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...
I enjoyed this poem so much. Love the rhythm of it, and the repetition - and the feeling of sleeves-rolled-up spring activities. I once had a little shed that was always in need of cleaning - and a gigantic garden.
ReplyDeleteI love the hopeful feeling this holds my friend!
ReplyDeletea little bit of Wonderland just enough fun
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunday Chrissa
much❤love
Oh, to have a garden with a little shed again. Simply delightful.
ReplyDeleteI always hate cleaning the garden shed - all those spiders! Your poem will inspire me to do it.
ReplyDelete"Once again in sequence." Yes, indeed. Order is restored, and so are we.
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