Hour 7 – My girl
Nitanis
Sadness swings back and forth
You were my sunshine
Grief swings back and forth
You were my star
Darkness swings back and forth
You were my light
My Girl you are missed and loved always
Hour 8: Roadkill Rescues
An Elegy for the Roadkill:
Has anyone ever thanked the carcasses
For letting us be the ones to survive the wreck
for becoming rigor mortis sculptures
to decorate the guardrails
keeping the crosses company
and feeding the flowers with their decomposition
so we can all see the reminders
and slow down
There was a girl in high school once-
and a deer took the hit
got to be the excuse we all clinged to
instead of the truth
which is that sometimes we just want to drive away from ourselves
and finally meet the horizon
Yesterday,
I slammed the brakes so a turkey could cross
and he took his damn time too
I’d just gotten back up to speed
When 2 cop cars passed me
so fast that I barely heard the next 2 coming
so fast that I had already parked on the shoulder
had already thanked god for no ticket
had already felt the guilt that always follows that relief
because they are on their way to a different kind of victim
10 miles later
there was a motorbike on a flatbed
with no rider
That night, I learned what the asphalt of your driveway tastes like
cause I kissed the ground when I got there
that night
we gave all our thanks
to a turkey
Who had made the world slow
so I could stay in it.
“Siblings”
Hour Nine: Ekphrastic response to Diane Carmony photo.
Dialogue between Diane C. and Diane MW
Diane C. ” I’ll beat you home.”
Daine MW: “No fair, I didn’t know we were racing!”
Diane C: “Yes, you did, you’re just saying that because I’m ahead.”
Diane MW: ” Nah, you’re cheating on that gust of wind.”
Diane C. Yeah, that’s true. So, join me.”
Diane MW: “Ok sis. Love you.
Diane C:” Love you too. DMW
PS Nice to meet you.
Flight from Summer
Deep black wings
outlined in pale yellow
a pair soar across
a blue sky
like two sailboats
in a lonely ocean.
Everything comes in pairs
relationships
socks
friendships
shoelaces
parents
gloves …
Two butterflies
these dark toned angels
flutter on a late summer breeze
inside a September sky.
Sonic Effect
The beat sound so crazy
not until you get it so badly
as far as you hear the melody
you start to dance the rhapsody
If you so close to the sky
the beat sound so crazy
moving nerve and sensory
making you feel the tipsy
Perhaps you care or worry
you hold your ears at bay
the beat sound so crazy
each wave go with energy
Just like a power of drowsy
that make object fall away
from both grown and baby
the beat sound so crazy
Hour 9
Cinnamon sprinkled on my cheesy egg buckets
was sure to start the day off right
even if the elk were not feeding in the bayou yet
and I had to wear my hunting jacket to eat cereal in the carport
again
Post Date
A tremor goes through me as I stare at you
Your smile is charming under the lightbulb hue
Your jacket embraces me and I hold it close by the hem
My elbows bury under the sleeves, finding warmth in them
And it smells like cinnamon, your favorite dessert
One you cannot eat anymore as I stare at your painting while you lay under the dirt
Queue Linda Ronstadt
As the tremor in my foot started
I remembered what Granny said about cinnamon.
I reached into my jacket to see if I could find one
Bumped my elbow into that marbled elk that
George was supposed to take to the carport.
When I’d reminded him about it, he told me it was on his bucket list
Which I know is out there on the carport
Or down in the bayou where he likes to go and eat a beet or two
With a lightbulb strung over his little boat that I’m sure
Must have some cinnamons in it!
Hour 8 “Olde Towne…”
Hour 8
9/2/2023
“Olde Towne…”
Whispers shared and visions
of wonders… walls and spaces
adorned, all aglimmer with sight’s worth view.
Windows leak dreams made real
and pause-you-in-your-tracks favors
of times hauntingly past.
Themes of could’ves, would’ves, mights, and
even wannabes – caress minds and eyes,
held conscious by themes expressed
while smiles – leak from inside.
Foods of choice to try palates tastes,
Galleries reflecting sheens and whims,
brush strokes holding each visitor’s wish.
Art by the block – each a differing view
of life and its touch – rhyme, reason,
and depth.
I’ve wandered this world.
Paused, dreamt, and wished
and returned just to …touch life,
yet once again.
Chris
(C) Chris Twyford 9/2/2023
#Prompt 8 – 2023
Sunset
The sky ablaze
Changing minute to minute
An orange inferno
Sinking towards the skyline
Brushing the surface
Full to half
Half to a slither
And too soon the last rays die
Leaving the land to the power of the moon
And the magic of another enchanted night
[Inspired by the view from my study looking out to sea and Max Richter – On the Nature of Daylight]