Sunday, November 9, 2014

To Right All Wrongs

Image chosen by Tess Kincaid for a writing prompt on this Sunday's Mag 245

I Wanted To Right All Wrongs

The crowd I ran with
would wrap themselves in the flag
and light it on fire, fervor of the dope,
the night - then would suicide
perhaps at crossroads and barriers set
by shine shirted officers
of the mud splashed law.

That crocus had thorns.

They plucked the long stemmed
rose to goad the flight of migratory
birds who flew from disrespect,
calling, calling out
surely chased by her,
by the owl who suddenly
dove below the tree
line to thread the scene
with serious concern for
all those dead and gone -

and me, I still grieve.

‎November 9, ‎2014 4:29 PM

To be fair - I insist that these amusements are usually fictions. I have in this one framed and draped my memory of times that have passed. Those days are a very long way from my concerns of today. I was definitely there. I am definitely now here. Yes. I do still grieve. It's complicated.

The poem was fashioned to include all twelve words found in Brenda Warren's Sunday Whirl Wordle 186.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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