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    Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 195

    Categories: Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, What's New.

    For this week’s prompt, write a sudden poem. The poem could be about something that suddenly happens. Or it could be just whatever words suddenly spring from you. Or… I’ll let you decide what a sudden poem means for you.

    Here’s my attempt:


    He digs his fingers deeper into his forehead
    than they’ve ever dug before. He reclines until
    he’s facing the ceiling. He stares at the ceiling,
    exhales. Then, inhales. The world completely silent
    waits. And waits. And waits until the engine ignites
    and his fingers type faster and faster as if
    the words (given the chance) might try sneaking away.


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    About Robert Lee Brewer

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    123 Responses to Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 195

    1. SapphireSkye says:

      Four minutes…
      Four minutes left.
      It’s okay,
      Take a breath,
      No one cares if you don’t finish,
      Just go on with their lives and
      Probably never notice
      You were here.

      Next line…

      Next line…

      Next line…

      Stop hyperventilating.
      You’re being silly.

      Two minutes left now
      Before the bell.
      Keep typing -
      You’re almost there.




      Revel in the feeling of creation.
      Write some more.

      Less than a minute now…
      I should hurry before the


      (written at school, in the last 4 minutes before my class ends)

    2. SUDDENLY 1 A.M.

      A fist, no, a knee in my back, a hock-
      joint to the jaw. The puppy’s leaped on top
      of bed with us asleep. Knock and snuggle
      cold nose in the face. Mack truck of comfort.
      I grab and hold. No slack. But then, a sigh,
      she licks my finger, tries to creep inside
      the sheets, the heap of pillow; hide herself
      in a slim crack between my hands and voice.

      What nightmare had her frantic? Now lying
      on my feet, she breathes deeply, ribs a harp
      of dog-lullaby. Who’d guess such bad dreams
      in a pup – what mind-sight we think reserved
      for humans? What terror teethes there?
      I touch her chest. Her heart beats dream.

    3. Snapshots

      I carry a pocket-sized notebook
      for the times when a sound or an image
      hits me over the head, when a snippet
      of conversation between two women
      waiting for the train amuses or intrigues me,
      when I startle a deer at the edge of the wood
      on my morning walk, and she startles me, and
      we stare at each other, her black eyes to my blue;
      when the morning is so crisp, the evening so serene,
      the sunset so full of clouds and creation,
      that I must get it all down. So many times
      I have witnessed something striking and thought,
      if I only had my camera. This pen, these small pages
      are my snapshots, doing their best to snatch
      a sudden moment out of the world, one that lasts
      only as a memory, or as words on a page.

    4. tunesmiff says:

      (c) 2012 – G. Smith (BMI)
      Like a shooting star across a velvet sky,
      Like the sparkle in a pair of pale green eyes;
      Like a lightning bolt from out of the blue;

      Like a smile across a crowded room,
      Like that first spring morning when the dogwoods bloom;
      Like a heart you discover is true;

      Day to day,
      The same old thing;
      Stumbling through,
      The same routine;
      Will I find
      Anyone new?
      Then suddenly;

      Like a baby’s laugh in the middle of the night;
      Like a touch that says everything’s alright;
      Like finding love makes one from two;

    5. cstewart says:


      The wind picked up and blew sandy dust and leaves
      Over the land that had been waiting for a storm.
      The trees swirled round in honor of the static emissions.
      The air changed to ozone and refreshed the lungs.

      The dark clouds pushed fast and rushed into the languid
      Heat of the previous climate,
      The wheat bent down in the field and the rain
      Began to pelt its curves with huge drops.

      Pushed by the wind, a late crow crossed the road’s gap,
      And fell into the poplar tree, giving up a feather.

    6. Jason says:

      THEN ” “

      fills a page
      where once words
      would crawl.

      And now

      fills a mind
      where once was

    7. barbara_y says:

      The weather man is laughing. Montana 
      has snow.  After a dry tightwad summer, 
      a forty-fifty degree swoop, and Fall connects, 
      knocks the socks off of summer smashes that pinata all to hell.
      Snow falls like charms and candy. And we, manic oddities, applaud. 
      We mysteries; we crust-where-the-pan-met-the-lasagna lovers; 
      pent-up, penny-wise, pound-downright-silly 
      performers of nothing important, applaud.
      It doesn’t take much. Rain. A few red maples. In the breeze
      willows, hanging, wave; grasses, standing, rustle.
      Leaves. Sheaths. Chill. And Wham! the brittle, 
      unbearable, beautiful Fall is piercing 
      our summer-fever balloon, and we explode
      into mending, laughing like the weatherman.

