Autumn dons a mask, regales the changing season, ignores Winter’s threat – and I too, dance, brightly clad, deny the nearness of death. Advertisements
Mallard
In Mallard’s wake woe – with clipped wings, I watch and yearn for Winter sojourn. (For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day, and RonovanWrites
Bent, Worn, Alive
Bent – life’s tribulations weighty do not confuse this folding with weakness, I am worn – tested resilience nourishes creativity I am muse rich, alive
Spooning
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.” Source: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot I line my spoons on
Manic Moments
…and some days we stand up topple the furnishings of corporate order decry politics and etiquettes and rage, rage, inner light exploding in a shattering
Even Ghosts Yearn
Natural light preferable to artificial – not the harsh fullness of noonday sun but softly filtered rays – luxurious, inviting. Love too, should be subdued,
