inspired by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
When my day is punctuated by periods
it feels like a dead end, a life resigned
to a screenplay written by someone else.
What if I filled the day, the story
with semicolons, one eye winking
in mischief and mystery
with the other wide open?
The store closed at 5pm;
it opens again tomorrow;
there is more time to decide!
I’m stuck on a word or line
in the poem; how delightful
for intuition over intellect to respond!
Oh, periods in my life,
I know you must close some doors
as the nature of impermanence declares.
And to live this life with an open
heart saturated with semicolons;
there is always more to the story-
a run on sentence without end…
Who are the grammar gods anyway?
When my day is punctuated by periods
it feels like a dead end, a life resigned
to a screenplay written by someone else.
What if I filled the day, the story
with semicolons, one eye winking
in mischief and mystery
with the other wide open?
The store closed at 5pm;
it opens again tomorrow;
there is more time to decide!
I’m stuck on a word or line
in the poem; how delightful
for intuition over intellect to respond!
Oh, periods in my life,
I know you must close some doors
as the nature of impermanence declares.
And to live this life with an open
heart saturated with semicolons;
there is always more to the story-
a run on sentence without end…
Who are the grammar gods anyway?
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