“All my friends are funeral singers” – Sylvan Esso / Califone   They line up, in formation dressed in black and gold Their harmonies studied their conductor reaches out Stretching towards each note passed from open mouths They take care not to step out of…

On the edges of a limb the colors Travel too quickly and you will doubt That you saw the change commence   In time amber leaves will join others A chorus of brights now remembered From before continues to amaze   A miracle as smart…

Hour eight began with me cursing my neighbor with the leaf blower as I tried to listen to the instrumental piece. Earbuds, sufficient volume later, I calmed down and let the music pour into me, indeed, like daylight the tenderness of light tempered by shadow…

I’m already tired of funeral songs Only a few decades under my belt and yet I feel like I’ve seen too many funerals A few for the old but too many for the young and those near to me I wish I could hold tight…

Prompt 8 = Image   The African Sky   Lying flat on our backs under the Milky Way Half asleep, I hear you say, ‘Can anything be vaster than this sky?’ We looked up together, hands clasped tight. At the open, silken, endless, night Where…

Soft breeze plays gently with my hair. I close my eyes and imagine your hands brushing through the strands. The rustling of leaves in the wind whisper faintly, a reminder of your low melodic voice in my ear, breath tickling my neck. The sun behind…

Patience, like dawn, is a crawl, an arising, a long exhale. One note at a time, I inch closer, stroking her hollow just so, Enchanting the air, thrilling fingers, ears, tremulous vibrato, Sweetening cilia, like swaying heather among the zephyrs, Soft, I treble climb down…

Soft touch of sunshine Rains on my face, glow of gentle red behind closed eyes, drowsing against glass.

I think of you often Too often, when the last words we spoke were so long ago I can no longer remember what they were Do you think of me?   There was a time Where nothing was more important Than the hours we spent…

Prompt 7 – Viator Poem   Why do I write   Why do I write, to tell our words stories , memories, our keepsakes.   Sometimes I get asked Why do I write, because I like to is the simplest answer.   Words are important…