Okay, so I’ve been
sitting on this one for a couple of days and holding up proceedings. My
hesitation stems from my lack of confidence in structured poetry of all kinds
but I’ll bite the proverbial bullet and post this as well as the missing entries
from the past couple of days. Which will bring us to today’s entry and another
possible delay as I grapple with writing a poem in ottava rima.
That which does
not kill us makes us better poets… right?
Seasonal lover
Spring dawn
a moving green
remembering lost things
an horizon of memories
waiting
Summer
fortune making
tropical mold
creeping
through untouched
clothes in his closet
silent
Autumn
wedding day dreams
dappled light off
water
an island of hope
in chartreuse
philtre
Winter
still, singular
lingering on the
edge
of the crowd
wrapped in its own warmth
quaking
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