbirds knit the fog into socks and coats for those who walk the bridge over the ocean the land remembers glittering in rainbows, refractions; light bends infinity into all her bridges under which we pass. Welcome to second (third?) summer, much like the multiple meals of a wealthy hobbit, in which we have exceeded the pleasant sufficiency of warm weather and are filling in all the chilly corners. Is it time to convert all Christmas decorations to holiday at the beach? Sandmen and pelicans? Did I pick the wrong picture for this week's Muse? :) Hoping you're having a good week! -- Chrissa

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #238 . Being put to the question and will you read What poem comes from the hand? Winter is spring, grey-white and yellow Circulation is down to the band. An industrial room with Mary on canvas A murmur, a dog, and this stand. Will you read the room, the day, the hour Will these seasons ever land? Let's start with lunch: it was a handful of peanut butter M&Ms because breakfast was late because yesterday's tired hasn't yet washed out of my head  and  I'm still considering what it means to have dreamt that the secret to success was engraved on a clear plastic knife and handed to me just before I woke up. I'm pretty sure it was a good secret, really motivating and clarifying and totally impressive for having been scratched onto a picnic knife; a creative and useful tool that totally wouldn't accidentally get thrown out with the casual thoughtlessness of waking up. It's going to haunt me all day.  -- Chrissa