Poem-a-Day #8 - 9

Just as I was hitting my stride, I hit the wall ~ says the tired poet, plum out of metaphors. (Should that be "plumb"?)

 

winter window

Each dust
stroke a deep breath and
the canary in bloom.
“Dusting” Rita Dove

 

a dusting of snow  ~ cat
at my elbow every breath
a purr ~ earlier flocks
of grosbeaks waxwings
stripping the mountain ash
of berries ~ this day a winter
pause ~ a white cat paw
stepping down

 

 

Between

Praise dies
in my throat or in the spooky rift
between itself and its intended.
"Daynight, With Mountains Tied Inside" by Alice Fulton

 

so much depends | on the moment(s) between | desire | & | touch

 

 

 

Comments

[Cathy]

Hmm, you seem doing good to me, everything I read is pretty much very good. Just remember, you have been out loop with the poetry writing for a bit.

Me, I have have been writing a Doctor Who story. Why, because I never written one. Am I nuts, YES!!!