The Final Poem of the Challenge!
This is another poem about the
color yellow
There will be more
Like the divine
It’s holieness is beyond a poem
But I shall try
with every breath
to show my devotion to that which glows
golden & bright
This is another poem about the
color yellow
There will be more
Like the divine
It’s holieness is beyond a poem
But I shall try
with every breath
to show my devotion to that which glows
golden & bright
I’ll always be here,
part of me anyway.
I think we all will linger together,
making up the stars in constellations,
the salt particles in the ocean,
the DNA coursing through the veins of people who haven’t come yet,
but who are on their way.
We will be fingerprints and skin cells and faint whispers,
the faded signatures and discolored photographs.
Parts of us will always linger,
always and forever.
Evermore.
My day passes like this:
Silas is home,
Silas is not home,
Silas is home,
Silas is sleeping,
awake,
out the front door,
Silas is walking back in.
Women Shaped Bodies, by Laura Cranehill
each year / i wonder / if i’ll see them /
in the current / golden threads /
of dust and light / a poem
calling out / poems /
in the stone birdbath / chirruping / hello /
a stranger / from two counties over /
& still / it reaches /
& still each june / they come / again /
poems / little ribbons / i cannot touch /
catching wing / making a path / to
where i am / even here / in my empty
/ chest / of poems / i leave / my line /
in the current / poems /
threads tense and / slack /
the air
It’s a priveledge and pleasure to share this time and space with you all each June. Looking forward to 2027 already!
Fresh coffee.
Peaceful surroundings.
There is something
beautiful about a
quiet neighbourhood.
Once everyone else
has left.
Banana bread
the ultimate comfort food
a tribute of love
not too sweet
just enough to satisfy
simple to make if your bananas are ripe
tricky to bake
at risk of becoming overdone and dry
or underdone and caving in the center.
Much like our oligarchs
have done
to our economy
hoarding the wealth
stealing our futures
leaving the center
hollow and gooey
unhealthy for those
unwary enough to bite.
Brings to the mind thoughts
of Tantalus
and how he too sought to defy the gods
willingly sacrificed a child for a twisted purpose
Ultimately punished
with eternal torment
but worse
generations of doom
forced upon his descendents.
spiegel im spiegel
blue pupils dilate,
eager to consume the world,
let me see it all.
The golden clouds up above,
the oil-slick fly on my plate.
Shall I compare you to a magpie’s nest
of thorn and twine, of wool and weathered thread?
A feather from a starling’s speckled breast,
and a receipt the winter left for dead,
a hollow sound lined with a tuft of hare,
and that stray syllable snagged on the brambles –
I’m drawn to all things thought beyond repair
and drop them in here – in veritable shambles.
You – unpopped kernel lodged between my teeth,
a tune still looking for a pair of lungs,
the ghost of pine inhabiting the wreath –
your sweetest note’s the one that stayed unsung.
Rampant with rhymes and roots that learned to roam –
a place the mind could haunt, or call a home.
