Author: Pondering Red
Blueish tones on the edges
of the round and oval shapes
of yesterdays footsteps -
She passes by this scene.
A lone jogger,
with his face covered,
attempts the trail,
jumping , more than jogging
over the ice patches.
Some large black birds are flying
in irregular patterns today.
A cyclist passes by slowly,
immersed in his music.
We are all in our own world of thoughts,
barely a glance,
sometimes a nod,
occasionally an intense look.
The clouds do not seem to move -
an impressionistic pale blue sky.
She is so happy,
she does not realize it.
Exhilaration overcomes her,
as she hears not the sounds of silence,
but the crunch of solitary footsteps,
her own breath,
breathing in frosty air,
breathing in the energy
she is storing for
what lies ahead of her....
Be here now,
These moments are but a few photographs,
a sketch or two.
Nothing can convey
the sound of the wisp of snow dust
as if suspended in motion.
It's exhilarating !!!!
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Puppet (126.96.36.199) -- Tuesday, January 6 2009, 12:52 am|
The imagery in this poem is exquisite; it flows naturally, and doesn't seem forced. Great work!
|shiloh (188.8.131.52) -- Tuesday, January 6 2009, 12:59 am|
some paint with brushes and paints, some with cameras and film, some with stone and chisel,-- you, sir, paint with words, and your canvas is the mind of those who read your words. each sees a different thing of beauty. i envy you your talent, and i enjoy reading your offerings. bravo. and bravo again.
|shiloh (184.108.40.206) -- Tuesday, January 6 2009, 01:04 am|
i may have made a chauvinistic mistake, as i am not certain of your gender, and if i have, then i apologize. but it still stands that your work is something that i would attend school to study. where were people like you when i went to college? again... peace.
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