Friday 55

I miss you most on Fridays
when the weekend promises
us redemption, or escape –
whichever we are
more in need of
I miss you most on Fridays
when I sit down to write
in the early-morning dark of fall
with coffee, doughnuts
and not much to say
I miss you most on Fridays,
like today



Jackson Pollock, Black Flowing, No. 8

Jackson Pollock, Black Flowing, No. 8

does it come from,
that feeling:
standing on the edge
of a tall building
holding the railing
looking down
what is it inside us
that wants to jump?
From the center of the chest,
this impulse,
to jump,
off the edge of the known
like a cliff diver
through clouds – air – water
It frightens us
this feeling
making us step back
but what if we stay
at the edge,
and feel
the uncoiling,
letting go
through a sky of knives
Falling through time and
plans and promises
and life.
Letting go,
falling from blue into grey
And what if we don’t fall?
What if we fly?

This was written in response to a promp by Karin at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  The Pollock image is from Tess at Magpie Tales writing group.


Dream by Jacek Yerka

Dream by Jacek Yerka

The river
is always rising,
carrying me somewhere
I cannot yet see.

I float on
looking for the farther shore
but somehow I slip past everything
I know,
out to an ocean
as dark and smooth as oil.

Unfamiliar stars turn above
and beneath me.
The out-of-phase moon
throws her light before me
the edge of the Earth.
I try to paddle back
against the tide
losing a little
with each stroke.

All my nightmares
now sail
along with me

The clocks have all lost their numbers;
why do we always think we have time?

Written for Magpie Tales creative writing group.