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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
| To the poet within the reader: I can’t define the impulse until words attempted put to it. Sometimes, it’s the whole of my life — gut reactions, feelings emotional with color longing to be painted in words. And even when finished, feelings faded, words linger empty, aimless, as I stare at the dry wall of myself. A Painting Hangs Somewhere probably hangs an inviting painting of an unpurposed, rustic chair. In a sturdy Adirondack begging a friend, frequent a call from the secluded lawn along that saggy, gray fence. Irises purple decadence, mere glimpsed, truly missed, enmeshed by weeds and invading ground cover that crept, snake as replicate green in the bare, weaved. Escape could frame my sweaty ass to hard surface, leaned back as invitation to view bobbing, waving pine limbs. I could see myself there, not a care, clutching clear-beaded, brown glass; sample amber, light. A breeze might brush my chin, skin bared, tousle hydrangea heads slow-lifting from low after a night gushed, glistening a radiant, returning scene a sneaky sun could spy. I could pull off worn high tops that miss hardwood of yore, peel socks like foot-shaped stickers, toe the thick patch sheltered by crotchety crabs; white blossoms long since blended, bled for her. Yup, it’s out the window and I’m alone in here. I could be care free, if I had a moment to share... 7.17.22 |
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