Writing Dreams for Margo

The Wind was a Gallop

Oh to the worse
that warning rang,
a rise
toward our rattling leap.
We thought our frolic our pattering feet,
and so we chased the wind
into a galloping dance.
We sang a chorus with tolling bells,
ran with summer
and turned a billow roar.
We were our
dizziest days
grasping at balustrades,
and we toppled
and tumbled,
tipped ourselves
out of youthful dreams
into a streaming
swarm.

 

 

Inspired and remixed from a poem by Victor Hugo, “The Djinns” (“Murs, ville et port”) Written for Margo’s Summer Dreams prompt

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The Time Is Eight Minutes to Eleven, and

splendid_obedience

The Time Is Eight Minutes to Eleven, and …

We were all a splendid obedience,
an affection,
philosophy
by consent

with our uncertain ideas
up stoneware pipes
and vitrified
in sewers, and

that year remained in tomorrow
with those splendid
white ruff cats – a
mistaken wish.

 

 

 

Poem form: The Minute (60 syllables)
Text Found and remixed from the Text Clock at 22:52pm, 9 Feb/15
http://rossgoodwin.com/clock/