A mixed bag of poems and other writings.
Tentative fingers blend
with gnarled wood,
listening with their
parched and papery skin.
Tracing, soundless lips
shape letters of
who loved who
inside a heart now
stretched across a life-time’s
growth, where fading grooves
are all that’s left
of passion cut
into the bark.
Linked to De’s prompt for tonight’s prompt at the d’Verse Poets Pub to use the word groove/groovy in a quadrille:
He sees the bottom of it now,
too late.
No reflected ripple of a brimful cup,
just desert ashes gritting in his eyes.
Fading colours flake and tumble in
a drift of rust,
too sharp to touch,
too sore.
Petticoated clouds taunt his wait,
laughing at his trust,
and dusty bandits aim and shoot
in scorn.
In response to Carrie’s picture prompt this week at :http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/ .
Writing Whatnots 