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
within your poetry
let me sneak between words
and lie between lines
giggle among ink blots
you cannot catch
yet teases and taunts
every waking moment
draws from your pen
thoughts not of this world
caresses from your soul
longing aches and desires
calls from your mind
searching for daybreak
in a world bleak with gray
grabs from your heart
beats forgotten and dusty
crying for life
rhythm within melody
yes hide me
within your poetry
so I too
may feel alive
A poem that is a wakeup call! Well done!
Locally known as the Big Swamp, which is a misnomer because it is not a swamp, it is a wetland in the true sense. I believe that in our Australian context the use of the word swamp is government/developer code for waste land – you can guess why. But to call it a wetland is to honour it and which of course leads to its protection. This a true riparian juncture between creeks and wetlands, and a wonderful ecosystem.
I had a thirst like no other I’d had
so I went to the bar and asked for a drink.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.
“What mixer?” he enquired.
“O just give me some strychnine.” I said
and his jaw hit the ground with a, like,
that’s weird, are you completely mad
ain’t gonna happen kinda look.
“Just joking mate.”…
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