    8. missab5 says:

      It happened all of a sudden.
      He was a stranger
      just stumbling down the street.
      His bumping into me
      seemed avoidable on the mostly empty sidewalk.
      Yet somehow our collision occurred.
      That in and of itself wasn’t the strange
      part, but his teeth sinking into
      my shoulder seemed quite peculiar.
      As I attempted to stop the blood flow
      he continued on.
      It all happened so fast.
      My eyes began to fog over and
      I had the strangest craving for
      Of course that would mean he
      was a
      zombie and therefore
      I am now on my way to being
      a zombie.
      Since that is

    9. And.

      I shout at you, you shout at me.
      If we had thought bubbles
      they would be black clouds
      with the wrong sort of pooh
      and no honey bees.
      I cannot believe how it is possible
      to hate you so much.
      My blood pressure is up
      and I am shaking with furious
      How dare you argue with me?
      But you are you and I am me.
      And then I say something
      so completely bonkers
      it makes the unspoken thought about
      the wrong sort of pooh clouds
      seem pedestrian.
      And we are laughing
      and I can’t remember why we were shouting
      and neither can you
      and the storm is over.

    10. Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

      A Poem Escapes
      by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

      I’m sitting by a large window,
      reflections staring back
      through the reds and browns
      and golds fluttering
      just beyond melancholy,
      their outlines darkening
      in the cold fading light
      of an October moon,
      a sliver of which curls
      itself like a cat in my lap

      and suddenly, a poem escapes…

      © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

      on opening the prof’s own slim book of verse

      Each page is white space interrupted
      by brief dark lines of type –
      a trellis or a scaffold; thin frame
      for the eye to climb down, word by word.
      An iron grate of filigree abruptly
      closed. Inside, a sudden spill of light
      through leaves – Two kittens glimpsed –
      just an instant snapshot, without
      the ballet of their leaps – A snug tuffet
      of moss in a doorpost corner –
      whose door? – The sky blank polo-
      mallet white on foggy mornings
      without a horse’s sudden
      whinny from the paddock.
      What’s the poet’s role in all this?
      To keep the reader out?
      A mask pulled unexpectedly
      over the face? He never cast his
      shadow on the page.

    12. tjholt says:

      Take Your Time

      There is no need to hurry
      when you are marked,
      your name written in stone,
      no one’s going anywhere
      until you die
      and then only the mourners,
      the headstone remains
      the date to be engraved.

    13. Let Go

      Suddenly life as he knew it had changed.
      After getting up before sunrise to roll
      his newspapers, riding his bike along the route
      before school and Saturdays and Sundays too,

      after graduating college on Saturday afternoon
      and reporting for work on Monday morning,
      after nearly forty years of showing up early
      and leaving late, suddenly it had all ended.

      He drove home, the contents of his desk drawers,
      shoved in his back seat, along with framed photos
      of family, two coffee cups, and at least five hundred
      business cards, worthless now. Exactly what he felt.

      Suddenly having no reason to set the alarm
      lost its joy; the newspapers, the novel
      he was halfway through, couldn’t hold his attention.
      Time on his hands weighed heavy–heavier
      than debt, than guilt, more like chains.

      Gradually, he reassessed his state, no worse
      than most, better than some. Lacking hope, she
      shared hers. She spoke aloud the prayers
      for which his heart could not find words,
      reminding him what someone had told her:
      Worry is praying for what you don’t want.

    14. MonicaSharman says:

      AT THE NET

      After the first serve I rush
      the net, attack like a tiger already

      pouncing on prey. My graphite racquet
      raised at the ready, I punch each volley

      and make her run, sideline to sideline
      until, instead of a curving forehand

      trying to pass me down the line, she tries
      a short lob. Grinning, I turn, confident

      with an impending overhead bullet
      but hear the pop of my ankle, rolled over,

      and I roll in no-man’s land holding
      an ankle already starting to swell.

    15. Watch That Last Step

      Welcoming winter with bare arms,
      The trees at once drop their coats
      As we don ours against the frost.
      Wind echoes the coyotes in the hills
      And all turns from green to red to brown.
      Yesterday was too warm, today too cold;
      Autumn comes not in a season
      But in a single day.

