The silence between the notes

Even after the rain, With plants that were never meant  For bouquets, We can find beauty. Sort of like in life, In times that we never imagined  We would face, Growth can be beautiful. So maybe beauty comes less  From sweet fragrance  Or visual charm.  Maybe it comes more  From the way  We grow with the weeds  And the rain. *I shared a version of this to a private page on May 27,  and today I decided I wanted to include it in this “collection” on my blog.

I recently attended a workshop where we were asked to write a poem focusing on our choice of imagery and poetic structure. I decided to include only sensory words: no articles, prepositions, conjunctions, or even emotional or intellectual descriptors. Just what can be imagined through a few of the five senses.  I'm not 100% settled on everything in this piece yet, but it was interesting to try writing a poem under a time constraint and with such specific expectations. And I'm curious to see if my image is understandable to anyone other than me.  Skies, horizons, distance downward.               Jumping. Pushing. Rushing.  Empty, open, spacious, vacant.                Winds. Gusts. Gravity.  Jagged, hard, hot, sharp.                Rocks. Edges. Ledges.  Rope, restraint, harness, anchor?               Whip. Rip...