River of Stones

As predicted the monsoon season is here at last.  Last night it rained, life giving liquid  washed over the desert.

Sunday Whirl Wordle
Jasper Johns Painting

Sunday Whirl Wordle

World             galloping

Fluttered        buzz

Logic               instinct

Poem              river

Resist              whim

Though           twisted

The Words are Waiting

Floating down the river

Twisted in the debris

The words are waiting

To become the poem

The buzz made by the words

Bumping together

Like the soft hum of a lone bee

Though the meaning

Is unclear — twisted

And wrung out to dry

Crackles in the wind

The world waits

The words flutter down

Upon the page

There is no logic

It is the instinct

For survival

Hug the body

With my knees


Across the plane

There is no resistance

In the wind

The words are waiting

To become the poem

The Woods

Sunday Scribbling prompt The Woods

The Woods

All is dry

Thirst for water

Sun shines bright

Tinder box

Waiting to explode

No, you may not go there

No one is allowed

Waiting for the promised water

All is dry

The relentless sun

Continues to shine

Tinder box

Like the beating heart within

Waiting to explode

No one is allowed

In the woods

12 thoughts on “Sunday 10, 2011 River of Stones / Sunday Whirl Wordle / Sunday Scribbling

  1. Glad you finally got the rain. Although I understand what you call ‘product’, don’t we all have to start somewhere and then hopefully learn what we need from what we produce?


    1. Wish you had been with me. I am speaking only for myself. I did not see work that inspired. And an art fair is supposed to show you the “best.” Dealers come from all over, and it just seemed the work lacked something, or maybe the choices lacked something.

      The monsoon season is predicted to be usual. Yes, we so need the rain. But it is still hot! And the fire still burns in the mountains. I think I am feeling my soul is burned, just a crisp. I am seeking renewal. Looking toward to fall, the world cools off, and though it is near the end of the year, I always feel renewal. Annell Livingston HC 74 Box 21860 El Prado, NM 87529

      annell@taosnet.com http://www.annelllivingston.com http://www.somethingsithinkabout-annell-annell.blogspot.com https://annellannell.wordpress.com

  2. You gathered those floating words and made perfect sense..like the sticks exhausted from the fires you tended them and put them back together..it’s a whole new concept not being allowed in the woods..creates it’s own unease..Jae

    1. Back again for the wordle. Really like what you did. That is how poems in the making feel, chasing after words, that are whispers, that flutter at the ear, and the hearer waits, as the words wait, to become the poem.

      And yes, I do understand. Sometimes it all feels far away and somehow like its behind a glass wall, unreachable, there but not quite.


  3. i really like thinking about words waiting for the poem. I think this is true really. The words are there. It is only up to us to find inspiration to put them together poetically.

  4. Both poems are excellent; I especially identified with the first one about the words waiting to become the poem.

    A couple of notes about possible typos: in the first poem, did you mean “wrung” instead of “rung”, and in the second, “tinder” instead of “tender”?

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