Spiral notebook

Just a scrap I picked up off the floor. Sacing it for patchwork.

Gasp. She lost it. A nursery rhyme. " Leave them alone, and they will come home."
But it was a precious patch, well every patch is precious, but this one was good. Had a little Sylvia in it too. A fish hook. An open eye.

Well she'll find some other tail wagging.
The Universe has told me twice in two days, clear as the eye can see,
Turn obstacles into opportunities.
She was deliberately vague. As if she were at her best when she both hid, and then revealed, or more like , revealing through her hiding.

Have you ever felt like a ghost? You should try it some time.
Have you ever felt like a chameleon?
At first I thought I'd leave it at that.
Damn. Where was Celeste.
But, then I thought, no. I'd talk about how wonderful it must be. Changing into all those beautiful colors. But it isn't really, because you disappear. Evaporate into thin air.
Like my writing did this morning.

Reviews

[Andrew Golding]

I like your style. And I embrace your non-commital format, a "thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letterbox" kind of a vibe. But underneath the patchwork quilted mosaic of your poetry, there is a voice--a consistent you, the seamstress and storyteller. Keep doing that.