Soil once disturbed now routed,
whetted appetite stirs,
winds see dark flag flutter,
sun rises waiting till a voice comes calling
Category: Writing
I am not the writer in our house; my partner is. Nevertheless, from time to time I find myself writing a bit of flash fiction or even poetry and vignettes in a series I call The Sparrow Story.
I truly have no pretensions around the craft of the written word at either a sentence or paragraph level, let alone at something as grandiose as stitching all of that together into a written story. Can you imagine all those words to write? Crazy!
Nevertheless, given my obvious insanity and lack of sense of my limits, I do have aspirations of someday producing a written story or two that may not be a complete waste of another human being’s time to read.
Labored
Labored rains cleanse not all
Water delves to rotted root
Healing e’ermore yester sins
Conjoin acceptance unconditional
Love labors long
Greened Priory
woods greened near priory
trots unheedingly past bountied bough
eyeing felled apple turned seed
lowers virgin so’ other Spring longingly
Bled Out
Septum cleaves cloudied smiles
Kisses break over drought winds
Prison to what must be, not what is
Words found left all but bled out
Soaked
Seattle rains fail to drown once sunned memories
apprehended before birth, these passed moments
linger on as slumbering ghosts haunting me
longing for chances now wilting on paths untaken
you come as my morrow, my marrow