Miriam Joy

Happy Mother's Day to all women. Thank you for all you do.

Storm cells are so scary looking! Lots of weather here in Arkansas lately, fun to look at from a safe distance.

When I am done writing this, with Hermes, news will arrive The days dancing in delicate limbo It might come by way of fire, as one tower illuminating another Or by way of a marathon across open fields, or travel on a ship of merchant yields Courier or town gossip churning an ocean of upheaval, messengers abound. The paper might disintegrate or grow into a tornado Quiet might pass through a multitude of mediums, restlessness running past the void crumpling the news into a ball or buring the wax sealed parchment Its newness infiltrating every atom of this universe. Is there another? Hope comes through the lips of a traveling bard Like Aneirin turing news unto art, singing battles cries of the soul, the understanding of a gentle heart sweetened by the song of sea, Hermes found the green wave colored tortoise shell and made the lyre with its empty eternal home playing melodies as sands of memory glistened The radio plays a Stevie Wonder song "I just called, to say, I love you" I think it is mom calling from above Are they still sending messages from heaven? The poet shapes paper peonies and poppies, blood and tears Immutable, yet mutable swords and sweet songs Does the quill conquer or quell? How dare I doubt the messenger I throw the crumpled ball away live the stories another day, A clean sheet sits in the typewriter of my soul waiting to be transformed #poetry #Thursdaypoetrysociety #writing #creativity #poem Thursday Poetry Society Prompt: "I will crumple it into a ball and throw it away. image is my own.

Assumptions, swirling like overcast skies Clouding our ability to measure Theories need proof, but not we, humans, born of uncertainty, searching the world for treasure Presume love A root takes hold Assume fear, forget to water the sun's flowers Instead presume, be bold As mothers say, Listen to your heart its vivid colors, true beauty in darkness Assumptions live within, depart down endless corridors curved window panes releasing memories into hues of yellow and blue darkness dwindling in dreams Presume, instead, Let doubts fall away like dead leaves Or never live The tree's roots are dark and deep full of mysteries I have yet to seek, distant shores I assumed, but I was wrong Love was mine along. This poem is titled, Visions of Van Gogh. Dedicated to Van Gogh's world of color and his ability to find beauty in darkness. Photo is my own. In response to #Thursdaypoetrysociety thanks James Gibbons for hosting. #poetry #vangogh

Cuando termine de escribir esto, con Hermes, llegarán noticias. Los días bailando en un delicado limbo Podría llegar a través del fuego, como una torre iluminando a otra. O a través de una maratón a través de campos abiertos, o viajando en un barco de mercancías mercantes. Los mensajeros o los chismes de la ciudad agitan un océano de agitación, abundan los mensajeros. El papel podría desintegrarse o convertirse en un tornado Tranquilo podría aprobar a través de una multitud de medios, la inquietud corriendo pasando el vacío arrugar la noticia en una bola o enterrar el pergamino sellado con cera Su novedad se infiltra en cada átomo de este universo. ¿Hay otro? La esperanza sale de los labios de un bardo viajero. Como Aneirin convirtiendo las noticias en arte, cantando de batallas gritos del alma, la comprensión de un corazón endulzado por el canto del mar, Hermes encontró el caparazón de tortuga de color verde ondulado e hizo la lira con su hogar eterno vacío. tocando melodías como arenas de la memoria brillaron La radio reproduce una canción de Stevie Wonder. "Sólo llamaba para decirte que te quiero" Creo que es mamá desde arriba. ¿Siguen enviando mensajes del cielo? El poeta da forma a peonías y amapolas de papel, sangre y lágrimas Inmutable, pero mutable espadas y dulces canciones ¿La pluma conquista o quieta? ¿Cómo me atrevo a dudar del mensajero? Tiro la pelota arrugada vive las historias otro día, Una hoja limpia se encuentra en la máquina de escribir. esperando ser transformada #poesia #juevespoesiasociedad #escritura #creatividad #poema Mensaje de la Sociedad de Poesía del Jueves: "La haré una bola y la tiraré. imagen de Steve Johnson, Unsplash

Visions of Van Gogh Assumptions, swirling overcast skies Clouding our ability to measure Theories need proof, but not we, humans, born of uncertainty, searching the world for treasure Presume love A root takes hold Assume fear, forget to water the sun’s flowers Instead, presume, be bold As mothers say, Listen to your heart its vivid colors, true Assumptions live within, depart down endless corridors with curved window panes releasing memories into hues of yellow and blue darkness dwindling in dreams Presume instead, Let doubts fall away like dead leaves Or never live The tree’s roots are deep full of mysteries I have yet to seek on distant shores I assumed, but I was wrong Love was mine along.