She gathers words
Pulls them to her
Guides them along
Embraces them
Squeezes them
Entices them to dance
with her.
They spin together
in a furious
jubilation a
celebration an
ecstasy of gyration
She lets go
and words fly
spraying her soul
to the edges
of the universe.
Little symbols of death
endings
passing of time
gold and scarlet
carcasses
of summer
raked into a pyre
that grows
and grows.
But the voice of death calls
to the child in all
to live with leaping joy
and laughter
mocking loss.
Rolling in the death of summer
welcoming what comes
next.
This photo is compliments of Prairie Knutsen from A.Bigger.Picture,Photography. I have some very talented former students, and this young photographer has delightfully interesting and innovative photos!
.
Your assignment:
1. create a poem, story, or article based on this photo.
2. Post it on your blog.
3. Cut and paste the photo onto your post (leaving the Monday Meme text).
4. Put a link to your post in the comments to this post below so we can visit your blog.
I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with! (I will leave a comment on your blog post itself, rather than posting in response to your link here).
.
Adrian, muscles rippling
and glistening from summer sun,
as the girls grip
their nails in their fists, wishing.
Adrian, head emerging from car engine
wringing greasy hands,
and grinning a greeting,
reaching for his shirt,
as the girls glide in, sniffing;
whiffing at pheromones
that hint of moaning, groaning
atonement.
Good girls watching as
Adrian gets ready
for Bible study.
Avril!
They shouted your name with a joyous fanfare
as the curtain rose on cue
but you were not there,
the stage was bare.
In a sliced second, he stared
and then the curtain dropped and
he fell into a story
as if he hadn’t called you,
We saw the flurry back stage
as you flew into position,
a tap on his shoulder and he
pointed at the stage and shouted again,
Avril!
In place of empty space you raced into song
tracing along the path without a care
to cheering throngs of youthful fans
who’d earned the fare.
.
Sometimes, we shout our expectation
and to our frustration our stage is bare
there under the glare of our desperation.
Turn and tell a story, deflect the unexpected
but when we look back,
it’s simple celebration.
Twenty thousand voices cheer
in celebration of lives changed
in celebration of possibility
in celebration of a future
created by
Twenty thousand young
philanthropists
Sanctum sanctorum
Holy of holies
Peeled from decorum
Whipping up follies
Shredded and tore them
Fighting for soul ease
Making good for him
Striving to fill peace
Sanctum sanctorum
Wholly ’til holy.
While water washes shore
on a moon misted morning,
summer surrenders
to golden kisses
and scarlet sighs.
.
.
(I am finding my commute above Shuswap Lake to be very inspiring! At some point I will have to stop to take some photos for you. It is positively GLORIOUS! In the meantime, this photo in words will have to do).
She was dazzling
in the cosmetic department
getting lessons in drawing eye brows.
Her silver hair was cut
power short.
Stunning.
It emphasized her features:
glorious twinkling eyes
perfect nose
determined mouth.
Who needs make up
to add to that beauty?
Her hair set her above,
showed her panache,
made me smile,
and look twice.
Then she thanked the clerk
for the lesson,
set on a chemo cap
and her vitality
disappeared.
The warp of night
The weft of hope
Shuttle flying
Fabric of dreams
Shawn L. Bird 