Skip to main content

Swan Sward

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #233, surreal and real poetry.


Clouds echo the fountain, spray and surround
One goose floats swan-ward between the skies
Along the empty alley, reflective, upside down.

-- Chrissa


Comments

  1. Gillena CoxOctober 23, 2022 at 12:51 AM

    We chose the same image. Nice response.
    Happy Sunday

    Much❤love

    ReplyDelete
  2. Keith's RamblingsOctober 23, 2022 at 8:00 AM

    Congratulations on finding something excellent to write in response to this somewhat unusual picture!

    ReplyDelete
  3. kaykualaOctober 23, 2022 at 8:51 AM

    Along the empty alley,
    reflective, upside down

    An interesting image in a creative presentation! Good choice Chrissa!

    Hank

    ReplyDelete
  4. Sherry Blue SkyOctober 23, 2022 at 9:17 AM

    Beautiful.

    ReplyDelete
  5. qbitOctober 23, 2022 at 9:54 AM

    "swan-ward"!!!!!

    ReplyDelete
  6. DoraOctober 23, 2022 at 3:20 PM

    How imaginative Chrissa. Lovely.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Carrie Van HornOctober 24, 2022 at 7:08 AM

    Oh Chrissa!!!!!!! This is perfection! A world, a way of thinking and a lovely poem all in a few gorgeous lines!

    ReplyDelete
  8. Susie ClevengerOctober 24, 2022 at 12:52 PM

    So beautiful, eloquent in its brevity

    ReplyDelete
  9. purplepeninportland.comOctober 28, 2022 at 5:23 PM

    Nice one, Chrissa!

    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...
15 comments
Read more

Treacle Season

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #190 ,  hosted this week by Carrie. Keaton was great in that show—the one with wings— Where he was constantly a [man]child on a ledge  dreaming an angel who became a superhero.   She was a sarcastic (fake?) angel—it was the 80s— But always good, on time, her lessons easy, Easy as it would have been for him to fall.   The metaphor so obvious...but I didn't get it. Nor the easy and obvious good. (/s)   I watch the TV movie every other December Remembering believing in easy And crushing on this character, that city...   Angels should be sweet, sarcastic figures, knowing (like nurses and social workers) we prefer Sleeping on the ledge, reckless to call for "heroes." To clear up any confusion:  there is no Michael Keaton movie we watch every holiday season. Although, if there were...I'd probably watch it.  -- Chrissa
16 comments
Read more

The Soul and The Spine

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #195 . Come and share! When it blew out the candle, It began to speak, voice low,  eyes dimmer than flame. Jenn believed, once upon a childhood (she's still there... but it's waning), it inhaled fire. Spines, tonight. Gears ladder bones and metal and plastic, all that lived, rungs to heaven. Heaven is a level of space where you can't breathe  so they used to send the dead. When the flame goes, it takes our memories with it. But not bot files. Maybe it believes  she'll sleep easier if bots go breathless, too. It continues murmuring and she pretends she's hearing a confession in a box Like the song her mother plays when the dark stretches  between signals We can handle shocks. She can handle the dark, the small  not-flame of its eyes. It's finally winter!! Which means bitmapped frost on the roofs, cold mornings, and a table full of succulents that are pretty much glaring at me because the kitchen window isn't the same as full su...
14 comments
Read more