Stories, stories everywhere. Especially here.
Everything catches my eye:
spent blossoms of blue plumbago
in a small tidy heap vivid
beneath grass-green leaves
and its whip-like stems
a man, stopped mid-stride
on a sidewalk, debating with air
the time and its demons, ragged
clothing aflap on his livewire frame
Nostalgic for this life I am living
every day and moments within it
are in high relief. I catalog it and myself
standing in two – narrator and doer.
It all leaves a taste faint in mouth
of sweet almond, the darkest cherry
and for all we know
a melody almost lost in air.
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Tip for tonight’s poem
I really liked Brenda’s poem and want her to continue writing great poems.