I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance?
I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them.
Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog.
AmyJo-boppin w the punkin beat Thank you! I really have nothing against rhyme, only against insisting it is necessary or it's not poetry. This would exclude some of my favorite poets - TS ELiot and e e cummings, for example. Shakespeare rhymed all those sonnets and they're lovely. The key to rhyme is using it well.
As a fan of free verse and prose, I think that demanding rhymes is excessive at times. I like this poem that while fussing about rhymes, has a wonderful cadence that flows well. Kudos to you!
ULVdrgn1 I am unlikely to be found on a roller coaster due to a strong affinity for the ground and a general distrust of roller coaster designers, builders and operators.
AnotherDreamer Blue Jays are intelligent, too. They are in the same family as crows and often harass crows, but mostly by squawking and flying around to tease or taunt them. Again, bratty behavior. Although jays do raid nests occasionally, I would think most are smart enough to not raid a crow's nest. That jay paid dearly for his crime.
Once I witnessed a murder of a bluejay. (it deserved it) My Dad pulled his fishing boat into a small cove on a tiny island not far from the larger island of Wrangell, Alaska. We were having our lunch when a commotion in the treetops got our attention. With the help of binoculars, I saw a blue jay harassing a nest of crows. It drove at the nest several times then came out with a featherless baby. I saw it drop to the ground and I ran to look at it. There was nothing I could do to save it because the head was gone. I ran back to the boat. A few crows started chasing the blue bird. Several crows, screeching, flew to the larger island returning very quickly with enough crows to darken the sky.
In horror we watched them pluck every feather off the jay before they snipped off its head.
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