Skip to main content

Sunday Muse #158

 


I'll tell you flight is good balance--
Witches don't need to master the sweep
of the wind; we are in its lift.

This is skill. Where the dance
requires the footing and the leap,
we only want the slip.

Let go from the wild branch,
fall backward; join our airy trapeze!
The fear is the trip.


-- chrissa

Comments

  1. There is so much depth to this my friend. The skill the dance and the letting go and that last line is a powerful truth! Love love love this!!!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Witches don't need to master the sweep
    of the wind; we are in its lift. - great.
    .

    ReplyDelete
  3. I was ready to mention the line qbit referenced, it gave me goosebumpies.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I like the instructional tone and your rhyme scheme here. Great spin on the image.
    Li@tao-talk

    ReplyDelete
  5. Nice one. Luv the last line. It sums up the entire process

    Happy Sunday

    Thanks for dropping by to read mine

    Much❤love

    ReplyDelete
  6. I'm all for skilful dancing - especially with words. :-) ♥

    ReplyDelete
  7. Happy landings. "Let go from the wild branch, fall backward . . ." I fell frontward but reversed it to backward and broke my big toe. The boot comes off June 3, I can't even drive until then. (Forward would have been into the pool.)
    ..

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I hope you're feeling better!! Toe injuries are frustrating.

      Delete
  8. Well written Chrissa, very interesting.

    ReplyDelete
  9. This is awesome! Love your ending!

    ReplyDelete
  10. A very interesting take on vertigo. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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

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.