Days that were cool, but just as often warm, always led to cooler nights, and walking from the barn to the house through damp evening grass meant sitting by the wood burning stove to dry the cuffs of our jeans while waiting for dinner. It didn’t matter if they became wet again as we walked across the lawn later in the night, because it meant sitting by the open flames of the firepit, sometimes the highlight of our weekend visits, where they could dry once more. And if that meant we had the cool night air against our backs it also gave us a reason to stand and turn to warm that side as we gazed at the beauty overhead.
vast blanket of stars blazing light in the night sky timeless memories
This poem is my response to The strange houses of Lee Madgwick, the prompt from Sarah at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to find inspiration in one of four surreal images of various structures. I chose “The Murmuration at No. 57.” More of the art of Lee Madgwick can be found here.
I recently visited the Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library in Indianapolis. One of the exhibits was in regard to Vonnegut’s dedication to the right of free speech and the fight to end censorship and the banning of books in schools and libraries. On one wall were boards with statements arguing for the right of free speech. Markers were provided with an invitation for visitors to leave their own comments in regard to this principle. In the photo below is the statement that I wrote, which I have revised for this prompt. (Click image for larger view in new tab.)
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.
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.
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.