The deep summer green has faded
overnight from the trees, the season
is already changing.
As the twilights begin to shorten
I also want to not be out,
exposed,
a cracked and worn Spode plate
from a set mostly broken or chipped.
*****
Found poem from The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion.
I’m so glad you “found” this, Charlotte. Beautiful poem.
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Thank you, Robert. I always feel a little like I’m cheating when I do found poetry, though. I’m a bit reluctant to share it but it’s great for massaging my creativity.
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I feel the same way when I assemble centos, but somehow can’t stop doing them. Ha!
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I feel the same way. It doesn’t feel like poetry exactly, but it opens up channels and helps my thoughts flow. It feels like the difference between crafts and art maybe.
I love how this came out though.
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That’s at good comparison, between art and crafts. I think lots of us feel this way! Thanks for your comment, CH.
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Well, damn. I always forget your moniker, Frankie!!
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