Although I'm pea green 🫛with envy over the way this mega poet writes so eloquently, I can at least write a few nice words about him, although begrudgingly.
The whole scene he sets up with the suburban fog is, well, vivid to say the least. He's out here asking the sky for some clarity in life, trying to cut through the mess of daily lies and self-deception. It’s like he’s doing some serious soul-searching.
Then he gets all deep about facing his inner demons, dropping the act and getting real with himself. The poem's rhythm gets tighter and sharper as it goes, which is a neat trick—it's like each word is more loaded, more cut to the bone. He talks about checking out of life in peace, which is pretty intense, but then there’s this moment where he's chilling with the geese, and it's like everything’s suddenly cool and still.
He wraps it up with this feeling of life being a bit of a gamble, racing against the clock to make sense of it all. It’s like he's laying down a challenge to figure out the big questions before the day is done.
We writers are prone to that pea green beast, aren't we, but humor and generosity are the antidote for sure and I appreciate your ample supply of both.
You are one of the few bright spots in my day. With the whirl of flame it’s a godsend to read about the simple, beautiful things of life. Your words do that for me.
Silly but spiritual. It’s like a spoon full of sugar before the natural, moral medicine goes down.
Good one, Stan, and quite right.
Smiling at this. So good.
Thanks, Patris.
Although I'm pea green 🫛with envy over the way this mega poet writes so eloquently, I can at least write a few nice words about him, although begrudgingly.
The whole scene he sets up with the suburban fog is, well, vivid to say the least. He's out here asking the sky for some clarity in life, trying to cut through the mess of daily lies and self-deception. It’s like he’s doing some serious soul-searching.
Then he gets all deep about facing his inner demons, dropping the act and getting real with himself. The poem's rhythm gets tighter and sharper as it goes, which is a neat trick—it's like each word is more loaded, more cut to the bone. He talks about checking out of life in peace, which is pretty intense, but then there’s this moment where he's chilling with the geese, and it's like everything’s suddenly cool and still.
He wraps it up with this feeling of life being a bit of a gamble, racing against the clock to make sense of it all. It’s like he's laying down a challenge to figure out the big questions before the day is done.
Hats off for laying it out there.
We writers are prone to that pea green beast, aren't we, but humor and generosity are the antidote for sure and I appreciate your ample supply of both.
You are one of the few bright spots in my day. With the whirl of flame it’s a godsend to read about the simple, beautiful things of life. Your words do that for me.
Very pretty
Thanks Brian, I feel the same way about that photo. A lucky catch while I was out doing Uber Eats deliveries in suburbia.
I meant the writing 🙂
Ha, ha, thank you!
Your photo ~
In a world softly veiled by morning's gentle mist,
Where streetlights stand as sentinels, their vigil now dismissed.
The sun in quiet splendor rises, warm hues it has kissed,
Upon a sleepy boulevard, a scene of tranquil bliss.
Cars glide like silent phantoms, in the dawn's embracing hold,
While silhouettes of houses line the streets in colors bold.
A steeple peeks through hazy light, tales of old it told,
Underneath the sky's embrace, a canvas of gold.
This road that wanders lazily, where day and night collide,
A snapshot caught between the moments, where peace and calm reside.
A tapestry of life and light, with time itself allied,
In this photograph, a poem, where earth and heaven abide.
Beautiful, Gloria, thank you. I almost missed it but luckily meandered back by just now.