When viewed from above,
this world that we love,
seems awfully small,
. . . and all of our lives,
just busy bee hives,
or afternoon drives—
. . . and all of the lands,
(diverse in their strands),
like so many hands . . .
Herein lies the start of a really bad poem. Good poetry comes easily to me; it’s the bad ones that are a lot of work. The beginning of this poem has been a lot of work.
I’m in Akron, Ohio today. My Nana’s funeral is at 4 p.m. My dad, brother, and I were in the air all day yesterday . . . I’m still tired. (Maybe what’s why this poem was so hard?)
In any event, during our flight, I took pictures. It’s always interesting to me to see the world from above. Somehow the diversity of the land, even within a single country, leaves me feeling inspired.
- on death and living life to the fullest (jesscy.com)
- grandparents aren’t supposed to die (jesscy.com)
- the end of an era (jesscy.com)