Friday, May 18, 2018

THE FIRST DAYS OF SUMMER ARE OVER/Verse Escape

THE FIRST DAYS OF SUMMER ARE OVER

If I could write something new
Something I do not know
Where to find the words 
What is to be said

So I will write of honeysuckle, too
The sweet scent that fills the night
The city lights 
The windows rolled down
There was nothing I could do
No way to stop what was

May 18, 2018

8 comments:

hedgewitch said...

There is nothing new, so we write a new thing about the constant. I love the mood here, and the sense of suspension and even fate. Thanks for playing 55 with us, annell.

Vivian Zems said...

Honeysuckle deserves the stage. The uncertainty at the end is palpable. A good write.

Samyuktha Jayaprakash said...

I am reading Ayn Rand right now and let me tell you I am now in the constant worry that everything worth saying has already been said. Your Honeysuckles bring me a whiff of hope.

Jim said...

When we think about it, there are things we just can't shake until we write of it. Like the proverbial ear worm. I like the disposition that Mark Twain gave it in his "Punch Brother, Punch" ditty.
..

Magaly Guerrero said...

Some days, honeysuckle is all we have left... and that's a good thing.

willow_switches said...

I just love this for the simplicity- the quiet pace and rhythm, and the keen observations of the sudden sweetness of something "other" - the honeysuckle out of place, yet entirely within "home" .... and the last line is just perfect for a 55 ending.

Bekkie Sanchez said...

Sweet and simple sets the mood.

Thotpurge said...

I looked for the eagles yesterday
Even though I knew they were not there... haunting!

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