Hear the gusting trees sing,
mustering beak and wing.
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Daily poem: Essence 14
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Hear the gusting trees sing,
mustering beak and wing.
sharing the stories of interconnection
Jottings of a Storyhound
Books & Bonsai
Just another blog of random thoughts.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
lines that aim to be
And then I stop and sit and eat.
Diary of a Dublin Housewife
New Zealand
A wee anthology of dark yarns.
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Des enquêtes à pas de loup pour apprendre sur-tout...
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*Poetry*Prose*Photography*
In 2002, Retinitis Pigmentosa changed my life. This is my story of a slow approach to darkness.
One Poet's Writing Practice
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Poetry Publisher
galaxies in my eyes, the universe in my mind
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Zen-Telling Lore
I love this one–it is like a bird song, flying by on a breeze.
Thanks Merril. These are hard. For every one that works more or less I discard half a dozen.
Ahh–good to know. It seems like you just toss off these brilliant phrases so easily. 🙂
Most of them, even the ones that theoretically work, don’t sound like poems, more like a motto out of a Christmas cracker 🙂
That’s what happened when I attempted it. Or perhaps an advertising jingle. 🙂
Exactly! People get paid thousands for coming up with a good advertising jingle. Now I know why.
🙂
If the wing lifting me now 💜💜
🙂