Freedom, for The Sunday Muse Prompt #56.
It hovers in the distance
in the space where the edge
of consciousness meets the taste
of remembering. Where air meets skin,
and the sound of living is squeezed
into a high pitched wail
and then regains length, and afterwards
dies as they recede into the distance.
Each bump on the road,
is like a firm word tossed
into the wind, each jar
as like a current shared
between melded parts.
From the distance joy,
delirious in its appearance calls
but here in the lull before the storm
lies a fleeting pleasure, a moment of peace
before the whirlwinds return
Sunday Wednesday Muse Prompt, Garden Spot. Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash. A nod to the still vivid memories I have of being dragged off to our family farm by my parents in those dire, dark SAP days.
First comes the rain,
and then the wakened worms which turn the
hard, sun-baked soil into compliant mulch.
Grain by grain, leaf by leaf
the beauty of Symbiosis begins
to rear its head, the cycle of death
begetting life and sustenance for the things
we must ingest, for which with backs bent
beneath the blazing sun we labour;
the reward of another day survived eked out
from the hard, earth.
For The Sunday Muse prompt, Night Sky
The starlight sprinkled
like tiny slivers of silver
splashed against a dark canvas
peels back the curtain
on a tumultuous past-
birth, death, dust clouds swirling,
mists of primordial molecules
accreting, then Becoming –
a message to the future from the past
echoing down the aeons like a strummed string.
I was here before you were; before
your father was, and his father’s father too
Now you see me as I was. Ponder.