So far, I've managed to keep on track with my postcards, getting the ones out to the participating poets through the postcard fest
and some additional postcards to folks who wanted them through my mailing list.
(It's not too late--if you want an original postcard poem written in my horrible handwriting, sent to you, just sign up
and follow the directions in the August edition of BlueMusings!)
picking near Bremen"
photo by realworldphotos.net,
used with attribution.
Mist and clouds cool the field.
Still the boys complain
when their buckets fill too slowly.
Even the promise of pie and jam
not enough. They bicker like the birds
I steal ripe berries from. I eat handfuls
and my container still overflows.
photo by Tiffini,
cc license, used with attribution,
Packing the Passports
In the scramble to leave, I find
my old passport. Hair darker,
glasses rounder, face unlined.
Shall I tell her of the places
she must travel? There are borders
into dark and painful lands
where she will learn
all maps lie and half-familiar
landmarks are more dangerous
than any undiscovered country.
the Fence" photo by it'sgreg,
cc license, used with attribution
|Our neighbor's oak looms
over the fence between
two yards. Where once
we planted gardens,
we harvest only shadows.
Open, Lift" photo by Littlelexxus,
cc license, used with
Terra cotta slip spatters
rust red, the dried blood
of murdered pots, sacrificed
to the gods of wheelthrowing
by this clumsy acolyte.
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