    16. my hearts love songs says:

      wow! some great poetry this week!

      his sudden absence frightened her
      he’d proved himself the foundation of her life
      she didn’t know what to do
      wishful thinking made her wait for his return
      she’s waiting

    17. julie e. says:

      and Fall drags on, saluting death
      a morbid gala for what was lost
      one day last Winter’s end.
      and I, holding on with my fingernails,
      hope to last another season,
      waiting for my soul’s sudden Spring.

    18. JWLaviguer says:

      It happened
      When I wasn’t looking
      Living life
      Loving life

      No responsibilities
      Running in the streets
      Kicking that can
      Laughing “Safe!”

      Grown now
      Job and family
      Hair thinner
      Belly isn’t

      And still
      In spite of it all
      Living life
      Loving life

    19. Misky says:

      To Wake

      is suddenly
      upon your face,
      small kisses –
      skipping stones
      teasing the lake

    20. Time Flies (a haiku)

      I looked at the prompt.
      Suddenly it was Thursday
      Where did Wednesday go?

    21. Maxie says:

      Sudden Awareness
      Everything’s the same:
      unkempt rooms behind closed doors
      call to your sparkling foyer, as they do;

      undone assignments marking a strewn timeline
      call to your sense of order, as they do;

      untouched books from abandoned shelves
      call to your diverted eyes, as they do;

      Yet today, you hear their urgency.
      Today, you know their worth.
      Today, you note the distance from your last breath to your first.
      Today, you find value in carefully wasted time.
      Today, you learn “repent” simply means to change your mind.

      Everything’s the same:
      unchanged hearts beat, as they do,
      but today’s sudden awareness changes everything for you.

    22. Miss R. says:


      Everything was the same.
      So quivering and vibrant,
      Died valiantly.
      The peak, once reached,
      Fell away.
      Perhaps we’ll make it
      Back there
      One of these days,
      But not
      If we keep on trying.
      Your ceaseless striving;
      Returns ever and only

    23. RobHalpin says:

      Free Fallin’ (a haiku)

      brilliant leaves settle
      after their brief Autumn dance
      revealing bare trees

    24. I suddenly see the new part of me,
      A grand design of truth, hidden gold mine,
      Streaming through darkness, striking through duty,
      Who am I, but one who seeks inner prime.

      When weight of doubt rushes over my eyes,
      In those gone before me I find my might,
      Ancient wisdom bids me believe no lies,
      Such truth casts defining rings of pure light.

      There is no calmness in worlds colliding,
      No patience gliding through knowledge supreme,
      Wisdom streams upon ink, clear in writing,
      Open a book, words cut through a sunbeam.

      Answers ride on waves, knowledge suddenly,
      Minds shall open – indifference, risky.

    25. priyajane says:


      All day long
      Preparing for the cruel storm
      When suddenly
      A gentle , bitter breeze
      Shatters the windows

      PriyA Jane

    26. SharoninDallas says:

      Everyone is so good today! I haven’t had time to ponder this subject, but I want to keep up
      with this weekly challenge. This is an admittedly strange and perhaps too lenientt take on the
      topic. I was eating lunch with a friend recently and we both agreed that we love cheese, and
      “suddenly” the words, “Oh Cheese, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways,” popped into my head.
      And later in the day I finished the thought. Admittedly light, but perhaps a bit of fun, and actually
      regarding me, going into the depths a bit at the end.

      Oh, Cheese, how do I love thee?
      Let me count the ways.
      You layer my lasagne and cover my nachos.
      You bring absolute joy to my days.
      You boost me up at trying day’s end
      When my heart is crying out for a treat.
      It’s you, you, that I want to see when I get home;
      You that I want to meet
      When I open my frig and take a bite and sigh
      And relax and crackers grab. And sip merlot
      And let frustrations go and forget all that’s drab.
      It’s your hearty cheddar and delicate mozzarella
      And especially your brie
      Which carries me off to thoughts of France,
      To the inner, real me.
      A poem by Sharon Cooper

    27. seingraham says:

