Weekend Writers' Retreat seem to have been going for 34 weeks without me.
They will probably have to continue without me, too, because this is the only original poem I carry around in my head. I wrote it so long ago I don't remember when, and it has been submitted to more
It never won anything.
Still, I like it. Maybe someone out there in the blogosphere might like it, too, even just a little bit.
Resubmitted Sept. 7 to
"Imaginary Garden with Real Toads"
in answer to the question: Can a poem be like an Impressionist painting?
It is called Rock Poem...
when Spring comes.
not I —
by mountain sun,
and windswept cliff,
Tomorrow is born.
— Kay L. Davies © 2011