Icons of Dust
When I am alone
The world shoves poetry
Into my brain.
It germinates in earth
And sky and trees
And snow glistening
In morning light.
Brick walls and birds
Cello music and
Gnarled hands.
I name it
Give it story
Fill my language with gold.
And the presence inside
All things muses on beauty
As brick becomes an
Icon of red dust
Coating my eyelids
And choking my voice
With song.
(Go here for more Magpie Tales. It's worth the flight!)
Really good take on the prompt!
ReplyDeleteYou have painted a particularly beautiful picture with these words, Jo.
ReplyDeleteYour poem is a rose garden, well nurtured and beautiful.
ReplyDeleteWhat a glorious take on the photo and on the mind of a writer, too, Nana Jo. Beautiful! Those first 3 lines - so perfect! I can totally relate :)
ReplyDeleteIt might be a rose garden, but I suspect it is quite a deep rose garden.
ReplyDeleteWow, Nana Jo. You've been hiding your poetry-writing candle under a bushel. This is stunning.
ReplyDeleteYou are a poem gardener! Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteLovely!
ReplyDeleteOriginal and inspiring. What more could anyone want?
ReplyDeleteooo I liked this one
ReplyDeleteWhen I am alone
ReplyDeleteThe world shoves poetry
Into my brain...
wow, you are super creative, cheers.
What a wonderful way with words.
ReplyDeleteWho'd have thought a load of old bricks could bring about something so poignant. Nice!
ReplyDelete