Day: April 14, 2019
Not Granted
Deep in the Verdant Wildwood
He is the river swimmer, sleek as a brown river otter
plunging into the depths of cold murky waters,
he sits with patience waiting,
on the sandy pebbled shore
in quivering evening light.
Sparkling magic flashes from afar
deep in the verdant wildwood.
She, the elusive nymph comes for
she is the woman lit by fireflies
a tearful moonlight rendezvous
and together they roam
where their hearts belong
here, where the wild things are until
a watercolor dawn spills over the horizon
when he will return to the heart of the cold river
And she to the waiting arms of the dark forest.
Author’s Note:
Today at the garden, Magaly has asked us to write a poem that includes three book titles. The three book titles I chose are:
- The River Swimmer by Jim Harrison
- The Woman Lit By Fireflies by Jim Harrison
- Where The Wild Things Are
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Quiet Days
The Touch
via The Touch
Quote of the Week
So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more dangerous to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.
-Jon Krakauer
Blood
To be the blood that’s
pumping in your heart is the
very thing I want.
Sometimes I hear rain
Inner strenght looks so good on you 🌟
My satellite
He came out of nowhere
Like a gust of wind,
Blowing me over
Until my body was pinned.
The ocean in his eyes
Called me to the shore,
Drowning me in his iris
Into the depth of his core.
The electricity between us
Created a surge of power
Flashing through the sky
He is my meteor shower.
Like the Moon orbiting earth
In the beauty of the night,
He’s spinning around me
As my own satellite.
K
The Reluctant Poet 