The Sound of Ink

In the palm of eyes and the ear of skin days darken before they even begin. The sky bleeds crows in drops of black ink, leaves rise on the fall, wither and shrink. Neither here nor there mist laces bare limbs with droplets of dew, whispers, and whims. In the season of crumble the hours grow short, shadows grow longer, and wicked holds court. Beware of what you hear, be careful where you go. Witch and winter plot in sable and drifting snow. ©Susie Clevenger 2019 Poets United ~ Midweek Motif

At the Seashore by S. Anderson Winter grumbles its gray across the sky, but I dance in the sea spill of blue racing across the sand and summon July’s spirit to pinch my cheeks with summer. Beescape by P. D. Laine Concrete molds me into its city hum of traffic growl and chaotic motion. Outside my window honeybees find their Eden in a small plot of purple and gold daises. I press my hands to the glass to feel the irony. No Title by O. Bentor bird of paradise winged blooms perched on stems color’s flight pattern Fire & Ice by S. Anderson Sunlight skinny dips in November’s chill                Daydreams learn to swim in the season of frosted breath. Green Paradise by B. Grimes Green stems cackle their song of June to yellow blossoms plump with sun. Flower Impression by S. Edwards Morning glories bloom their impression of heaven, bold petals command a hallelujah from