The mornings clouds
Are like a
Freshly steamed bathroom
Hiding everything including
Planes and sun
The clouds hang
Like freshly stored
Winter coats in
A cedar closet
Waiting for next
Year or Saul’s
Heat on this
Late June morning
Author: Harlan Didrickson
I first started writing this blog as a way to refocus my thinking after a debilitating mental breakdown in 2008. Having been educated in writing, I had hoped that my love for words would have left a trail for me to follow and, well, here we are.
Endings (to Christopher)
And so you’re
Silent and faraway
Like the missing
Last few pages
Of favorite stories
I make up
An ending fit
For a princess
Because I fear
That the way
We really end
Is the way
That we are
CoalDiamonds
I’m something to
Many and nothing
To the others
Like coal can
Also be a
Diamond but likely
It’s just coal
To be used
Burnt and forgotten
Rather than kept
And finally revered
Unopened
And the music
Haunts me like
Your unopened letters
Staring at them
Wondering what’s inside
But these things
Aren’t like presents
More like coffins
For what’s inside
Is now dead
A poor resemblance
Of the bouquet
We once were
WritingBlossoms
And the melodies
Make me bob
And hum like
Tiny birds moving
From the blossoms
Of words taking
What I can
And pollinating
Just this page
