I have been away caring for the grands since Wednesday. Here are poems through today that have occurred to me at odd moments but were not committed to paper until now. Sunday and Monday’s offerings will appear here after the fact as well. The daily prompts were as follows:19th - Hatch the metaphoric egg.
20th - Be an old Chinese poet or talk to or about one. Go anywhere you want with this.
21st - Hand over Hand — The Climbing Out of a Hole Exercise: Let your poem start with a dark mood, a negative statement, or a dire predicament. Through the course of a short poem, rescue yourself.
The sun rises,
A solid yolk
In a hard boiled sky.
No rain has fallen for weeks:
None is in the offing.
The earth cracks,
Spilling us all into
The shimmering mirage of hope.
Ancient ones know much
About colors and folding;
Art is in the crease.
She was an angel with one wing only
and could not stay. Her room
had pink elephants marching tail to trunk
around the walls, and the white bassinet with
its lace and pink ribbons, stood waiting. Perhaps
it was wrong to plan so plainly, to be so sure.
Perhaps I should have hoped only.
Such a fragile thing, hope. And as strong
as stone steps that lead from the precipice
to safety. I look up, up, hoping…