On the pencil thin line
between dusk and darkness
She opens the gate of the unpainted fence.
Bespattered with attempts
The recipe, bent and worn, falls from her pocket.
The chain of faded words on tattered paper
ready to flourish among fallen rose petals.
Entering loss without a trace of knowing
She searches but is already forgiven.
The empty pocket waits-
remembering the link
to something essential.
Dusk pencils her heart into darkness.
Notes- There was a frenzy of an "event" over on the Sunday Whirls Facebook page on Friday. To choose the words each person was to look at the word just posted and use word association to come up with their word. The word pencil sat in front of me - but all I saw was the dusk all around me, so I said dusk. ANYWAY not quite a word association.. So I thought the least I could do was put pencil and dusk in a sentence together and the last line in the poem dropped into my lap. Thanks for stopping by.
Part3:Welcome Home –
Marie and I ask you to write your poem using your childhood home as
inspiration. Be descriptive and paint your imagery as colorfully as you
can. What color was your house? How was the neighborhood? Did you have a
favorite room; hiding places? Wall paper or paint? – What memory of
your home is the strongest for you? We will deal with the people in your
home in later prompts. Right now, just give us a glimpse of where you
lived. Include all you need to make us feel at home.
Words on my cup, half drunk, sit on a dream....yes a dream.
Arm cradled into black sling.
Hot sun bakes pink phlox and evaporates water in the bird bath -outside the open kitchen window.
A boy, no a man- my nephew watches a movie in the next room.
A humming bird chitters its need for personal space.
Shoulder aches into the shoulder blade,it is time for my afternoon nap.