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?
a moving green
remembering lost things
an horizon of memories
tropical mold creeping
through untouched clothes in his closet
wedding day dreams
dappled light off water
an island of hope in chartreuse
lingering on the edge
of the crowd wrapped in its own warmth
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