Today I picked an acorn from the ground;
lost it laid, a cast-away,
a sentence halfway crushed;
it’s shedded early, shunned by mother oak,
a nut and nothing but still pretending
smooth and brown.

It’s midriff almost open,
a broken shell with bitter flesh exposed,
yet carries in itself
a warmth from summer when still
it was a mother’s … hope.

Sarah hosts poetics at dVerse tonight and she asks us to write a poem in two stages.
1. Take an object in your hand and feel it with all your senses for a couple of minutes.
2. Freewrite about the object for a couple of minutes.

From that you form your poem.

I will also link up to Tuesday Platform at toads

September 25, 2018