      Sun Caught

      Outside the sun is stuttering on the side-walk
      Caught between summer and fall, it pales
      Becomes a shadow of itself and backs behind
      Low roofed clouds the colour of nothing
      A non-negotiable breeze puffs just south of Arctic
      Air across small ponds begging for early icing
      Their bull-rushes cackle like brood hens
      As the wind picks up and pushes their dryness
      Hard, forcing them to be more familiar than
      They like or are used to; their suede heads bob
      And sway, bob and sway – brown as wieners
      On a stick, roasting over a bonfire, the geese
      Regard all with a sense of the absurd before
      Making a chuffing, chuckling noise, then paddle
      Into wide circles as they make formations in the water
      Then suddenly, no warning, they rise in rows; dozens -
      Vee upon vee upon perfect vee, wings in synch, and go

    28. Ber says:

      Running Pathways

      Gasping holding out
      talk and chat
      let out a shout
      suddenly it all became clear

      Running down pathways
      of running water
      chasing her ghosts of the past
      never ever thinking this would last

      Cracks waiting
      to catch her
      trying to trip her up
      trying to make her fall

      Suddenly out of no where
      a shadow of his body
      catches her fall
      he is so dear

      Hold on tight
      do not be scared
      trust me
      i wont let you go

      This he assures her
      deep down inside
      she does really know
      he is her knight in flight
      Mystery figure of the night

    29. Domino says:

      One Moment

      one moment,
      the one when
      my very breath and
      seem to stop
      and I can’t quite
      catch up
      and it is (heavenly)

      Diana Terrill Clark

    30. elishevasmom says:


      I sat on the cottage porch with my flute.
      Playing out in the wild, it was if
      I could see the notes

      rising, twisting, wending their way
      upward through the forest
      canopy. But, before

      I could begin, there was a blitzing clap
      of thunder (which took me
      quite by surprise) as

      there had been no distant rumblings,
      no previews of coming
      attractions. And as

      though the thunder had been a zipper
      in the darkening clouds, rain
      fell like seeds, fighting

      with each other to be first to fill a silo.
      And so inspired, I raised
      the flute to my

      lips, and let my soul push its way upward
      as the raindrops crowded
      down—all part of

      the same symmetry—thunder and music,
      rain and soul—all threads in
      the same tapestry.

    31. Ann M says:

      Yellow trees
      fill the roadside
      like the flames of a car wreck.
      Gone too soon;
      summer’s last

    32. RJ Clarken says:


      “Suddenly playing the charming bad guy was my thing.” ~Ray Liotta

      O evil villain. You’re so cute.
      The silver screen? I’m in pursuit.
      Or TV’s weekly episodes?
      My fangirl’s heart (oh no!) explodes.

      I doubt that suddenly you’d play
      a scene where Icould be your prey.
      But I can dream. By tons and loads.
      My fangirl’s heart (oh no!) explodes.

      Just what is it about you, dude?
      Oh! Flash your charm. I am so screwed.
      So bad guy, what’s your secret codes?
      My fangirl’s heart (oh no!) explodes.

      O evil villain. You’re so cute.
      My fangirl’s heart (oh no!) explodes.


    33. RJ Clarken says:

      An Example of a Poetic Moon

      “You moon the wrong person at an office party and suddenly you’re not ‘professional’ any more.” ~Jeff Foxworthy

      I swear it’s really not my fault.
      (Perhaps I’ll blame Marie. Or Walt.)
      Poetic mooning’s silly. Right?
      But rhyming’s trite. What should I write?

      Well then…just take a Kyrielle.
      Imbue it with word play. Oy. Kvell.
      Clichés will never get stage fright
      but rhyming’s trite. What should I write?

      Perhaps some long unmetered song
      about love’s labour’s lost. Right? Wrong.
      I’d rather not be too polite
      but rhyming’s trite. What should I write?

      I swear it’s really not my fault
      but rhyming’s trite. What should I write?


    34. De Jackson says:

      Fair Warning

                   Don’t make any
                           sudden moves
                drastic changes
                                 or over
                  enthusiastic promises.
                        Her fight
                            has unfurled
                                      in mid


    35. RobHalpin says:

      Free Fallin’

      Sky diving
      can be a great rush
      ’til the chute
      won’t deploy.
      It’s not the fall that kills you;
      it’s the sudden stop.

