that's mrs. mediocrity to you

in my dreams i fly

to alaska

build a nest somewhere high

in the trees

lay in a stock of sharp pencils

marry words

to make sense of all i see

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Today I am over at dVerse Poets, with a prompt about bucket lists and firsts.
One of the things at the top of my list is a trip to Alaska.
Come join us with a poem about yours.

which is not the same as the kitchen sink
because that would mean everything,

and this is just a window.

and just now, there is too much everything,
everywhere,
every minute.

i want clear blue sky and calm cool morning.

but it’s autumn and the colors are raucous
and speaking of raucous,
i’m missing those crazy-loud geese parties
down at the swamp
that aren’t happening this year

because there’s no swamp.

and i’m not writing because there are no words.

so i wait.

and winter will come and i will miss all this color
and wish for things I don’t have
the same way as today

and that bird in the tree,
that bluejay who spends his days
as a beautiful bully

and the monkshood just starting to bloom,
in amidst all the kisses that need cutting down

and this could all be metaphor
for so many things,
but it’s not, it’s all true,
right outside

this tiny kitchen in

this tiny house

this tiny life

half-invisible

portal.

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on a small lake in maine

i found the color of departure

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(title is a line from Dylan’s Visions of Johanna)