Gravel dust feathered the nest
of our four rooms and five souls
in three acres of show me state.
Born middle child loud
I was a dandelion extrovert
in a garden of solitary.
Moon fed on imagination
through screen wire I tucked words
into hours until dreams found ink.
Under school house lamplight
where a raven spoke in Poe’s voice
I found poetry could make sense of my noise.
Comments
through screen wire I tucked words
into hours until dreams found ink
That is very true Susie! It takes a little bit of time initially. Eventually imagination takes hold and a poem is born! Love this stanza!
Hank
in a garden of solitary.
What an extraordinarily original line, Susie. Brilliant!
I'm happy you stopped by to read mine
much love...
Yes, this is brilliant:
"I was a dandelion extrovert in a garden of solitary."
Bravo, Susie
Born middle child loud
I was a dandelion extrovert
in a garden of solitary.
Grace