what i can't get of my mind is this man had a lump, i mean a spot, of darkness in his lung, and when they went in there they found a sprouted pea.
another man had a tiny pine tree growing in his lung. somehow that is poetic, to picture it. isn't it?
(i do not know if women grow things in their lungs.)
we are still following Ray Bradbury. still mining our "loves, hates, fears and obsessions."
so if you're a writer and you wish to have an assignment (even tho the root word of assignment is ass) maybe you can write a poem, story, blurt, blog, slug, blot, wart, or worm about "the things that grow in the lung."
maybe a quirky haiku.
i can't seem to.
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leave your haiku here, please
surprenant qu'une petite graine germe dans son poumon... Que peut-il bien pouvoir germer dans son coeur ? Des roses rouges pour sa bien-aimée ?... Bisous
I was covered in red
surrounded by it
I thought I had burst my paint pot and painted me
Then I realised I was in your heart.
martine and ralph so kind
are in this heart of mine
like roses and red wine
kit courtney has a beautiful piano song on her blog today, it inspired this for me...
music like a poem
images and shadows
hands on black and white
night
keys open the song
doors to belong-
ing
maybe sing
maybe
be
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