
These decaying leaves
hold mysteries of life, death, and rebirth
a miraculous blend of science and magic
sustaining where they recklessly fall,
creating a patchwork blanketĀ
to warm tiny seeds yearning to anchorĀ
into the richness of Mother Earth.

Ponderous clouds roiling, signs of an internal storm
soon the dark thoughts come, wrecking inner calm
in the snowfall of my mind
Hello all, It’s Tuesday and time for the Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge at Go Dog Go Cafe. Pop over, read the prompt and then share in the fun!
Devereaux Frazier and Beth Amanda are currently hosting the Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge which was started by our star writer Christine Ray. We hope to offer all of you something that will spark your creativity and willingness to participate.
The prompts are designed to be quick challengesĀ that can be written in 10 to 15minutes,Ā inspire you creatively, are fun, and get everyone interacting.Ā Please post your response to the prompt in the comments below and show your fellow posters some love and support.Ā All members of the Go Dog Go community, including Baristas, are welcome to participate.Ā Feel free to share this post on yourĀ own blogs and/or Facebook.
Todayās prompt: Ā
Write a poem in which you use this phrase: Ā āsnowfall of my mindāĀ
May your ink flow!!!

rippling meadow breeze
golden grasses’ graceful bows
peaceful is the lea
©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg
Carpe Diem:Ā http://chevrefeuillescarpediem.blogspot.com/2018/12/carpe-diem-1561-yellowstone-national.html
Photo from:https://www.flickr.com/photos/danielburton/2084496424
I am deeply touched by J.A. Carter- Winward’s interpretation of my poem so I am sharing with my readers. Thank you.
Church Flower, JACW Photography©
This poem was originally published in Vita Brevis, and was chosen by the editor as a favorite, so I re-read it again today, and it still tugged at me the way it did when I first read it. It begged me to take it apart.
Dismantling/deconstructing a poem is not as horrific or callous as one might think. I find intention and value in almost all creative endeavors, and to presume to know whether a poet made a mistake or didnāt execute something that is free-verse is, to my mind, arrogant. Of course, if it was a particular form, that might be up for critique for some people who feel they must stay true to the ācorrectā form. But to my mind, even that is absurd.
The point of poetry, to me, is to take what cannot be conveyed with simply a word orā¦
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