Forest Sunset
In the forest, wild and lush,
hear the music of the thrush
break the stillness of the brush.
If else disturbs it, make it hush,
for we have fled the world’s mad crush
with all its craziness and rush
that grinds sensation into mush,
distilling it as mindless slush.
The world flares up, the clouds are plush
as we see all its bloodshed flush
into the sunset’s subtle blush.
The Friday SOCS prompt is “blush.”
Another Sunset
This bald
horizon line,
teeth of far-off cliffs.
An orange that hurts, it is so bright—
the face of the sunset
makes its daily pilgrimage.
Only yesterday breathing in a sea.
Today, facing the hard stone
of an offshore outcropping.
We, the tender-hearted,
wait for you each evening.
We line our hearts up for you.
Over here, I’m the girl
In red sequins at the front,
waiting for your black velvet brother.
For Photo Challenge
Another Sunset
This bald
horizon line,
teeth of far-off cliffs.
An orange that hurts, it is so bright—
the face of the sunset
makes its daily pilgrimage.
Only yesterday breathing in a sea.
Today, facing the hard stone
of an offshore outcropping.
We, the tender-hearted,
wait for you each evening.
We line our hearts up for you.
Over here, I’m the girl
In red sequins at the front,
waiting for your black velvet brother.
WOW #8. The purpose of this prompt is to white out words in a given passage or poem to create your own piece. I added a few words as well to make the poem mine. Here is the original:
February Elegy by Mary Jo Bang
© Mary Jo Bang
This bald year, frozen now in February.
This cold day winging over the ugly
Imperfect horizon line,
So often a teeth line of ten buildings.
A red flag flapping
In the wind. An orange curtain is noon.
It all hurts her eyes. This curtain is so bright.
Here is what is noticeably true: sight.
The face that looks back from the side
Of the butter knife.
A torn-bread awkwardness.
The mind makes its daily pilgrimage
Through riff-raff moments. Then,
Back into the caprice case to dream
In a circle, a pony goes round.
The circle’s association: There’s a center
To almost everything but never
Any certainty. Nothing is
More malleable than a moment. We were
Only yesterday breathing in a sea.
Some summer sun
Asked us over and over we went. The sand was hot.
We were only yesterday tender hearted
Waiting. To be something.
A spring. And then someone says, Sit down,
We have a heart for you to forget. A mind to suffer
With. So, experience. So, the circus tent.
You, over there, you be the girl
In red sequins on the front of a card selling love.
You, over there, you, in black satin.
You be the Maiden’s Mister Death.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 