Sunday Morning
On the streets again
where wild I grew up
I've had my chances
this day might be last
My life has been blessed
living in the cracks
Sunday on the streets
this my time to bloom
Here I've been beat down
nearly every day
Can't help where seeds blow
so here I was born
That's where I must bloom
no one dug me out
Perhaps you will cut,
put me in a vase
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- Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved
- Photo presented by Carrie Van Horn at the Sunday Muse #157, http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2020/08/future-muse.html?m=1
- I am also linked with NaPoWriMo 2021 Day 24, https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-four-7/
- I am attempting to write at least one poem a day for the National Poem Writing Month. Today is Day 24 of the 30, you can see my progress here, NaPoWriMo 2021.
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You're sure to end up in a vase somewhere, Jim!!
ReplyDeletePoignant!
ReplyDeleteI really like this Jim! Your metaphor and message work well! The image really did move you to words!
ReplyDelete"here I was born / That's where I must bloom" When you are a seed without legs to walk away or opposable thumbs to hitchhike, that's how it goes for sure.
ReplyDeleteIn a vase it shall be ... hand-painted by me.
ReplyDeleteI've known a few people like this. I'm guessing they wish it were otherwise but:
ReplyDelete"...here I was born
That's where I must bloom"
Nicely done, Jim.
Li@tao-talk
I would be happy to try and dig you up from the roots and plant you in a meadow with room to grow.
ReplyDeletepowerful -- the unexpected blooms can have a great deal of uplift and leave a lasting impression
ReplyDeleteThis speaks to me, although, "...here I was born," has become such a hellhole that I can never go back.
ReplyDeleteVery well written.
What a lovely poem, Jim!
ReplyDelete