Following on from my earlier post, here’s an attempt at a postmodern poem around the same theme, in response to the prompt over at d’Verse poets today.
A walk in the morning sunshine, camera in hand. Everything seems bright and newly washed after yesterday’s rain. I feel more alive than I have for days, weeks even. I love this time of year, well when the sun shines, at least.
Where the new fern unfurls
amongst fallen leaves,
moss and broken twigs,
autumn is unfolding.
I walk in search of the red oak on the island. But the gardeners catch up with me, and it’s all a myth, the tree is a sycamore…Acer rubrum..
The naming of things
wonderful in Latin
That wasn’t very poetic, I’ve run out of steam. I could go on, with my butterfly mind, leaping from one idea to the next, and writing better verse, or worse. But I think I’ll leave it at that…Tomorrow is another day.