A tiny house is only as small as the minds that are within it.
Our travels continue and will take us through Labor Day. Ten days ago, we were in Philadelphia and had the pleasure of spending an afternoon at the historic Valley Green Inn with Claudia McGill and Merril Smith. The tiny house that is pictured is a wonderful gift that I received from Claudia.
The American Sentence was created by Allen Ginsberg ~ loose American form of haiku, with 17 syllables ~ represented as a sentence ~ reference to a season is not required ~ similar to senryū ~ read more here & here
First break of light, senses keen for any trace of change, I greet the day, eager to meet any challenge, knowing what I face will not daunt me. Each day is a new beginning. No hurdle is too great, this morning or any morning.
This is my response to #Quadrille #158: Morning Has Broken, the prompt from Linda Lee Lyberg at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use a form of the word morning in a 44-word poem (excluding title), with no required meter or rhyme.
Would I be that person again? Am I not, still? You speak, perhaps to me. I am here, yet I was there, then. But this is now.
Separation. Time. Analog or digital, there is familiarity in all you say, all you do.
The fourth wall cannot prevent memories from surfacing as I watch them unfold before me.
Starting this weekend, I’ll be away for a couple of weeks, traveling. My writing in the past week has been limited by a particular preparation for the trip. I have more than 50 hours of home videos on VHS tape, some from as far back as 1990, that I am converting to digital. I hope to share some of that with my children when I see them at a family gathering that will be a part of this trip.
Hopefully, 3,00 miles behind the wheel will provide some inspiration.
Don’t think we don’t appreciate the fare that’s offered. We do queue up from time to time, but food trucks really aren’t our thing. We’re here for the beer, and you do know how to brew. Few craft brewers bother to have a dark beer on tap, favoring IPAs, but your selection is the best. It’s about time we had a quality brewery in town, so your fare is just fine with me. We’ll take a flight of your finest.
what seems like chaos as chaos is in the making is more than chaos yet something less when in truth there is no truth until all is sorted, arranged, placed, removing any semblance of the chaos that is held within the thoughts that created it
Would I be that person again? Am I not, still? The anger that stewed within is gone, resolved with understanding. Loss weighs heaviest when dismissed. Recognized, accepted, it still lives within me, an empty space never to be filled yet always holding those who cannot be replaced.
The farthest thing from my mind when I’m chipping away at the frozen layer on my driveway on a chilly, mid-Missouri February morning that, as usual, has as much rain as snow is to wish for more of the same. But here I am on a ninety-six degree day in August crossing a Target parking lot as I wade through heat waves rising from the asphalt that remind me of that Vegas hospital parking lot in early June of ’93 after visiting Dad and thinking he’d be flying home soon – we know how that worked out – wishing I could have one of those ice-crusted snow days. Or better yet, just one more minute working beside Dad at Overland Express back in Buffalo in the ’70s with the snow blowing between the trailers and across the dock, his face just as red from the cold as it would get if he were here with me on this hot, August Missouri day.
Absent the agony of your companion, the white heat of pain temple to temple, my pleas for mercy falling on ears deaf to everything but a ringing magnified tenfold, you were a welcome distraction, courting fascination with the pulsation of lightning through a prism.
That you are now absent as well, I wonder. Should I miss you?
For years, I was plagued with sinus headaches, often several times a month, that would start with a pressure buildup behind my eyes. A migraine would follow if I didn’t immediately treat the headache with ibuprofen and pseudoephedrine. These days, those headaches are few and far between, and I haven’t had a migraine in many years. I can’t say I miss them. On the other hand, sometimes I would have an ocular migraine, an arc of light with a prismatic effect in my peripheral vision, very seldom accompanied by any discomfort. Those could be fascinating. The last time I had one I wrote about it, here.
Sijo (a Korean verse form related to haiku and tanka)
~ three lines of 14-16 syllables each
~ a total of 44-46 syllables
~ a pause near the middle of each line
~ first half of the line contains six to nine syllables
~ the second half should contain no fewer than five
Originally intended as songs, sijo can treat romantic, metaphysical, or spiritual themes. Whatever the subject, the first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “turn,” and the third provides closure.
Modern Sijo are sometimes printed in six lines.
Read more here: Wikipedia
In darkness filled with the light of memories,
I call out in a voice that carries no weight.
The silence of your response echoes
in scenes that play out before me,
moments always out of reach but never
far from my mind, even in waking dreams
when I know you are gone but always
with me. The separation of decades
knows no distance, whether dreaming
or awake. Day and night are the same,
your absence all the difference. This is my response to dVerse – Poetics – Fractals, the prompt from Lisa at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to write a poem using “fractal poetics.” Alice Fulton describes this as exploring the structure of free verse as “a dynamic, turbulent form between perfect chaos and perfect order,” here.