Communicating with the Dead, in 55

I imagined
communicating with the dead
was shrouded
in mystery

But it’s not

It’s a note
in his handwriting
tucked into a favorite book

it’s the smell of
his closet

it’s the work gloves
still stiff with
the shape of his hands

Communication with the dead
is small, common
everyday

and
pretty much
one way

 

This is a 55 word version of a longer piece I’ve been noodling with for FF 55 hosted by Hedgewitch, with a tip of the hat to Galen.  Click on the link to go to her blog, Verse Escape, and join the fun!

Finish Things

Finish things.
That was Neil’s advice
to me and you.
Though so far I haven’t
taken it to heart.

Finish things.
Not the ice cream
or the box of chocolates,
but the projects,
the stories,
the work.

Finish things.
Despite the fear
of failure, or the boredom.
Despite the siren call
from the new,
finish things.

Change

Summer
has grown heavy
and dropped from its stem.

The sun sleeps in
a little longer,
leaves the party a bit earlier.

Last night
felt almost like fall
while today is
crisp and sunny.

The leaves are still green
but a shade paler;
chlorophyll
begins to recede.

Time
to change.
Welcome back,
my dearest Autumn.

Consumed, #2

We are consumed by
want, by greed.
Consuming has become
the yardstick
to measure our shiny, plastic
success.
We make more
to consume more,
until we find someone
who will make more for less.
Then we consume that
but no longer
produce.

We forgot the first word
in GNP is
gross
and consumption
is a sickness.

 

Today is Amazon Prime day. Yay consumerism.

May 5

Sunday morning,
May sunshine
pours
through the windows.
Outside
there is a new
tenderness
to the air.
The breeze sings
in soft tones,
drawing us out,
urging us
to reach
for the sun.
Join the chorus
and sing.
This is a time
for birthing,
for growing
for beginnings.
This is a day to
be alive.

NaPoWriMo #26

It feels like I’m just sitting
in my chair, typing
and drinking coffee,
but actually I’m spinning
almost 1000 miles an hour,
and travelling through space
on this biggish rock
we call Earth
at about 18 miles per second
Isn’t that remarkable?

And is it any wonder
I’m exhausted
at the end of the day?

NaPoWriMo #17

These days I hedge my bets.
Once I hurtled, headlong
but now I measure my responses,
pause before striking,
do my research.
I always keep an umbrella in my car

I enter each meeting,
each transaction
prepared;
with my due diligence done

But some days
I miss the feel
of the rain on my face