My power cord finally gave out for good, so until I get a new one, all my blogs-in-progress are locked up in my dead computer. But I found this on my usb stick and thought I might share. I wrote it for a class a long time ago, but it kind of sums up how I'm feeling right now. (That and how absolutely grateful I am to have saved my current manuscript so I won't lose time waiting for the new cord in the post.)
Anyhow. Enough rambling. Poetry commence.
Paling fringe closes in on a green field
like the cicadas climbing out cases.
Consumed summer, as frost on the windshield –
burnt orange wood grains – clasping ‘tween the spaces
of purple pearl drops in conversation.
What lies beyond the cracks; don’t break the skin –
Tinted cold, we tussle in transition.
The energy might die; fold outside in –
Hues of bottle brown, burgundy red wine
leave contentment to insect skeleton
and the middle class; dull to spark and shine.
These walls know nothing about moving on,
Hope after each season’s golden risings
pays with pain in reincarnated wings.