Good morning, my dearest readers. I hope that this Sunday finds you well. I devote Sundays to poetry. I write a poem and I courageously put my poem out there into the ethersphere, for no other reason than I can. And so can you. The world never died from bad poetry, and many worlds have been inspired by good poetry. Poetry is a release for the writer, and a spark of thought for the reader. Be brave and bold. Write a poem today and put it out there for others to catch your spirit. Here is my poem for today:
August
I suppose that August was created in order to
Help me to empathize with my food.
August is like those last couple minutes of cooking
Frantically checking, cutting, smelling, sensing . . .
August is that crucial, tiny, middle slice of time
Which determines whether something is perfectly cooked,
Or entirely burnt and ruined, needing to rise from the ashes,
to start again anew . . . . .
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.