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Literature Text
everything smells like dirt
tilled ground freshly unfrozen
dust in the air clouds the horizon
the sunsets more vivid
there’s a breathable fungus I’ve read about
I worry the soiled air will invade my lungs
mississippi valley ground gain sentience in me
still it’s sweeter than the scent of snow
driving along quiet roads
there are so many tractors lit up
trawling late into the night
making up for lost springtime
tilled ground freshly unfrozen
dust in the air clouds the horizon
the sunsets more vivid
there’s a breathable fungus I’ve read about
I worry the soiled air will invade my lungs
mississippi valley ground gain sentience in me
still it’s sweeter than the scent of snow
driving along quiet roads
there are so many tractors lit up
trawling late into the night
making up for lost springtime
Literature
Two Are One
As far back as he could remember, there had been two voices in his head. One was his own, his conscious, his inner thoughts. The other belonged to someone else.
In his earliest memory of the other voice, he was sitting in his playroom, surrounded by colorful blocks. He was wearing overalls and a teddy bear T-shirt. The baby sitter was laying on the couch, giggling girlishly into the phone, simultaneously twirling her hair and the phone cord. “No, Mommy! Stop it, Mommy!” When he looked around, he couldn’t locate the screaming. But it bounced around his skull, pleading for help. Confused, he pounced on the sitter, sobbing and
Literature
grow
To the dandelion,
In this part of the world,
the heart of July is frigid.
Frost renders the clay-earth firm as concrete
while gusts from the snowies
raze any hope of warmth.
Things do not thrive here,
yet this is where fate cast your seed
and you, unwillingly, grew your roots,
and became mangled
by what should have nurtured.
But spoiler alert:
survival is no pretty thing.
You are no spring tulip,
no summer orchid,
no autumn rose.
Though it shames you now,
the day will come
where you are proud
of having grown
out of a crack in pavement.
Literature
changing leaves
with gold on your fingertips,
you paint the leaves as bright as your bones
now carrying bravery, bright as
the wings on your back, always
abuzz or afloat or alight and never
never backing down - my dear
you are what the tide brought in, a piece
of warm wood, a moment
of sunshine and serendipity and here
we are now, walking the same
bridges of words, of wishing, and you:
elbows painted with garlands, flowering and free
from thorns, soft
strength in the stems alone -
how you grow with the brightness of the leaves,
grow to bury your hands in tall trees,
and carry wisdom tucked into the backs of your knees
- you
step on the snow
and into sof
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My last poem for NaPo!!
This has been such a fun month, congrats to everyone for making it this far!
For gliitchmonth & NaPoWriMo
My last poem for NaPo!!
This has been such a fun month, congrats to everyone for making it this far! For gliitchmonth & NaPoWriMo
© 2018 - 2024 dialtonepoetry
Comments20
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Congrats on the DD! The last stanza is especially lovely. 