Snow and Mud and Ashes

This is for Linda Kruschke’s paint-chip poetry prompt, the first of this year. I’m not sure how well my “abstract poetry” turned out, but here it is, and I am sharing with DVerse OLN also.


A safety-orange traffic cone is brighter than day.
Snow blankets the ground, stifling any seedling
Which might emerge from what was once just mud.
Ashes from a campfire dapple snow with gray —

Seedlings push through the greatest of difficulties.
Angels can be made in snow, days made brighter,
Even those ashes speak of happier days gifted —

Some people have a raven’s shadow above their door, never lifted.

Sorry, when I am given “raven” as a prompt word, my mind always goes, “Poe.”

The Darkness Turns

This sonnet was written about 3 weeks ago, shared with DVerse OLN.

The darkness turns to morning, noon to night:
The day is fleeting, fleet-footed and fast,
The sun retreating, sinking out of sight,
Because no single day can for long last.
Remember though: the dark will morning be,
Another day bestows another chance
To see the shining light of verity,
To hear the music yearning for a dance.
Take in refreshing colors of the dawn,
As temperature heats slowly from night’s chill:
It may seem slow, but quickly it is gone,
There is a time to empty and to fill.
The darkness turns, performs a pirouette —
There is a time to follow, and reset.

Trapped in Ponderings

This was written for this prompt about “trapped.” I just found that site last week, and it seems cool so far. I pondered trying to write something a little happier, but it’s difficult to write a positive post about being trapped. A lot of times I get trapped in my own over-thinking!


I am banging on the doors.
My mind is closing in
Look! See outside a window!
I am banging on the doors
Imploring them to open.
Outside is fuller life, I know!
I am banging on the doors,
Budging them?
                           A hallucination.

photo of person s hand on window glass
Photo by Ekrulila on Pexels.com

Rowing

Inspired by MLMM’s photo challenge #328, I wrote this cherita,


Rowing the boat across something so pure and pristine —

Are you rowing on freshly-fallen snow?
A blanket underneath a remarkably blank, white sky?

And the other man with you — is he Charon?
Is this Styx? Are you rowing into a void,
Which none of us knows and none can avoid?

Photo by Jayant Kulkarni on Pexels.com