Thirty-One: Week Twelve

Days seventy-eight through eighty-four

Photo by Debabrata Hazra on Unsplash

Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them by clicking here.

Day Seventy-Eight (July 13th)
A shy forest doesn’t care
if anyone hears 
when it falls to pieces

Day Seventy-Nine (July 14th)
Words to describe the Florida summer:
hot
humid
sweltering
sweaty
steamy
gross
sultry
sticky
muggy
melting
stifling
oppressive
soupy
swampy
thick
lazy

Day Eighty (July 15th)
Thoughts dissipate in the heat like steam
rising from blistering asphalt. I can’t hold on
to any notion long enough
to examine the ideas percolating within.

Day Eighty-One (July 16th)
There isn’t enough time to listen
to all the songs of longing and loneliness,
just as there will never be enough time
to read all the poems and tales of adventure.

If only I could consume art the way
I devour dinner and dessert. I would
ingest one piece after another, savoring
the salty and the sweet. Flavors would swirl
in eddies from my nose to my tongue, and
all the while, they would become me
as they passed from without to within. 

Day Eighty-Two (July 17th)
When wind ripples across a pond, it’s like
seeing a ghost. Something usually invisible
has decided to make itself seen.

Day Eighty-Three (July 18th)
drip, drip, drip, drip, drip
clear skies, yet the rain remains
sunshine memories

Day Eighty-Four (July 19th)
I don’t want to see precise shapes
and defined lines piercing sharply
in the night. The darkness is meant for
blurred edges and fuzzy forms. The unknown
blends with dreams and whispered desires. 

I’m offering this project for free, but if you’d like to support me (and get access to our poetry club), consider subscribing. That would be cool.