    36. RJ Clarken says:


      “Suddenly I’ve got an overwhelming desire to surround myself with the aura of classical and Romantic art.” ~Sylvester Stallone

      Pedestrian: what I once chose
      to brand myself, but heaven knows
      as I go on, penchant must change.
      To salve, I now must rearrange

      my ordinary life, which ran
      chaotic loops without a plan.
      So, suddenly, this grand exchange:
      to salve, I now must rearrange

      that aura. Graced, romantic art
      sheds colors I once learned by heart
      whose spectrum’s past my vision’s range.
      To salve, I now must rearrange.

      Pedestrian: what I once chose.
      To salve, I now must rearrange.


    37. PowerUnit says:

      My feet slide over the paved walkway
      Covered in sand and gravel from the tourship passengers’ boots
      Invading our precious city market
      They don’t know it doesn’t snow in Canada, in October, not the populated parts, not when it’s hot and sunny out
      Mr. Lee
      A friend of mom’s
      He’s going to tear up, I know it, I feel it
      She worked for him, and he loved her so, her soul
      We all did
      He minds his store one day a week now
      Fully trusting that grown kid of his, finally
      What will I think
      When it’s his turn to cash out
      Will someone miss Mr. Lee like he misses my mother?
      When it comes, will it happen fast?
      A sudden downturn, a merciful off switch?
      Or will he too sufffer long and hard too?


      Here we’ve all come together,
      poets with words to change the world
      for good. And here you are

      suddenly yelling at that girl –
      for what? Her words. Were they too
      soft or subtle for you?

      Not enough spark, or fire? No
      explosion, riot, blowing
      the old bad world to smithereens?

      She’s walking away now,
      her words packed carefully back
      into the satchel of her mind,

      ready for the winds of change
      to carry beyond
      anywhere your yelling could reach.

    39. Paula, for whatever reason, it won’t let me post under your poem. All I wanted to say is this:

      Oh, my sweet friend …



    40. Mike Bayles says:

      Skies Fall

      skies fall
      sudden rain
      cover of clouds
      winds swirl
      whirlwind dash
      I seek
      dash whirlwind
      swirl winds
      clouds of cover
      rain sudden
      fall skies

    41. Mike Bayles says:


      It’s sudden
      even if predicted
      this cold, drenching rain
      as it permeates my senses
      and sends me scurrying
      to the nearest shelter
      in winds of tempest
      as clouds shadow the sun.
      Inside, I look out the window
      for clear skies
      and the horizon,
      of what is yet to come.

    42. pmwanken says:

      (a shadorma)

      Side by side,
      sweethearts and soulmates.
      Whispered words,
      by moonlight,
      tender touches tantalized.
      Suddenly no more.

    43. Marianv says:

      On Some Lonely Afternoon

      It doesn’t have to be sudden
      Like the snapping of a guitar string
      When you are lost, in the mood, groovin’
      Having good times
      Laid back, mellow…

      Did they sneak away one by one?
      Until that moment you realized
      The good times all had gone away
      And you, like the cheese
      Were left standing alone?

      If you strolled out on the sidewalk
      In this town you’ve lived in all your life –
      Who would there be to suddenly
      Touch your arm and ask you
      “Where are you going?”
      “:Where have you been?”

    44. Jane Shlensky says:

      So Happy

      That giggle
      of delight burrowed
      into a chuckle, deep-throated
      and full that made your eyes shine.
      In a single breath, a feeling twisted,
      pirouetted, turned on its toes,
      and the sobs came
      out of nowhere.

    45. Hindsight

      If I could change you,
      I wouldn’t change a thing –
      but I would change the weather
      and take away the snow,
      melt away the ice
      so you wouldn’t have to go.

      If I could change you,
      I wouldn’t change a thing –
      but I would give a few more hugs
      and spend more time with you,
      share some silly laughs
      and marvel at all you can do.

      If I could change you,
      I wouldn’t change a thing –
      but I would change the time
      so you stayed a bit more,
      or maybe even left
      the day before.

      If I could change you,
      I wouldn’t change a thing –
      you were perfect
      the way you were,
      I just wish you were here
      that’s what I’d prefer.

      In a second, you were gone
      on a road covered in snow and ice,
      no longer here to hold
      you paid the ultimate price.
      I would change anything
      to have you.

