I came looking for oatmeal and found gold silverware, fine china, and a damn good poem—a low flame reads the dark, the story writes again, no pen of mine, signed my name—you have chops.
This poem feels like the process. Life happens. And we sit down to write and our script is unrecognizable as our own. Well done.
I tried to be playful but this deserves more than a silly joke being 5am and all.
You held a four beat pattern except when you switched to three. The only outlier is a new page opens at 5 syllables…
I wish I could write with meter and rhyme. Mine all come out like the cat and the hat. This is poetry.
Meg, good morning.Strangely, this poem made me feel, “If there is still more to the story, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”It made my heart feel a little lighter. 😇
I came looking for oatmeal and found gold silverware, fine china, and a damn good poem—a low flame reads the dark, the story writes again, no pen of mine, signed my name—you have chops.
This poem feels like the process. Life happens. And we sit down to write and our script is unrecognizable as our own. Well done.
I tried to be playful but this deserves more than a silly joke being 5am and all.
You held a four beat pattern except when you switched to three. The only outlier is a new page opens at 5 syllables…
I wish I could write with meter and rhyme. Mine all come out like the cat and the hat. This is poetry.
Thanks Dave. I appreciate your feedback. Damn. I try.
Beautifully written poem. Beautiful message that it holds as well. Such refreshment to a parched soul.
❤️ thank you
Meg, good morning.Strangely, this poem made me feel, “If there is still more to the story, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”It made my heart feel a little lighter. 😇
That’s lovely feedback thanks Keiichiro! Have a wonderful weekend. Thank you!