Cold

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poetry: sunlight slits

whisper soft again, friend
describe cold smoke, warm mother
blue-glazed bowl of soup
another cat in the window
dusty fan-blown strands

ten whole days widen slits
where tiny words swallowed
or tap danced
or overly devoured
around wispy sunlight fingers

peeled painted eyelids open
spiraled dragon breath
rocks stacked with books
green moss lingered
two arms flung upward

toward you

*10/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic. 

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Photography: Cold Moon

Although it was our last session together, the full moon hid from me. It danced among the snow but wouldn’t sit still long enough to capture it. I looked for light and cold instead. Winter held within a single frame. Tell me, can you feel it?

Moon rises fair and fleece.
Dark crow upon the fence outside.
Night thought, like snow concealed.
—Neil Reid

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I had high hopes and big plans for this final photo shoot, but the weather did not cooperate. I went out three different times but clouds and rain made it quite difficult. All the same, I hope you enjoyed this last installment and all 12 months of full moon photos. I learned a lot this year! Stay tuned for some big announcements in the coming weeks. I’ve got ideas for a new project and I’m still working on publishing my short story collection.

As always, all photos were taken by me with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW. Let me know if you have a favorite and have a wonderful week.

One final note. For those who knew Neil Reid, I’m sad to say he passed away earlier this month. I wrote a tribute to him on his blog today, but I wanted to honor him here too. I will miss his comments, letters, and beautiful poetry. He taught me a poem is a poem if you say it is and to love B I G. I will miss him.

Neil’s kitties.
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Poetry: Current Mood

Crawl out of mismatched blankets to shiver write, heater broken again.

Cracked heels bleed in fuzzy grey socks, add self-care to today’s to-do list.

Must hold breath another week for mental health help, therapists get sick.

Tears fall fast in upstairs bathroom, moms know the art of hidden sadness.

Can’t take another hit, cold sore erupts fat, ugly on bottom lip.

Coffee in my cup is ice already, but what I need is some warmth.

Write, write, write all my crisp inside words, but does anybody want them?

Inspired by Brandon Ellrich, I used the format of the American Sentence this week to explore some of my current feelings. If you are unfamiliar with this poetic form, it was Allen Ginsberg’s effort to make American the haiku. It must be seventeen syllables and it comes from the notion, “poets are people who notice what they notice.” Thank you for reading my first attempt at these.