      {Note: This is based on a true event but not directly related to me. I just put myself in the parent’s shoes.}

    46. Tracy Davidson says:

      a scream in my throat
      we screech to a sudden stop…
      I hate Disneyland

    47. PKP says:

      Rising from the rank
      fetid muck n mire
      blinking innocent stands


      rising from the sea
      flung upon the sandy shore
      separate sentient


      from the sparkling
      myriad mass of creatures swimming
      one stands on the shore

      mhmmm you get the idea
      the words are not quite there
      and I am out of here

      back later to read
      enjoy the day

    48. PKP says:

      These hands

      One night as dawn neared
      At the keyboard a single vein
      Popped in stark relief.
      I feared
      What was this? what could it be?
      Silent shouting I rushed to the lavatory

      Held that hand above my head
      Heart pounding with catastrophic dread
      Watched the blood drain
      From that pounding prominent vein
      Sighed in relief that I might just
      Be late-night writing insane

      Returned to keyboard, calm, to type again
      And watched the vein pop hit with chagrin
      No dread curable disease was with I struck
      Just fallen into aging symptomatic muck

    49. Yolee says:

      Maybe it’s a Cover-up like Veneers over Unflattering Teeth

      As autumn prunes summer,
      poetries, like gold-plated leaves,
      pirouette in my head. Ordinarily
      this happens when daylight is still

      a stranger or night is a little black
      dress, and a half glass of some
      good dream spilled on it.

      I don’t always strive to catch
      and release, as if there’ll always be
      a great supply of creativity flowing
      to be fleshed out. I know this.
      I know this. I know.

      I hear a faint voice, sometimes
      piteous, sometimes snappy beneath
      cluttered sills of my mind:
      “esteem the rash break-ins;
      don’t bury me alive.”

    50. PKP says:

      Back later to read …. ROBERT -BRILLIANT TODAY,

    51. PKP says:

      Suddenly it comes and not on little cat feet

      It won’t
      I can’t
      It probably
      Was something
      Skin on skin
      Skin in skin
      Ceiling staring
      Pillow face breathing
      Skin slapping
      Slap , Slap,

      A little warm
      A little odd


    52. the beginning

      it comes unannounced
      with a childproof lid
      you can scarcely open
      on mornings that are hard

      you know old men retiring
      looking younger than you
      happy couples who barely
      show their scars, children all

      you turn away and keep
      churning words like butter
      words about life and hope
      and stupid things no one

      even cares about – firing them
      into some vast echo chamber
      listening a bit too hard
      pathetic for acclamation

      then one Wednesday at 9am
      everything stops. And you are
      a fool with a moleskin notebook
      and nothing left to say

    53. nitapita says:


      Grasping for truth, living out of contol
      Dreams giving clues, from a damaged soul
      Riding lifes waves, like a crashing river
      Never see the whole picture, only a sliver
      Suddenly, you realize you’ve known all along
      Sometimes the truth can feel so wrong

    54. JWLaviguer says:

      In the shadows
      He lurks
      For you
      He’s invisible
      Until now
      You know who he is
      He’s Oliver Sudden.

    55. Myrtle Beach Headline August 9th, 2012
      S wift
      U ndertow
      D eath
      D arts
      E fforts
      N il
      L ost
      Y outh

    56. Chev, Walt, and Connie lined up in the top 3 spots? Niiiiiiiiiice!!!!!

      And Robert’s “as if the words might try sneaking away” — how I can relate!

    57. This,
      her trek
      from healthy
      happy owner
      of her own business
      to wholly disabled,
      Tardive Dyskinesia-wrought,
      terror besieged, anxiety plagued
      schizophrenic, mood disorder patient
      has filched her life for too many years and must

    58. Night Terror

      S uddenly a high shriek pierces the night.
      U nder slumber I fumble for the light.
      D eadly still, I listen for the sound,
      D arting fearful eyes all around.
      E choing voices fill the halls,
      N oting the scream which appalls.
      L aughing the farmer points out,
      “Y ou’ve heard a peacock, no doubt.”

    59. Cruisin’

      You’re sailing along like a melody,
      a song you’ve hummed hundreds of times.
      But the words escape you, blinded.
      Headlights from the car crossing
      the median meant to separate.
      It’s too late to steer clear.
      Suddenly mangled metal
      becomes your playlist.

    60. “Fade”

      Sudden sunlight
      startles eyes
      prepared for gray.
      Refocusing reveals
      a well lit
      gray day
      and the stirrings
      of light

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