Now the sky
Resembles my
Grandfathers beard gray
Wispy with patches
Of orange as
Low sun skittles
Across its cheeks
Blue dodges in
And out like
Balloons in Central
Park bumping into
White here now
Now the sky
Resembles my
Grandfathers beard gray
Wispy with patches
Of orange as
Low sun skittles
Across its cheeks
Blue dodges in
And out like
Balloons in Central
Park bumping into
White here now
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I adore the imagery of how the sky compares to your grandfather’s beard. Each re-read just submerges me deeper in your words. It’s beautiful.
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Thank you. I write in a style that I call “simple poetry” which hopefully evokes a vivid experience for my readers. Less clunky.
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