Friday, December 8, 2017

Friday 55 December 8 2017

Welcome, fellow travelers. Another Friday finds us collected here to assemble our jigsaw thoughts into our own 55 word puzzles, and to remember Galen Hayes, the originator of this meme. There are no rules, strings or obligations, except that you write a piece of prose or poetry in 55 words--no more, nor less-- and post a link in the comments below between Friday morning and Sunday afternoon. Comment moderation is off now as I am so often out of pocket these days, but I still wield the ban-hammer and will delete any trollish appearances.

So, this week, winter came...

First Day Of Winter

I woke to a turquoise sky
with nothing in her pockets; no sun,
no moon, no scrap
of smoke or cloud. 

Day was missing,
night had wandered off.

My mind was all she had, sister
twinned to her blank eternity,
summer's embers 
ashed to blue clinker

without a tear to soften us
until the rain.

~December 2017


Image: Roman Nose Park, Turquoise Sky, 11-29-2014, ©joyannjones  Manipulated.


  1. Without using the word cold, or really any other word we might associate with winter, you really evoked a very stark scene.

    Here's my contribution to the poetry pot luck.

  2. The idea the sky keeping the weather (her emotions) in her pocket is brilliant. I wonder if the part of her garb we get to see and feel is her skirt, which changes with her moods (and the speaker's). The mood your poem describes feels like the promise before something major (often a storm) has gone or is ready to come... or, the feeling of numbness, the ache that fills a heart after it has been slapped around by so many emotions that it is now stuck between just breathing and whatever might come next.

  3. Here is my bit for this week:

  4. I'm trying to think positive this week, with my offering:

    Your poem sets the mood of something a bit more hopeful at year's end, a perfect sky, a mind to appreciate the beauty and the poet's pen... These are lines I gladly sink into.

  5. I'm listening to you from a perfectly wind-still sunny and warm afternoon in the summer, yet i can feel the cold, nice one.

    I played this week here

  6. Winter stopped here next and remains...lordy is it cold this morning. I have whipped up a trifle:

  7. what a stunning description. I wish I had written it...

    a bit of chaff this morning for you: wheat

  8. Having trouble posting from WordPress so trying google...fingers crossed...Your descriptive suggestion of a 'place between' comes across as a them for me and minds me of this phrase which asks us to 'honor the space between no longer and not yet' Lovely stuff Hedge.

    My offering in 55 words...promise ;)

  9. Love the stillness of your winter... it seems like a moment to breathe, until the rain is back again.. I get a sense of a pause, of being able to see nothing happen. I needed that.

    My poem is also about winter.

    I will mosey around tomorrow and read the rest of the poems.

  10. White and silver and grey are the spectra we associate with the coming of winter--the signatories of death -- but blue is perfect here, blank and wide as a dead eye. As purely empty as it gets ... a clinker of summer indeed. I really like the deft way you associate and embrace this blue, leaving for another poem that tear of cold rain.

    Sorry out of pocket yesterday, but this:

  11. Perfect, for the blank, blue skies that I never know what to do with. Here's mine.

  12. Thanks everyone, your participation, as always, is valued more than you know right now. Forgive me for not chatting with you individually here--very pressed for time this weekend, but I appreciate each and every one of you, and love reading your 55's.

  13. Thanks for reading my journal entry today on vanity...strike that. 'Appreciation.' I hope you get a laugh at least.


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats

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