Fly Fishing in a Stream of Consciousness

My effort on this piece is to write without meter or rhyme, having Simplicity, Clear Image, and Emotion.

Fly Fishing in a Stream of Consciousness

It's Thursday feeling like Friday.
Six in the morning feeling like three.
Slivers of dew have dried into pages of warm yesterdays on the window.
And I feel another warm day coming.

Today's flow of words hint another walk
over smooth rocks that not all look alike
but are.
Ebbs of adjectives wish to play hide and seek
but nouns stand firm
on pebbles
playing king
while verbs wade
weak ankles
in ponds of syllables.

Rhyme and Meter trace yesterday's dewdrops
keeping company with a see-through past
of fragile words frozen on the windowsill
as if to catch them,
save their dismal futures
from failing.

I fish in the creek and hide behind a tree
mistaking it for one of knowledge.
I too, am translucent,
Meter or Rhyme do not see me
or my fragile words
dulled by the murmur
of yesterday's syllables.

"Here. I'm here.
Can't you see me?"
I cry
wanting the privilege to stand as king
on the pebble in a slow
moving stream.
But my words are lost
to the dull murmur
of yesterday's syllables.

Wanting to be found a fly fisher
with a crate
of colorful lures,
Nouns of new meaning,
Verbs with wings,
I catch nothing.
Nothing,
but another word seeming to fly by itself
not needing me
or the fish
to give it respectability.

Occasionally
I pluck a new lure,
today Jasmine,
praying its savor
will waken hungry
ears and rest on
impeccable
tongues.
Jasmine.
Will it be fodder,
a part of speech
conveying a
plot or Nothing
but
another
sweet smelling
rambling vine?
Heaven forbid.


My heart of stone
is no longer a heart
but a pebble
in a creek
being stood upon
by a captor of words
and his ankles disappear
when the snow melts
and the earth welcomes
another Thursday morning
when pages of dew
paint new pictures
of old people
upon glassy windows
creating a scrapbook
of fish scales
resembling someone
I think I know.




OnWords & UpWords
Shirl Moyer
....Read my book...Ginkgoes of BenVenue