Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

No need
to bury me;
just lay me down
in tall weeds, face up,
so I can look at the stars
as I try to remember
what the hell I did
to get to such a place
so far from home.

I'm from the Midwest. We are a bit past our autumn peak but many of the trees are still alive and spewing their colors. They do "sigh"…and now I know I'm not crazy. Other folks hear it too.

68degrees

Enjoyed your sojourn. Also enjoy "geographic" poems. Hollins Market…you put me there with you and I like that.

68degrees

"…the obviousness of life…"

And even then some folks don't get it.

Enjoyed the short trail of philosophy.

68degrees

Wireman: Calumet is WAY UP by Copper Harbor. Glad to meet you.

Saw: Thanks for the look.

68degrees

Thanks.

And thanks.

This piece is still in work. Appreciate all comments.

Judith: No Celsius equivalent, sorry. Sometimes my temperature rises though.

Wesdan: Am happy to be in the company of a true connoisseur.

Doreen: White.

"...and any person in the street can be one, the old blind man with a guitar and a naked soup can, can have a most profound take I spent many days and nights reading the words of people poets I read the great ones and I read the ones that nobody will ever know" I spent a summer in NYC a while back. ...

There is gutted church in the Upper Peninsula, near Calumet, near Superior: no pews are left for prayer, no altar for the Body; only stained glass remains with all its colored language, all its Latin echoes Were we there, sweetheart, on that Sunday morning? I swear we could still hear the chorus sin...

Was asked once what the perfect temperature was to write. My response: 68degrees. Was invited here. Looking forward to some creative stimulation. Love poetry and theatre and a good glass of wine.