Leaves fall like broken joy, from her beloved tree. Pain is felt by both the dying leaf,falling free and lonely tree.
Category: Poetry Prompt Responses
Prompt #2- Recipe for Fear
Ingredients: One disabled car 1 cup dark stormy night 1 cup deserted road 1 dozen extra large unknown sounds Mix well with at least 1 cup raw fear. Let sit for sixty minutes. Bake 12 – 14 minutes or until fear rises to the top.
2020, poem 4, prompt 4 – write a letter
Dear Jean The pheasant has not been seen since you left us but the first time she returns to my garden I will think of our last conversation, how you had laughed at me joking about choking it. How dizzy I felt encouraging you to…
Skay Hour 4
Edited: Baguette and cheese Of photography and particle physics, Talking respective loves, And purging out hates. Of friendships lasting much longer than puny, short lives. And thoughts living forever. Of home made bolognese and tiramisu, And baguette and cheese in a brown bag…
Hour 4: The Timer
Dear Nanny, I have the timer from your kitchen drawer, white sand still sliding through in tiny grains. Time is trapped in plastic, a green jewel – A prism that mirrors and fractures light. This object rested on your window sill, looking out at green…
Letter to Mama
My Beloved Mother, How are you? You would be wondering why I am writing you a letter. Do not wonder. I am thinking about you and all memories that I hold dearly. All the lessons you taught me still guides my every thought. You left…
Dear Aunt Jean,
That spring morning in April, your granddaughter held the phone to your ear when I called, you on your deathbed, me standing alone at the back slider. I cried as your gravelly voice came over the wire, systems shutting down at age 98. I knew…
Psychopaths Are Unaffected By Punishment
Dear Dad Now that you are dead I thought it time to have a chat That chat You know, the one that ends with you owning up Dear Dad Your words of apology I dreamt last night or some other week Are refused It’s…
To my grandmothers (Hour 4)
To my grandmothers I wish that the afterlife allowed for letters. Why not let some document float to earth, ethereal and mysterious, but newsy. News from two women who died too young. News from the grandmothers I never met. You could fill a page with…
Epistle to Glen Ryan – Prompt # 4
I wept when we reached Sherwood Lane and learned we’d not see your smiling eyes again. Sis and I traveled far praying we would reach you in time. Many hours in the air, clenching armrests on our chair, we shared our hearts and hopes. More than…