Friday, May 30, 2014


What a season for blueberries!  Basket after basket.  Always a treat of color, and they fit so well in your palm, begging to be enjoyed.  Just like petite purple potatoes -- but no quite.

So, what's the equivalent in poetry?   Short, of course,  and unexpected yet satisfying.  Not haiku (they have a sense of salad and breeze and mountain about them).  I think just a few words, perhaps a line only.  A line full of color.  Vibrant.  Totally itself.  Perhaps, a line curving.

1 comment:

  1. The one thing he ate was crumb cake

    I wish fall would get here

    The usual search for a change of heart

    Some fallow dream replies to everyone

    Look out the window!