Sitting Goddess do I wish I could draw the mountain that is burning into my mind a beautiful bulwark over time shaped shaved crushed Yet I am still Sitting
The writing prompt was a photograph by Ansel Adams from the book “The Georgia O’Keefe Museum.” Georgia O’Keefe sketching …
Only words may bridge the stream and swamp — Forsaken, forbearing, and fortuitous — Eventually on transit seven or six Near the land strewn with rocks. Yearning for silver not sand, I’m Alluding to all four letters spelling them with my digits: twelve fifteen twenty-two five please make it count
This poem, I wrote a few years ago and have polished it a little recently, in my writing group.
If you have the time and energy to read more of these texts you find them in blog order on this website. Let me know what you associate with them, what you like, what you dislike, …
Ashen grey, love that was white snow left to melt upon the frozen meadow faded photographs — old diaries secrets carved wood that once had meaning lines as fine as Madame’s greying hair shed upon a pillowcase rouge smeared onto the cold pool the looking glass shafts of light soak through decaying skin — falling in mottled sheets silver–encrusted lips kissing soft bark a child’s boots tread feather-light beds of rotten leaves hours vanish mind. empty sturdy beams clean pale sky windows open doubt growing moss ivy garden touching eaves dripping white oak and rain singing names across the wood’s fine grain
This is the second poem by Eva García-mayers in this blog. Twice a month, her writing group has given me the energy to continue walking. And writing.
Texterium 